What one can cope with here is unimaginable. It’s not us, the lambs before the slaughter, who should be pitied. It’s them. These... things, that act without remorse, the brownshirts. It’s them I pity.
Here you cannot die once, but many times over before you cease to live.I will die, that I am certain of. When the officers go home to spend time with their wives and children at night, when this war is over and they grow old, they will continue to live. But I can say with satisfaction that it is not a life worth living. How can it be when your consciousness is tainted by your actions? Your hands stained with the blood of thousands?
He tried to suppress a grimace.
So they may live each day to see their disgusting faces, and each day the contempt for their own existence will grow. Each day they live, they cease to exist as humans as the weight of their sins crush them. Because it’s too much sin to live with. Then one day, when this war has been forgotten, they will look at themselves and realise something: that they are naught but the hollow shells of those who were once people. Less than the nothing that they have tried so unsuccessfully to break us down to. They say there is no rest for the wicked and it’s true that they will never be purged of their sins. All the while will I lay dead in the still, tranquillity of the ground. Away from a world the Nazis tried to destroy.