I slowly move closer to the skeleton on the bed...it seems to be holding a book of some sorts. I wrench the book free, the fingers have actually dug into the covers and I image the last moments of this poor person. To my despair the book crumbles in my hands! I try to keep the book together but only one page survives. I sit down on a nearby chair and I start reading the faded page, struggling to read the cursive writing:
"Forgive me, there are no words to express my sorrow at what I had to do. I had to close the doors, you were already lost. They never warned us...the gas...the sickening gas...it came from nowhere! Just my ironic luck I was closest to the shelter. The door closed too quickly when you rushed to get inside and my leg was caught and severed, I cannot stop the bleeding, the artery is severed and I know I will die here today. If anybody finds this journal, you must stop it, so many more will die if you don't. If you find me in heaven, please forgive me."
11 January 1962
John Henry Moore Jnr.
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