1

Amell Brooks walked along his security path, listening to the crunching of snow beneath his boots, then the crunching of bones. The stench of burning flesh never went away this windy time of year. Actually, it never went away at all. He continued along the tall fence whose barbs faced inward. Nothing new was happening today.

Trenches being dug

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The huge, blazing fire

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corpses being dumped into said fire

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People screaming while they were being separated from their families at Selection

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The puffs of white vapor poured into the freezing air, more spilling out with their screams.

A child tried to run back to her mother, the woman with the tangled black curls. She almost made it until Amell stepped in between them, shoving the woman to the ground then dragged her in the other direction. She strained to reach her daughter, but he dragged her around the corner of one of the gas chambers, breaking their invisible bond.

Death.

That’s all he ever sees around here. That’s all anyone sees.

From the time that new workers come in to the time that they are burned, they are dead.

They were dead since the beginning of the war.

A messenger boy in a white and gray prisoner’s uniform ran up to him, gave him a slip of paper, then ran to his next destination.

Hans out sick. Take night shift in Housing 3

He sighed, a big puff of white coming from his mouth.

By the time that night shift rolled around, his feet were dragging and his eyes started to droop and he yawned every few minutes. It just so happened to be Hans’ turn to feed the prisoners. Some had been there for weeks, others for months. But they all looked the same. They all were walking skeletons. They all had this look of Death in their eyes, but he saw a tiny spark of life when he gave them little pieces of black bread with small pieces of cheese.

Some of the soldiers threw pieces of the bread over the side of the catwalk from above. They watched the prisoners clammer over each other to retrieve the crumbs. These prisoners have fallen victim to their own starvation. It wasn’t even enough to sustain them.

What if he was in their place? Digging holes at gunpoint, only to fill them up again, the constant marching, running, hunger, the pain of knowing you’ll never see your family again, the small speck of hope that burns darker every moment.

With his feet dragging a little heavier, he made his way down the catwalk down to the ground floor. He successfully navigated around the bands of skin and bones, going over to a small office at the other side of °the floor. The back room was a small, dirty communications area with only a chair and an Enigma typewriter. The Americans have already solved the unsolvable, so all he had to do was repeat a message that was sent before.

New camp. Buchenwald.

Weimar, Germany

51.0222° North by 11.2481° East

Heil Hitler

He sent it off, hopeful that it will reach its American destination before anyone notices. He was just about to leave when another SS man opened the door. Beady eyes, light skin, blonde hair, strong stature. The perfect soldier. His eyes looked him up and down with a cringe in his features.

“What are you doing here?” The cringe was evident in his voice. “You’re not authorized to be in here, you know that we only send messages in the mornings at 7, and I have the new orders. I should report you.” He turned to walk away at a brisk pace.

Amell ran to catch up to him. “Wait! Maybe we could come to an agreement? I could send the message for you. I could sent your messages for a week,” he begged. Rigid muscles and shaky hands gripped the other’s shoulder, but this only made the bigger man turn and punch him in the face, knocking him down. He hit head on one of the steel bed frames, his world turning to darkness.

Amell didn’t know exactly where he was, but the burlap sack covering his face told him that it was nowhere good. Silence hung low over the killing fields as he was shoved forward, tripping on his own feet. Someone removed the darkness from his eyes and he squinted from the blaring sun. He looked over to the crowd and was met with hundreds of stares boring into him. He was shoved once again, this time he couldn’t catch himself. He tried to stop his fall on the stairs, but his hands were tied behind his back. He fell face first on the corner of a step, giving him a large red spot on his cheek. He was pulled up by the brawny man behind him and moved him up the stairs to the stage. The boards creaked under his heavy footsteps. Not a bird in the sky make a peep, and not a soul dared to say a word. The stage was moldy and rotten, on the verge of falling to bits, a single bar with a rope was dangling in front of his face. They had stripped him of his uniform and put him in prisoner’s clothes.

His tears burned as the frosty wind cut through him. He looked into the blank stares of his fellow men, and he realized that he was just as close to death as they were.

The brawny man slipped the rope around his neck, tightening the noose.

God, please forgive me

He felt the large hand on his back, then he was pushed off the side of the platform.

The last thing he sees is the pain in a child's eyes.

Author's Note

Please give me your hardest critique. I am new to the writing world.