[ WP ] Everyone starts staring at you , when you ask them why , they deny ever staring .

Each day a thousand sunken eyes fall upon my face. They know the things I've done, yet when I look back into their eyes I can not see a single word of their story, only that they are tales of despair and loss. 
 
 I convince myself they can not understand the things I've seen, the atrocities committed nor the reasons behind them. I do them because the ends justify the means. I am neither proud nor ashamed. 
 
 Their eyes lie in rows in the darkness of ramshackle huts, peering out from under filthy blankets, through the window glass laminated with frost. They think I do not sense them, but I do. 
 
 Their dry eyes sit so far back into the skull and barely take anything in. I wonder if they are looking at me but I persuade myself if they are looking through me and past the barbed wire and watchtowers to the wooded countryside beyond. 
 
 They have run out of tears. They barely blink, sunken eyelids that barely keep out the ashes of those they once cherished that swirl through the dry, frozen air. 
 
 Even after degradation to such a primitive state they are always looking, taking details in. Will they remember this when they see Him? Is that why they look? To take in the last vestiges of an unforgiving world that has no place for them? 
 
 It's May, another batch are whipped and beaten and chased into a line, children cling to mothers. All stand shivering. It is n't very cold. As they are lead to the chambers I challenge one of the old men, `` why do you stare? What do you see?''. His eyes are on mine but there is nothing behind them; no soul, no hope, no light. They were lost years ago. 
 
 Years later, as I stare down the barrel of a rifle, I asked the same question to myself and was given the same answer the old man gave me. 
 
 `` Even when you think that all hope is gone and lost, you must keep your eyes open to find the light and good''. 
 
 I closed my eyes.
