Biay Kruk 41215

'Filled with dread and drained of all energy, we trudge across the soggy clay soil. We have reached our new graves, as we refer to our new homes. Before we have dragged ourselves to our new places. Before we have barely had a chance to snatch a breath of air, several of us have been clubbed over the head. Blood has already flowek from cut heads or battered faces. This is the houcewarming for the new arrivals. We`re all in a state of shock as we look around at the place they`ve brought us to. They immediately inform us that this is a taste of life in the camp. Iron discipline prevails here. We are in a death camp. It is an island where nothing lives. People are not here to live. They are here to find their death, sooner or later. There is no room for life here. This is the residence of death...'