The smell of burning books, or maybe that’s just the smell of suffering. I inhale the scent for what seems like two minutes and forty eight seconds. I count the seconds until the time reaches three minutes. One, two, three, four seconds I have left to take it all in. I see four pieces of a young man’s body. He approaches death crawling and crying; his limbs left in a swastika shape; As life withers away from him,he sketches with his quivering finger, the shape of the malevolent symbol within the crusty dirt below him; one leg, two legs, three legs; three legs he has sketched; three tears fall from my sinking eyes. I taste the saltiness from them in my dry dusty mouth. This is the most flavor I’ve tasted in months. Three seconds more I have
