Oradour
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Oradour - Empathic Writing I opened my stinging eyes. Trying not to break the harrowing silence, I cautiously shifted the heavy bundles of hay from on top of my body to the ground; the pressure from them, covering my body for two hours, was so immense I could scarcely move. My stomach bared an empty feeling, although I felt nauseous. After lifting the final stack of hay, I brushed the remains from my crumpled clothes, and stretched. I had heard no sound for years it seemed; however I peered at my watch, and it had only been three hours since I heard that scream, followed by a single gunshot, and footsteps leaving the barn. I could remember my feelings vividly; my heart throbbing so violently in my chest that I could hear nothing else, my clothing soaked in sweat, eyes shut tightly, praying that I would not be found. Looking around, I...

