The Camp by Sara

I didn’t know when the murders happened. All I remembered were the papers reporting it a week later, and saying that five more towns had achieved their goal. I vaguely remember seeing the sign at the train stations going by one by one. I was on the train looking out the small hole that they called a window. Around me stood a bunch of other people in the same situation as me.  But inside I felt alone. My parents were among the many murdered. My uncle had told me that right before he left. He gave me a hug and a kiss and was gone. He wasn’t like me. He was safe. I was finally taken out of my thoughts, because the lush green hills of what I thought was my country were replaced by bland gray and brown buildings.  We are here.  The camp.