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June 14, 2005

From the Comments: Jim Parkinson

Soft swirling snowflakes caught the sunrise, becoming pink and orange dancers before settling onto the ground and mixing into the bloody slush. The bodies of fallen soldiers were being retrieved for shipment back to Mother Russia. Good men had died but the camp was finally liberated.

“Now I come to get you out, Papa,” Aleksei slung his rifle over his shoulder and trudged past the gates.

A few gangly men in prison stripes cried in the courtyard, barefoot in the January cold. Aleksei went to the first building of Auschwitz prison, bracing for the horror and praying for his father.

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