Monday, August 24, 2009


The sky is blue. There are white, blossoming clouds in it. They do not cover the yellow of the sun. The grass is shadowless and caught between draughted yellow-tans and greens. Healthy brown tree trunks rise to richer forest greens where the light of the sky colors through the leaves to not leave any space unpainted. The buildings queue into the palisade horizon on the far end of the grass field. They are bright burgundy. Inside another building, the walls are white. Solid white. There is no roof. The sun shines on the walls and each wall on each other. Here, like the grass, there are no shadows. Just white. In the sky, the sun now brightens the edges of the clouds like frosting on a wedding cake and I want to cry; I have never felt so guilty in a place.

This is a concentration camp.

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