28 Jun

      Am I the only one who knows, who really knows what’s going to happen to us? A glance to the seat across from me reveals that I can’t be. They have the right idea.
      The man is tearing the girls clothes off. She’s looks about fifteen, and he’s probably older than me, but the girl seems almost oblivious. She must know. She’s got the right idea, there are some attractive people on this bus, and we might as well all get naked and do what we do. It’s the last time. I’m sitting alone, of course. This is not funny.
      The girl is completely naked now, and really dirty. She hasn’t washed in days. Her face is vacant. The man shoves his hand in between her legs, and up into her body. He’s enjoying it far more than she is. She doesn’t mind. Nobody else on the bus is saying anything. Maybe they’re all just playing along like I am, hoping that something so horrible can’t be true. We really are just going to camp, that’s what it is.
      Or maybe they really don’t know. Am I really the only one who knows? The bus turns onto a thin paved road. There is no other traffic. Nobody looks scared. Some of them even look happy. Oh joy! Camp! This is horrific. The girl is starting to crack a smile now. She has small breasts. Her skin is the color of an old plastic doll found in the basement of a burned down house. The man continues feeling around her crotch as she stands there. He looks positively gleeful. He’s the only one.
      The bus pulls into a circular driveway in front of a tall rectangular brick building. It looks like a hotel, but dirtier. An abandoned hotel perhaps. Maybe they really are taking us to camp? Why take us to a hotel? The bus stops, and the driver gets out. He doesn’t look at any of us. The door opens and everyone stands. The man pushes the girl out first.
      Standing straight and in uniform, the Official who greets us looks at the naked body of this dirty fifteen year old girl. He points into the main entrance behind him, telling an officer to get her cleaned up. The man who failed miserably at giving her an orgasm is next in line. The Official points him to the same door, but I notice he is led in a different direction. Why split us up? What difference does it make to do it in separate rooms?
      I’m up next, so I grab my briefcase, I didn’t even realize I had one until now, but I grab my briefcase and step down out of the bus and smile at the Official. “Hello.”
      “I see. A polite one. You want to help.” It wasn’t really a question, it was as if he’d asked me, I’d said yes, and he’d repeated my answer. He sounded almost proud. “Second door over that way.” He pointed to his left. I went there, and debated going in the cleaner of the two doors labeled “Staff Only.” An officer assured me that he meant the other door. I’m sure he did.
      I go inside. I’ve never been so terrified, but me telling you is the only way you’d ever know. It is perhaps a store room, or used to be. A young officer, holding a rifle, greets me. “Hello.”
      It’s interesting, when you know it’s the end, and it’s completely inevitable, fear just becomes a kind of warmth. “Please stand over there.” He points to a square of wood on the floor, next to a rectangular backdrop leaned against the wall. Sort of like the set up they have for elementary school pictures. I stand up against the wall, and stare at the officer as he raises the rifle and points it at my head. We should have had an orgy on that bus. This is where I’m going to die.
      He lowers the rifle. “I can’t do it.” He’s trying not to cry. “I’m only eleven.” I decide not to argue with him, even though he’s clearly older than eleven. Don’t laugh at that! This isn’t a funny moment. He’s too young. He can’t shoot somebody for no apparent reason. He’s too weak. Or too strong. Whatever. He raises the rifle again. I reach over to a nearby counter, grab a rifle, and point it at his head. It feels light. I’ve never picked up a gun before. I hope all you do is pull the trigger.
      For a moment we stand there, wondering who is going to shoot first. He doesn’t look scared. He looks too weak to be scared. He’s so scared he’s weak.
      His rifle moves a bit. Is he pulling the trigger? He’s pulling the trigger. I pull the trigger. It’s harder to pull than I thought. He drops his gun.
      Nothing happens. My gun wasn’t loaded. “I can’t do it.” He says again.
      I rush over, pick up his rifle, and lay it on the counter. He goes over to some shelves on the wall and gets some bullets. We’ve had this long extensive conversation without saying anything. There’s only one thing to do here, we’ve decided. We have to fight back. I know that everyone on that bus was greeted, in one room or another, with the same reception as I. Except they’re dead now. Someone else from the bus enters the room. I guess there were more riders than execution rooms. The rider smiles recognition at me. “Something wrong with your gun?” He doesn’t know! He really doesn’t know! He thinks we’re in here fixing this gun! We explain to him that he is supposed to be shot dead with no reason given, but that we’re rebelling instead. He’s all for it. Don’t laugh at that. That wasn’t supposed to be funny either. This is serious shit.
      Unfortunately ( if you want more…), that’s about all of it that I remember. Probably shortly after that I woke up. I know, I know, I hate to pull that lame-ass “but it was all a dream” ending, but it’s true. That was my holocaust dream. But it was a modern day holocaust. It was last night, actually. I had some disturbing dreams last night. But this is the only one I remember. Don’t know why I felt compelled to share it with you all. And now that I’m going to bed again, I hope I have happier dreams. That is all.


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