The Holocaust
Fire. Fire burns in my eyes as I watch the rows of people marching to their death. Grim German words mock their passage. "Work will set you free." Freedom only hoped to be gained through death. I sit in horror and ask myself why. Why them? What did they do? I cannot move.
I sit still watching. My eyes burn to learn. Why does the pain hurt me? The crowded room chokes me. The poisoned air makes it hard to breathe. The cries of the young and old burn my ears. If I could reach out to them. If I could help them live. If I could warn them that they have been handed their death certificate. I cannot move.
They look at me. Their eyes burn me for not stopping them. Their faces turn in disgust. Their voices, hardly a whisper, ring loud in my ears. Torture of beatings. Unfit living conditions. The cruel way they will be slaughtered. How can I sit here and do nothing? I cannot move.
I cannot change the past. Those that died are laid to rest. The torture has stopped, but the pain lives on. I feel the pain. Their persecution is burned into my soul. I rise and make the decision to let my voice be heard. I speak of the brotherhood that must be kept to ensure that they did not die in vain. I speak of the Holocaust and find that I can move.