It had taken me and my father approximately four of the afternoon's hours in helping the others lift the containers. I was relieved, but without notice of my soar arms. The soldiers left us at the Carter, and took the loaded transportations toward the ground pits afar. ''I want to go home.'', a woman asserted to her husband, exhausted in the work. ''I realy don't know if we'll ever go home.'', he said. We saw the crafts heading for the port, the artillery hung below the vessels. ''Line yourselves, that will be all the work.'', mentioned an officer. I felt the final drop of a burdon, and I had expectations of the comfort of our tent.
On the road heading after the tent site, we spotted ahead of us the ground pits of the dead bodies, dumped in wide ditches made about the valley. A toxic haze tainted the air over there, over the land, and workers of the army collection held protective covers and masks, as of some form of protection from the disease. The lifeless cases were brought and aligned over other colunms of dead. At the peak of the work, a singular section was burried in, and although this was done, the carnal oders reached the camps. It was surely the work of the plague, and I could only pray for the wind to carry off the stenches of the many dead.
''Look, there's more over there.'', gestured my father, and he lead me to watch after a field adjacent to the valley, spotting upon men working in dumping unsealed bodies in a ditch. Without box coffins, they were placed in the earth of the field, or those murdered by the guards. They were many, and days in waiting to be aligned into the ditches there, as they were many in number. In detail I saw, as our vehicle was in movement, the darkened bodies of the vaguely clothed people, individuals of different fasique and hight, haggard in the blacked filth of blood and soil. We could not discern of their looks, for they were killed and spoiled under the sun at such a manner, the mass of bodies seemed as though a vivid uglyness of death and time togeather.