It wasn't yet dawn when a buzz was heard all around: 'Attention, attention! Everybody hide!' They didn't have time. In the dark you couldn't see very well. 'Blockade!' they were shouting. 'Blockade! We are surrounded everywhere!' The women were getting out, they hurled themselves over their thresholds. Children were wrenched from their fathers. Men were dragged by the feet and the hair. In the dark you could hear a groan, you couldn't see the face. The men all woke up kneeling. Until the sun broke, then the mask came. A black cloth covered its head, only the eyes were discernible and it was pointing a finger. [...] The mask was pointing a finger and proceeding. They had set up machine-guns and the bursts riddled them. Blood flowed. Those who were left were put in the middle, and like the sun that was pacing through the sky they were forced westwards. Nobody ever saw them again, they passed over many frontiers, they vanished into Europe, into the camps. Mothers ran along behind, and a couple that escaped ran to hide in skirts and jars, never to be found again.
(M. Axioti, Eikostos Aionas, Athens, Kedros, 1982, pp. 123-124)
By now death was wandering around in a yellow mask, men could feel it dogging their steps and wouldn't look back, fear meant guilt. Enemies had reached the point where they could only survive by killing. On 1 May 1944 they took two hundred from the camp of Chaidari and killed them in a row at the Shooting Ground of Kaisariani. They loaded the corpses, still warm, onto trucks and paraded them through the settlement. The blood flowed like a river wherever they passed, and the people shut their windows, they couldn't bear to look. Some of those shot were still breathing.
(A. Panselinos, Tote pou zousame, Athens, Kedros 1984, p. 383)