A caterpillar sneaks into a gate. It looks around and sees empty barracks.
It is there for the next phase in its life.
It really is something magical, a miracle of nature—from hairy caterpillar to chrysalis to butterfly.
The butterfly emerges, it has been more than two years since it was a caterpillar.
It flies around and sees so many people in the barracks. They are divided into groups, all wearing different markings. Not like the beautiful markings on its wings.
There is neither happiness nor is there beauty here.
People are being hurt, by other people in uniforms. Why? The butterfly does not know.
It flies on and sees another camp in the distance. Train tracks lead to it.
The butterfly is curious and flies towards the camp.
Men in uniforms again, on something that looks like a platform. They scream to the people in lines to the left and to the right.
One line is elderly people, young mothers, and babies. The uniforms tell them to walk towards a building, and the butterfly follows them.
It sees them enter the building and take off their clothes. It is a strange side, the bodies of people who clearly do not feel comfortable with it. Why? Again, the butterfly doesn’t know.
The people enter a second chamber, the doors close, for a second eerie silence, and then screams, the sounds of agony. Then the silence again.
The people go into the building, the doors close, for a second eerie silence, and then screams, the sounds of agony. Then the silence again.
The butterfly decides to hover around a bit, its curiosity gets the better of it— it wants to know what will follow.
Another group of people arrive a much smaller group. Men with carts approach the building. The doors open.
The butterfly no longer sees naked people—but corpses. Their hair was now cut, and some shiny teeth were pulled. It seems to be gold. The dead were placed onto the carts.
The men roll the carts to a place with a chimney.
Within a few minutes, smoke comes from the chimney—the smell is putrid.
Suddenly, the butterfly realizes—it is in hell. Quickly it flies away.
Reblogged this on History of Sorts.