I recently read Elie Wiesel's Night, his account of surviving interment at Auschwitz in 1944. It was a haunting book, brutally honest, and a heart-wrenching telling of some of the most horrifying experiences imaginable.
The story started off with Elie and his family living in Hungary, being moved first to a Jewish ghetto and then taken to Auschwitz, separated from his mother and sisters and going with his father to the men's camp. He tells of the death of his god, how the atrocities he witnessed destroyed his faith, and also how ashamed he was as he began to resent having to care for his increasingly helpless father - so much so that, when his father lay dying and calls for his son, Elie can't go to him.
It was a hard read, at times, and forces sincere reflection on one's own morals, and it makes me wonder how I would have faced the test that he went through.
I guess that's all I have to say on it for now. It is still very near to my mind and hard to process. I can read about it, but the things it depicts are so far from my reality, my imagination can never do it justice.
Books: Reading Deathbird Stories by Harlan Ellison.
Bottles: Nothing lately, though something soon...
Guitar: "Fat Old Sun," Sors' Study in B Minor.
Writing: Haven't written much this last week, work has been crazy. Read my friend's second draft of her novel, which is awesome (I am jealous of how great it is - no lie).