We open the doors to find hundred, if not thousands of starved, malnourished men all looking at us with solemn, dead expressions. They are quiet but attentive. They are watching, not moving, barely breathing, barely living. I lock eyes with one of them if only for a second, but I am to count heads and survey for any lingering Russians. They allegedly fled before we made it to the camp, but it never hurt anyone being extra cautious. It’s stuffy and dark with the smell of what I assume to be burnt bodies flooding my sinuses. I keep catching the eyes of the men and I can’t help but stare at their lifeless expressions. We…, I was expecting only relief and happiness from the people here but… it’s almost as if they’ve lost their will to live. For every head in that room, there seemed to be a metal bowl. It looked as if they were being used as a headrest. Most of them were hardly clothed because of the intense humidity created by the many bodies that seemed to flood the room. The heat in the room heavily contrasted with the cold barren wasteland outside. Suddenly, I hear the click of a camera go off, and for a moment I froze. The tension in the air was getting to me. Maybe I was the only one to be so nervous, but how could I not be? Never had I experienced such a heavy tone of death from so many people. There is not one person alive who deserves this kind of treatment.
http://khon2.com/2016/07/02/elie-wiesel-holocaust-survivor-activist-acclaimed-writer-dies-at-87/
