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They
took us from Hüsenig, to Mezre, to Kharpert to
Malatia and then, after a couple of days walk, to
the shores of the Euphrates River. It was around
noon when we got there and we camped. For a while,
we were left alone. Sometime later, Turkish
gendarmes came over and grabbed all the boys from 5
to 10 years old. I was about 7 or 8. They grabbed me
too. They threw us all into a pile on the sandy
beach and started jabbing us with their swords and
bayonets. I must've been in the center because only
one sword got me… nipped my cheek… here, my cheek.
But, I couldn't cry. I was covered with blood from
the other bodies on top of me, but I couldn't cry.
If had, I would not be here today.
When it was getting dark,
my grandmother found me. She picked me up and
consoled me. It hurt so much. I was crying and she
put me on her shoulder and walked around.
Then, some of the other
parents came looking for their children. They mostly
found dead bodies. The river bank there was very
sandy. Some of them dug graves with their bare
hands—shallow graves—and tried to bury their
children in them. Others, just pushed them into the
river, they pushed them into the Euphrates. Their
little bodies floated away.
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