The landscape here is grey. There is no color: flowers don't grow here; not even grass grows here. It is a barren, grey place in which the only signs of life are the dogs who bark and the Nazis who shout. This is Auschwitz. I do not have a name. I'm not sure how old I am, only that I am still young. My family is gone, but I remember them. I've seen and done things here, things that haunt me. The only way out is to become the ash that floats in the...