Listened to a survivor of the Holocaust speak of how some of those sent to the showers were given a piece of soap.

It smelled soft, something unfamiliar these days. Small and perfect, molded in mass; it has smooth edges and a cool touch. Against her cheek, a memory of long baths on the hard days, days when she worked hard for a living. Between her fingers, she turned it several times. She brought it to her mouth, licked the edge. Bitter, but she smiled while rubbing the tip of her tongue against the roof of her mouth. Her hand fell to her side, the small bar of soap caressing her naked thigh.

Together with the rest, she stepped forward into the chamber. 

The End

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