Cockroaches in striped pajamas stained by the scent of snow-melted blood under a compassionate moon. No reflection to admire other than the eyes of a thousand miserable and sordid puppets with shaven heads and wooden clogged shoes.
God and their souls murdered by a vile evolution, crucibles of Jewish remains. Rabbis and priests, scholars and the poor: moving targets with stars on their sleeves.
Naked souls waited, listening to the gods of old Germany. “Zieh dich aus! (Take off your clothes!)” They shouted, pushing them further into the chamber. The doors closed shut behind them. A deathly fog clouded among them, putting them to drown under a thick green darkness. Agonized voices shredded apart as their nails clawed at the concrete walls. Women and children held each other tight, whispering Kaddish, hoping and praying.
Twenty minutes of shouting and stumbling, Twenty minutes of spluttering and gargling. The little ones witness the eyes of their guardians writhe and turn white, as their bodies jolted as their lives were stolen.
The gods finally entered to clear the room, to pile the dead onto the carts, to visit the crematorium. To finally shovel the mounds of striped clothing, to recycle and burn the rest.
But this end comes as a sweet release as their ashes were sent through the chimneys and into the air to rest in their graves.