You're probably wondering if I'm sane right now, Jimson. I can assure you, I am.
Circumstances can break a person. That's all they ever do. You could argue they make people too, but they don't.
They simply are the catalyst, and we are the intended reaction.
People make themselves with whatever they have.
Forced or not, our choices always become part of who we are.
I just learnt that much myself.
Being here has made me think a lot about this word 'choice'. About my justifications in this world. I know they're different, but what is this difference actually mean.
No matter how uncomfortable it is I find it, I always come to the same selfish conclusion: only I can justify my actions here. So I won't try to explain them to you any further.
You can sit there and watch if you want. And when my life is done, only then do I wish for you to decide whether what I did was right or not.
That'll be your morality.
So listen closely as I administer mine.
Find out just what it is I will be sacrificing for your promise.
I pull from the shoulder, and then the arm follows. My forearm remains stiff and bruised, gripping on a tangled knot of hair. Yes, our life depend on it. That's what I've been told.
Watch my elbow buckle, dragging this body across the open field.
Acknowledge my struggle as I hunch forward. Feel my every step. Not lifting, not pushing, but dragging—scraping across this peppered field of sharpened rocks.
With each stride, hips twist and spine arches. Do you feel that constant tingling at the balls of your feet? That insistent but inflamed pressure you barely recognise, hiding beneath all the pus?
My toes carry stones unturned; nails folding upward, clutching spades of sweated dirt.
Listen for my rhythm.
Listen as every second step of mine is led by my right foot, hear every heave as it is precisely timed, tearing the weight a little farther forward; all to keep this momentum alive.
This is for you and your son, Jim. So I hope you can relate to these actions of mine.
Understand why it is my abs clench, why it is my hips stay locked in total agony, why I don't allow my kneecaps to burst from their misaligned sockets.
Steadfast.
I hold my line, the legs hold theirs. Mounted parallel, parked at a perfect perpendicular, I step forth.
Taste the bitterness of my blood as it dries across your face. That same colour as your weary, sunken eyes.
Brush away that bleach of hair, as it covers your crooked brow.
Shave away that oily sweat as it slides down your strands of hair.
Over and over, I repeat this cyclical positioning. Step by straining step... Until,
I arrive.
Purgatory.
Even the dead remain quiet here.
I drop my sack.
A crack, then some groans.
The half-naked parched man slowly picks himself back up and dunks his head into the running stream.
He gulps up what he can, like it will replace his blood lost.
Water from the black river; sticks and other sediments all tangle around his balding head of hear.
Once absorbing his fill, he again cowers beneath the coarse weave draped across his face, curling onto his back, resting like a starving child.
"You don't have to pretend anymore Todd, I know who you are."
At these words his demeanor shifts. He holds himself upright but still remains pathetic.
That once-stout, spineless frame I remember stiffens into hardened stone.
His neck turns, facing toward my interrogating voice.
He was strangely tenacious for a normal man, but to think the note was right…
I hoped otherwise, but, the more he spoke the more questions I had.
Is this my fortune? Or my blunder?
Either way I have to capitalise on this and break him completely, and do it without spilling any more blood.
"If God wills it, then all will be."
"If God wills it, then all will be."
"If God wills it, then all will be."
Oh he can still speak. My fortune.
He repeats this prayer, each recitation growing louder than the last. Practiced, pious, precise—his heart beats faith and blood even in this precarious state.
This might be easier than I thought. 'The loudest spark is often before the bang'.
I'll have to indulge him a moment longer even if it breaks me;
I stand in the cold, the wind, as it cuts through the clearing.
Insects rise again, bowing to perform their orchestral cries as they sing fervently about tales of lament.
Not many people appreciate you little guys, but I always will. True silence remains a true horror, after all.
I squat down, leaning in front of the ragged man and place a hand lightly on his shoulder.
"I must apologise about the water. I didn't realise you were so thirsty. Please forgive my oversight."
I dip my fingers into the drink and I bring the water to my lips.
The moment it touches some tongue, my eyes roll back to swallow, analysing its earthy texture.
It has an interesting mineral tang to it. Superior to the wet-dog I sampled earlier.
It is... acceptable.
Looking down at his body again, I shake my head.
If only you had been more cooperative from the start.
"I must also apologise again for my insufficient strength to handle you comfortably in the transportation process. That too, was the cost of a rash decision. Please forgive me."
I look, but he doesn't respond.
I respect that though. Silence has its own meaning.So I'll speak for him.
"I always found water to be fascinating," I murmur, looking at him. "How it travels, how it sustains, how it's always sought after. It is simple, generous, and very very patient, unlike some of the others I have met before."
