“Heil Hitler,” he mumbled, barely audible over the growing crackles of the fire.
He knew exactly where the papers sat; flat, on the table.
“HEIL HITLER!” he screamed, intensely passionate.
Their bodies would never leave Ravensbrück. They were the ash that floated down over the camp. They had become part of the earth that he had so carelessly walked across this morning. He hesitated, then turned abruptly on his heels and shut the door on the slowly growing fire.
He walked indifferently through the crowd that was frantically moving towards the growing blaze. He kept his eyes cast down; he couldn’t look at their faces. However, his view of the ground was slightly obstructed by a slight bulge in his breast pocket.
The obstruction; the delicate outline of hastily folded papers.