Death sends his regards
A bit different from normal writings, this one was an old assignment in which we had to personify any single thing of our choosing and write their story during World War Concentration camps. The main idea of the paper had to be ‘the day before liberation.’ As you can tell by the title and its concept it’s anything but uplifting so fair warning.
Death Sends His Regards
It's been a long time, just sitting outside the doctor's office. Watching other people walk in to see the doctor before me, but I’m not here for help. I’ve made myself a little home, for my career is here. Sitting here I’ve created a name for myself throughout the camps, may it be Death, the Grim Reaper, Taker of Souls and the name I hear the most here would probably be “Angel of Death.”
I lay outside of the doctor for i know anyone who enters is doomed to not come out. For it’s my job to escort those who can’t get themselves out the door.Tragic it is, but after the amount of people you see it becomes a norm. I believe the damned soul of Stalin said it the best, “one death is a tragedy one million is a statistic.” Which sounds like an over exaggeration, but that changes when one just sees the masses of bodies piled up, which used to be normal people growing up with dreams and goals, until their life was sadly cut short. May it be to disease, over exhaustion, burning alive in a kiln, hanging, ss bullets, famine, or simply losing the will to go on any farther. No matter the cause it was my job, no...my duty to take these souls away to the eternal plane, may it have been an eighty year old man, or a six year old child. No person was showed mercy, in the camps you were just a normal person, acted up...you wouldn’t even see sunrise.
Life is funny, so many different and diverse species, but those that are the farthest advanced don’t fight other species, as much as they fight themselves. If only people could create an understanding for each other, but alas they can’t, and my job becomes more tragic.
So here I am in a camp said to be meant for work, which is truly a place meant for mass killing sitting out side of a doctor's office with a man who can do nothing. I pity him, one of the few mortals who sees almost as much death as I. The Doctor used to cry for every doomed patient as they died in his hands, now he hates himself for it, yelling and cussing out his patients for putting such a burden on him. He may be part of the group who's causing it, but when humans were created, all were born with a heart that wanted to care. May some care more than others, there's always a part of humans that want to care. A doctor originally meant to perform horrible experiments on his patients who changed his ways and tried to save them. Sadly he can’t. In his head he almost wants to join his patients just as a way out, but his time isn’t now.
Now liberation is tomorrow and one last load of people souls need to be freed, so close from surviving it all, but falling just short. Surely they won’t be forgotten, nor will the tragic events that happened here. May all souls get what they deserve in the end, good and evil.