A sober reminder to those of us in the comfort zone, what life is like for others.
"Only a handful of men - no more than 15 - survived ... one of them was Mevludin Oric, wan and thin, whom I met in a scrappy flat in Sarajevo. First, his truckload was taken to a gym, where "it was so hot, people were fainting. They gave us water, but we fought over it so that it spilled, and men were licking it off the floor". Then, "they took us to a field", he recalls, "and when they stopped the trucks and said 'Line up!' I knew what was coming. I could see bodies in the field. They were cocking their guns. I took my nephew Haris by the hand. He asked, 'Are they going to kill us?' I said no, then they started shooting. Haris took the bullet and we both fell. Nothing hit me. I just threw myself on the ground. My nephew shook, and died on top of me."
Mevludin remained lying, face-down. "I could hear crying and pleading, but they kept on shooting. It went on all day, until the killers became tired and drunk, still shooting by the light of the bulldozers. Finally, they turned off the lights. I started to move a little. I got my nephew off me. I arose and saw a field full of bodies, everywhere, as far as I could see. And I cried, I could not stop myself."
Sounds like holocaust accounts I've read of WWII. Unfortunately, 1995. A harrowing final paragraph.