The Vow

This won't make much sense until you read the whole book, but when it is finished I promise it will. For anyone curious though, here is the prologue to the Holocaust novel I am starting to slowly write. The title of the prologue is "The Vow". Not sure of a book title yet. 

I didn’t cry. I couldn’t. My will to live wouldn’t allow it.

 I could still smell the gunpowder, like a mixture of iron and rust, its stank scent burning a hole straight through me. The wound in his chest was open, gaping; his dark blood gathered around him like a cloak, wrapping him in welcomed death. I mourned for him. I envied him. I vowed never to be like him. The gun cocked again loudly and the boy’s sister began to cry. Her mother reached to muffle the deafening sound, but it was futile. The barrel of the gun pressed firmly against the little girl’s forehead in a world where all was gray. It sounded in quick repetition—one shot and then another. There was fear. Anger. Despair. Numbness.

It had begun.

The bright red color of the patch on his arm blazed like a fire in the depth of the night. It was three a.m. The hanging temperature gauge read twenty four degrees and I was naked. Their lifeless bodies lay before me, crumpled, tiny, alone. They were only four years old.

I vowed to never cry again.