flashquake Fiction - The Sorting Camp by Roger Paris

flashquake
The Sorting Camp
by Roger Paris

The Germans call this a Ghetto, but Theresienstadt was built by Joseph II as a fortress to protect Praha. A university professor of history must know these things. The fort design is on the French terraced plan. This section, at the base of the hill, was originally the barracks for troops. Later it was a prison. Gavrilo Princip, the Bosnian-Serb who assassinated Archduke Franz Ferdinand and started the first great war, died here of tuberculosis of the bone 25 years ago. There are no trees, no grass and the dust billows with the slightest breeze. The dirty clouds carry the stench of death and decay.

Even that is better than the room they keep us in at night. It was built to accommodate six soldiers. Now, there are at least sixty of us in there. In the summer, the body heat makes the thick stone walls sweat, but the stone is naturally cool and the wetness offers some relief from the heat. Breathing is difficult. Smells layer the heavy air--perspiration, urine, feces, and vomit.

In the blackness of night, no light penetrates the boards that shutter the small window high on the wall. I take my bearings from the intensity of the odor emanating from the bucket near the door that they gave us for a toilet. I strain to see my roommates in the pitch, but can make out only shadows. Coughs, sobs, moans, grumbling stomachs and the occasional snore help to place them in the void.

My lips are cracked with thirst and burn from the salt in my sweat. I know that the dizziness that plagues me is a combination of fatigue, heat and a loss of salt. I will save my tears for later.