Concentration Camp

It’s Not the Kind of Camp you go to Over the Summer. It’s not the kind of camp you go to when you want to get away from your parents. It’s not a camp you go to when you get a scrape, the nurse fixes it for you. It’s not a camp you go to, to ride horses. It’s not a camp you go to play tennis. It’s not a camp you go to, to learn to read. It’s not a camp you go to have fun. It’s a Concentration Camp. Children were separated from their parents. When you got a scrape…they shot you. You got trampled by horses. You saw people playing tennis. You learned to shut up and work as hard as you could. You could never have fun in this camp…you could only suffer. It’s Always a Camp You’ll Remember. You look upon it all and you think…how could anyone be so cruel. How could anyone sit there and watch their parents get killed…and stand there waiting for your turn. How could you sit there knowing you were going to die…knowing your family was dead…knowing that if someone didn’t do something…it would keep happening until they were all gone. How Could you not do Anything? This is something we can never forget. We can never let this happen again. Always live by your morals and speak out against what is wrong…because if you do, not one person will ever get hurt like this again. Make it so the word “camp” doesn’t strike  fear in any person you say it to.Help me out... Written September 30th, 2001 © on Sep 30 2001 07:54 AM PST   0 • 1