The Second World War had just ended. The old man lies on his sick-bed remembering. He was a young Allied soldier and arrived at Majdanek concentration camp.
On every wall of the barracks were sketches of butterflies. He was now in a place where one came to die, but not from natural causes. In Majdanek 300,000 Jews were gassed and yet, as they waited for death, some drew butterflies. The human spirit is strange, beauty amongst evil.
He imagined the doomed victims' ghosts as he drifted off to sleep, still haunted after all these years.
On every wall of the barracks were sketches of butterflies. He was now in a place where one came to die, but not from natural causes. In Majdanek 300,000 Jews were gassed and yet, as they waited for death, some drew butterflies. The human spirit is strange, beauty amongst evil.
He imagined the doomed victims' ghosts as he drifted off to sleep, still haunted after all these years.
