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When we were tourists at Auschwitz we walked in line, silent. Words were unthinkable, irreverent, could not conceivably contain the enormity of such evil and pain. It appeared true that no birds sang.

One trailing member of our group munched biscuits, carelessly, from a package, the sound an obscenity in the circumstances. He was young and dressed too casually.

But afterwards that day, in a small cafe, we ate ice cream. Gaunt images still filed ceaselessly through our minds like ghosts and we couldn’t bear to speak. But we craved some small normality and comfort.

 

 

 

Elizabeth Graham was a librarian in public and school libraries. She is new to writing and is pleased to have had work published by adhocfiction.com and FlashFlood on National Flash Fiction Day 2016. She lives in Northern Ireland.

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