Gunshots and people dropping with loud bangs. Mimicking the sounds of the train tracks, taking us to our mass graves. Ms.Schachter screaming "I see fire...flames!" Thinking she was insane till we smelled our brothers, ashes mixed with the clouds, day after day. Tears falling back and drying out even in the rain, pelting us just like the beatings we received, never-ending, day to day. Bonds quaked as families had been torn away, sons turning on fathers, a strive for power in this wretched place. Kapos and Kommandos captivated by our calloused aches, carved out corpses still shackling through the night and day. Daring to step out of line meant certain death, no matter what time of the day. Torture, more, more! The only escape was the gallows or if you were lucky, a swift bullet to the back of the head. The cowards never looking at the dead, just cattle that rarely got fed. Men turned to beasts, old not even safe in bed, being jumped for their bread. Scraps, Scraps were what killed thousands of men. My father killed over damned water, still alive as they tossed him into the dehydrated incinerator.