My eyes narrow down on him.
"Have you ever stared at a river," I continue softly, "and wondered how it found its path of flow to follow?"
"God created the heavens and the earth," he responds. "First line of the holy fable."
Speech, at last.
I squeeze his shoulder.
The river, the wind, the insects all get to witness this quiet exchange. I do not push, I do not demand. I simply watch, and then I wait.
"I'm afraid I must disagree."
"That's…" He cowers even further for a moment inside himself looking for an answer.
Then suddenly, he yells,
"That's Sacrilege Heathen!"
It tugs against the rope with all its force, legs scuttling himself away.
Hu. He. Hu. he. hu. he.
His breath sucks in through the bag placed over his head and he scuttles away.
I gave him too much hope of escape, was my kindness a mistake?
Thump.
His ankle strains against the hitch knot, falling over in the distance.
"Will you at least listen to hear my reasons why, before running away again?" I reposition myself, standing over to where he's fallen.
"I suppose; I have no choice in this matter do I?" His face groans as it eats its dirt.
"I do not completely discount the idea of the lord and him creating the world, yes. Truth be told, I'm completely unsure.
But I refuse to believe he still maintains this world, loves it, and cares for it. If the Lord gave us free will, then didn't he give the land that same very freedom, why are we special?"
"The land? It can't think. It wasn't made in 'His' image either; have you not read the holy texts? How can anyone not know this?"
"The hubris, how does the land not remember, you say? Every cavern holds a secret. Every wave tells a story about the world's inner workings and the past it endured. You are simply the fool that doesn't listen. Asserting your authority because you are the strongest."
"..."
"Answer me this then: why does water always run in a divot, even one made from stone?"
"Because; God created it like that."
Tsk, tsk, tsk.
At least engage with my question.
"Weathering," I whisper.
"Water is not weightless; it only pretends to be. Bit by bit, drop by drop, it endures—carving away the indestructible until even mountains crumble. Just like our faith Todd, you attribute everything to God and that removes the purpose of which we are supposed to find."
I blow softly down his neck. Sweat trickles down too.
"You felt that, didn't you? Even though nothing solid was there. Is this my miracle or gods?"
I blow again; closer this time, into his ear canal.
"In my past, people passed down a story. In this story was a proposed a method of torture, so painful that only God himself could administer such punishment. If not, the executor of the action would be stricken down by heavenly smite."
He gulps.
"This method, of course, is only spoken in demon scripture so it wouldn't be available to the public eye."
"That's utter nonsense." he deflects.
"They titled it..." I continue my deception as if I were a fanatic.
"'Death by a thousand cuts'," I deepen my voice, articulating the significance of these words.
"You are lucky to be blessed by my wisdom, a reverend rank or higher is required to have access to such disclosed information." I hold his leg down again as he tries to escape.
"Listen when I speak, please, this will only take a moment. You see, this idea always made me ponder two things. One, how could the Lord's ire be terrifying if it always came from a place of love; and two, this death by a thousand cuts never seemed enough to me. Well, that's just a remark, I suppose. Forgive my idle musing.
However, it just doesn't make any sense. A mere thousand? That's only ten hundreds. Hardly worth boasting about, what do you think?"
"You're talking nonsense. Now let me go or else my family will turn you dead."
"What truly terrifies me" I click my discordant rhythm of song near his ears "is the evisceration of life by ten million brushes."
"Soft." Click.
"Slow." Clack.
"Sluggish." Click.
"The kind that strips you not in pain, but whisks your identity away in prolonged patience." Clack.
"Skin, muscle, ligaments, bone… even marrow, all can be washed away by the evening tide."
I lean closer.
"Like you were nothing but a small inconvenience."
"..."
Clap.
"No—the Lord won't allow this to happen to me. I am a faithful servant of the holy prophet, this mere camp is nothing to me, You are nothing!" He opens his hands, wrists pulling against each other, facing upward to the black sky.
"I don't really care about that other stuff you just mentioned, just please tell me this one thing I requested earlier, what did you do with the body?"
"Oh how unenlightened you all are don't you see, you are all sacrifices to the great one, you cannot even fathom it."
I don't like beating him up, it hurts my hand, and my heart. I need a new approach.
"You are strangely resistant to cooperation," I muse. "I admire how completely you misunderstand your situation, but please, just be honest with me. I beg of you."
He swallows the insult like a trained man, his pride sharpening a tempered resolve. "And betray my beliefs. NEVER. A lowly one would never understand."
Now I notice it: his words drip with intolerance, strangely similar to those arrogant plague-doctors. No normal man talks with such self assurance. He must have a background using his family as a threat..
