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They are not the numbers they used to be, they are well loved stuffed animals, worn out shoes, clothes with dirt marks, shiney barrets, laughing and screaming shreiks of joy.It is all I can think of now.A girl being dragged away for being born who she is.Crying for her parents, having no strength to struggle.And her doll, plaid dress and smudged marker smile and button eyes is left behind.The only sign that a being ever lived in that desolate and deppressing place.Countless little boys and girls, slaughtered and their bodies thrown together with no moment of reverance, no tears.For those who would of cried, are erased.