Heres the COMPLETED VERSION:
THEY burned her at the stake.
It’s still ingrained in my mind, that image of flames licking at her skirts, her hair, her face. It’s there, haunting me, and I want to forget, just forget, but oh
god I can’t. She’s everywhere, inescapable, inside me,
a part of me. When I close my eyes I see her terror. When I fall asleep I hear her screams. When I breathe I smell her burning flesh.
She was the first one.
Heretic, they called her. She didn’t believe, never did. Towards the end they had been tracking her, making sure she wore her cross and went to mass every day like a
good girl. Like it would’ve mattered. But in the end she still didn’t believe; they couldn’t have made her even had they pounded the psalms and scriptures into her head. So they killed her.
That was just the beginning.
Secretly, secretly I wonder: what is there left to believe in anymore? I look around and I see death and carnage and fires and burning, burning everywhere, the priests swearing reverence to God, and I think—
have they all gone mad? Is this truly God’s hand, this… this
hell? They tell me to just have faith, but I’m torn inside screaming
faith in what!? as the world destructs upon itself.
I only wonder if it’ll save itself in time.
My pa used to tell me stories, fantastic stories. Stories of a liberated society, of a world of intermingling faiths and beliefs. Stories of a time when artists painted their very souls, allowing their brushes to glide forth, unhindered, with truth and beauty. Stories of a time when scholars held infinite power in their pens, their voices heard through the words they crafted. Stories of a time long ago.
I merely laughed at him. “How could such a place have existed?” I said. “Were the people not corrupted by such frivolousness? Were their minds not twisted and evil by such temptations to Sin?”
My pa only shook his head. “Do not be fooled by the lies they tell you, my son,” he said. “The answers to life did not always begin with God. There was once a time when science reigned and the human mind thirsted for knowledge. People wanted to know
why something happened, and
how it did.”
“But that is blasphemous!” I said. “God is the Creator of all, the Ultimate Truth, the Almighty one. Surely you know this.”
He looked at me with such disappointment and pity, his all too discernible eyes piercing me like a sword. They were the eyes that time could not cloud; the eyes that shone with the bright clarity of truth and knowledge and wisdom of age. Yet he spoke of such absurdities!
He sighed heavily. “If only you had witnessed the age of science and technology, saw the things made possible; then you would not spurn it so. You would have been fascinated, enraptured, just as I had been as a youngling.”
I snorted. “I’m not you, father.”
“Ah, but how you would have loved it!” He insisted. “Had the science not enthralled, there would have been the books, the music, the
art!”
“All works of the devil,” I spat. “You speak with such fondness of the past, but you glorify nothing but sin and wickedness. Those sacrileges were destroyed long ago to remove such iniquity.”
“No,” he said grimly, shaking his head. “No. Your mind has been corrupted by the Church, and so you are blinded by your own ignorance. You do no—”
“It is you who is corrupted, father!” I cried. “How dare you blame the Church?”
“Open your eyes!” He replied in zest. “The Church is destroying this country with their so called “quest for faith”, trailing blood and tears in their wake. They’ve wormed their way into government, shamelessly using their influence to raze this country of its dignity by bending old laws and traditions for their own advantage. Do you not see? There is no longer a separation of state and church; it is
just the Church! They control this country, just as they control you!”
I reeled back, thrown off by his words. “You are mistaken,” I whispered.
“Then how do you explain the deaths? The thousands who have been tortured or killed because of their own beliefs?” He hissed. “The Church murders whomever they please. The atheists, the homosexuals, the pro-choice advocates, the dissidents, the—”
“Stop!” I cried, covering my ears. “Speak no more of it! Just stop, stop!
He laughed bitterly. “It’s too late.”
