Aviva
She sat there in the cubicle, with eyes closed trying to drown out the cries of tortured souls that still rang in her ears and the pungent odor of billows of smoke that screened the crimson haze of gray vision that numbed her senses as she tried to forget the painful reminder of Dachau, now reduced to a neurotic museum of tears. In her mind, where footsteps are stationary and the labored sound of hoarse breathing echoed in the silent passageways, the faded pictures breezed through her memory. Their voices were now silent and the curtains drawn to hide the reflections in the mirror of her eyes that belied the mourning of her heart. # photo credit: dachauscrapbook