Smoke rose from austere stacks, sending dark plumes to rendezvous with low-lying clouds. Below, an endless stream of grey-faced people, heads shaven, skin hanging limp from wasted limbs, shuffled past stoic guards. Mothers clutched children to sunken breasts; wrinkled octogenarians struggled to keep pace.

She peered past the barbed wire fence, her fingers clutching her nose like a clothespin to keep out the offending odor. Despite the stench, something inexplicably powerful drew her back each day, compelled her to sneak out of the house just after dawn, to bear witness to the circus of shuffling minions.

One morning, a man stumbled out of the procession and broke into a frenzied run. She looked on, mesmerized, as his skeletal figure approached. Beads of sweat dotted his bony face - or were those tears?

A single, piercing shot rang out; drops of black-red blood and fine bits of yellow bone covered her dress. The man’s mouth fell open; he screamed without sound, but a deafening noise filled her head. She turned on her heels and fled.

In the background, a tiny curl of smoke wafted from a just-fired Luger.

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