We were brought in, in the hundreds; the months of train travel had made us all sick. There was a scent in the air, rancid, though I couldn't quite place it. Ominous gates stood up ahead, across a field of people like me. The smell grew to an overpowering stench as we neared the camp. A guard stopped us, and shouted at my father in German. As my father said he didn't understand, the Nazi soldier swung his rifle, knocking my father back.

I caught him, his blood splattering onto my shirt. I struggled to hold him up, but was hit myself. I fell, my chin striking the ground, driving my tooth through my lip. As the sticky hot blood flowed onto my tongue, I placed the stench. The smell was that of blood, like wet metal, burning our nostrils. I could taste it, hear the screams as it was spilt from men and women who had done no wrong. I could see it, pooling in the mud, feeding the mass of worms.

Can no one hear our cries? Is there no one who will stop this? No one has ever cared for the weak, the different, and the innocent who suffer. Our blood is spilled for the pleasure of wicked men. My mother and sister are led off to the gas chambers, as my father and I are beaten, and I can only wonder why, why must we bleed? Why must we suffer? Justice is blind; it cannot see our suffering, our blood. Injustice is the result of mankind, and I can only pray for the end.