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doing his job at Dachau
I dont support Nazism. Its just a historical interest.","writing":"Zyklon.\n\nFerdinand Vogel--1943\n\nHe watched, from the balcony of the tower, the sad numbers of wretches being led to the back buildings. Pitiful were they so easily given an escape. Behind the glasses that rested low upon the bridge of his nose, his scrutinizing eyes watched each and every one of those /things/ walk onwards. Oh, how he wished that he could do more about these parasites, they needed to be eliminated, but some of them could still prove useful to him before they were disposed of. Sometimes pure luck did not choose wisely among these insects. As he looked on, he could see some of the ones that had been trouble makers, ones that he had dealt with himself. \n\nThe tall one right there or\n\nThat man or\n\nThe one that had the scar on his cheek or\n\nThose two over there.\n\nHow he hated them. He hated each and every one of them. Heathens and villains they all were. They deserved to die. He felt no remorse. With an agitated twitch of his head, he pushed the glasses up his face with a crooked forefinger, broken by some past happening to him. If anything, he would blame his forever bent fingers upon those he now watched too. His brooding thoughts were broken when the words of one of his men came through to him. \n\n“Sir?”\n\n“Yes?” he snapped.\n\n“Would you come give the final order?”\n\nA smile creased his lips, “Honored, Lieutenant.” \n\nHe walked with purpose to the back buildings. Already the putrid stench that was ever so common to him, ever etched upon his mind, came to meet his nose. How he relished it. This was his epitome; he wallowed in every precious moment of it. Already the gray drifts of ash were starting to fall upon his uniform. He brushed this off with disdain and loathing for he did not want to be contaminated by its presence upon his pristine clothing that still clung, starched and pressed, to his body in odd places. This did not bother him though. It was rigid, and he liked rigid.\n\n“Orders, Sir?”\n\nHe glanced through the slightly smudged glass of his spectacles. He looked down upon each and every one of them. There was fear in the hollow eyes that were fixated upon him and he sapped at this singular emotion like a greedy animal. A flash of his blue eyes: “Proceed.” The tension in the air snapped like a cord and with the recoiled energy, he merely stepped back. Instantly, the formation was moved once again: crowded and shoved into the back buildings.\n\nHe wore a smile on his face.\n\nIt was like spraying a pesticide upon an infected plant in order to save the crop. It was simple as opening a hatch and pouring in the toxic fumes. \n\nThey would die. But he would live. \n\nUnlike to them, the chemical was like a drug to him, some that ensnared his senses and drew his attention to one focused point. The thought of it made him feel empowered. It did not kill him like it did them, in fact it did just the opposite, and it invigorated him, the sweet nectar of his labors. He loved it, this was his epitome and he adored it with the lopsided smirk plastered upon his face as he watched them all slowly disappear. He could imagine it, just like the aphids falling off the plants they would all fall and die. This was simple really. Like killing a troublesome fly, he was used to that for he would so often pass the lonely time as a child catching the annoying insects and watching them suffocate in the jar he kept them in. He did not understand why that happened when he was young. But he did understand it now. \n\nWhen the spectacle was over, he turned on his heel and departed. He inhaled deeply as he walked back to the cloister of his officer. This was his element and he relished every moment of it. He did not need to look back to know that the fires were already bellowing forth their heat and filling the sky with gray smoke...\n\nWith Human Smoke.\n\n","writing_bbcode_parsed":"Zyklon.
Ferdinand Vogel--1943
He watched, from the balcony of the tower, the sad numbers of wretches being led to the back buildings. Pitiful were they so easily given an escape. Behind the glasses that rested low upon the bridge of his nose, his scrutinizing eyes watched each and every one of those /things/ walk onwards. Oh, how he wished that he could do more about these parasites, they needed to be eliminated, but some of them could still prove useful to him before they were disposed of. Sometimes pure luck did not choose wisely among these insects. As he looked on, he could see some of the ones that had been trouble makers, ones that he had dealt with himself.
The tall one right there or
That man or
The one that had the scar on his cheek or
Those two over there.
How he hated them. He hated each and every one of them. Heathens and villains they all were. They deserved to die. He felt no remorse. With an agitated twitch of his head, he pushed the glasses up his face with a crooked forefinger, broken by some past happening to him. If anything, he would blame his forever bent fingers upon those he now watched too. His brooding thoughts were broken when the words of one of his men came through to him.
“Sir?”
“Yes?” he snapped.
“Would you come give the final order?”
A smile creased his lips, “Honored, Lieutenant.”
He walked with purpose to the back buildings. Already the putrid stench that was ever so common to him, ever etched upon his mind, came to meet his nose. How he relished it. This was his epitome; he wallowed in every precious moment of it. Already the gray drifts of ash were starting to fall upon his uniform. He brushed this off with disdain and loathing for he did not want to be contaminated by its presence upon his pristine clothing that still clung, starched and pressed, to his body in odd places. This did not bother him though. It was rigid, and he liked rigid.
“Orders, Sir?”
He glanced through the slightly smudged glass of his spectacles. He looked down upon each and every one of them. There was fear in the hollow eyes that were fixated upon him and he sapped at this singular emotion like a greedy animal. A flash of his blue eyes: “Proceed.” The tension in the air snapped like a cord and with the recoiled energy, he merely stepped back. Instantly, the formation was moved once again: crowded and shoved into the back buildings.
He wore a smile on his face.
It was like spraying a pesticide upon an infected plant in order to save the crop. It was simple as opening a hatch and pouring in the toxic fumes.
They would die. But he would live.
Unlike to them, the chemical was like a drug to him, some that ensnared his senses and drew his attention to one focused point. The thought of it made him feel empowered. It did not kill him like it did them, in fact it did just the opposite, and it invigorated him, the sweet nectar of his labors. He loved it, this was his epitome and he adored it with the lopsided smirk plastered upon his face as he watched them all slowly disappear. He could imagine it, just like the aphids falling off the plants they would all fall and die. This was simple really. Like killing a troublesome fly, he was used to that for he would so often pass the lonely time as a child catching the annoying insects and watching them suffocate in the jar he kept them in. He did not understand why that happened when he was young. But he did understand it now.
When the spectacle was over, he turned on his heel and departed. He inhaled deeply as he walked back to the cloister of his officer. This was his element and he relished every moment of it. He did not need to look back to know that the fires were already bellowing forth their heat and filling the sky with gray smoke...
With Human Smoke.
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