David’s eyes scanned the countryside, memorizing every contour of the hills and the plateaus that formed the small valley that his village was nestled in. A crack, and a small outcry, a vision of cruelty, a German soldier viciously looking at little Joshua, whose stubby legs simply couldn’t lift him into the truck.

They shepherded Joshua into the road, a terrified look on his face as his mother screamed in Polish, begging for her son’s return. A look of pure terror settled on Joshua’s face. The lowering of a gun, the crack of a trigger. Deafening silence with the exception of anguished cries coming from Joshua’s mother. Stony walls built around breaking hearts as the Jews in the truck steeled themselves against what was to come.

Auschwitz, and the promise of terror and horrible acts ahead. The truck pulled away, the dust of the road mingling with the blood of Joshua, and the dashed hopes of the Jewish people.

One body in the road.