An agent of the sky palace, that much could be possible. And if so, the body...
Was it really those two then? Are they all in cohorts?
They would not need to report their movements. The files never mentioned them either. It all fits. Everything was staring right at me, I was just too stupid to put it together.
The note was right, I need to be better.
Dedicated Plague-doctor's, what a farce.
Placing my hand in my pocket, I look down for a second noticing my dirtied robe.
This can work.
My smile darkens. I wait a couple of seconds letting his arrogance dry-out in the air, then I play my final move.
Checkmate.
I remove the veil of concealing cloth from his eyes.
The mossy-glass of caged light glares behind; my burrowed robe blooms into priestly radiance. I stand before him, my form finally revealed, his face can only pale at my glorious witness.
"Impossible, you can only wear such robes in the holy house. Unless…"
"Foolish primate," Interrupting him, I conduct my sermon. "Everywhere I walk is church. The world is in God's house, and I was sent to tend his flock." My smile narrows. "Yesterday we found two of our finest, dead. Torn up and mangled. The prophet himself demanded I find out why.
So I will ask again, Todd… Where… is… my… body?"
"The prophet, himself." His lip quivers, he sputters out words. "But sir, that wasn't my mission!"
"Don't deceive me, my investigation tells me otherwise. Why are our men deceased, where is the body, who took it from us."
"I don't know! Jiord. He was in charge of that," his voice cracks.
"I already asked him, he said it was you." My voice booms, both my hands dig fingers into his temple.
His face turns a further shade of grey, leaning back he covers that spot with a stiff but taut laugh. "That damned mongrel. I would never betray the orders."
"I gave you the benefit of the doubt. Todd." I purr as I say his name. "But the lord's eyes are never closed."
Holding up the scrunched report from my pocket, I attract his his gaze.
"Look here, In this report, you admit to compromising our operation."
His lip trembles. "I swear I followed every order given."
"You doubt me?!"
"No, I—I would never."
Opening up the crinkled parchment in his face, my words paraphrase as I read. "A man and a woman digging up dirt during the time of night, you attacked them in a drunken state, we even found a bruise on her corpse."
I thrust the trash into his face.
"It all fits. You are the foil of our entire operation, drunkard."
I slap him hard.
It hurts.
"Now explain yourself!"
"That was all a misunderstanding. I wasn't told who the operatives would be. We guarded the body as instructed; they left with the body after the altercation happened, nothing else, I swear."
So there were at least four agents that night, this must be really important then. I must be careful henceforth. Who knows how many spies there really are.
His back straightens, head wobbling like a poorly built neck. "We did what we were told. I did what I was told. Isn't that enough?"
Tilting my head, I stare sideward.
"Living among these filthy pests has weakened your resolve."
I pause; my voice turns softer, more sinister tone.
"Truth is, we have been watching, testing your conviction. Earlier was a test too. The results were… disappointing." I pace before him, never facing his gaze.
"Your cover of being drunkenness became addiction. Your indulgence in womanly vices has made you weak. But we were convinced of your loyalty at least, always calculating, waiting to see if your true allegiances would ever shift." I stop my march, standing menacingly ahead of his form.
Turning to him, I speak bluntly.
"You failed us Todd!"
"It saddens me, truly, but we must remove thorns from our side, you must understand this much."
I let that sink a moment further.
"No please, wait, I never would betray the holy word." He cries out, reaching his hands up grabbing my robe.
"Then why did you write this report?" The folding sound is sharp as my hand runs past hitting the page, bludgeoning its already rough face.
"It was Jiord's instruction. Look, the code's right there, we made our report. Read the capitals for yourself: 'Body Handover Compete Waiting For Further Instructions.'" He squeals
I reread the report in my hand.
How did I miss this? What a primitive code. No, I can't worry; I must deal with the witness now. No one can ever learn of the actions of tonight, though I have never seen their cruelty firsthand, I can greatly guess the lengths of buried measurement they will dig for a grave.
I must do this,
"Insufficient… But perhaps not entirely lost."
My hand places onto his shoulder and I lift him up to up to stand before me.
I hug.
"All can be forgiven.
The great one accepts those who act, not those who speak. Prove your loyalty. One final act is all you need to resolve this indecent life; jump for the cause, into that corpse pile over there and speak Esmerald's great name."
Salt streams down tears as he collapses down soiling his knees; I release his shoulders.
"If that clears my name I would do anything for her benevolence."
His steps are pebbles. Slowly, they skim lightly across the ground, heading towards a pity's edge.
All to end himself.
Almost there.
Stopping one throw away, he looks back at me.
"I don't want to do this, I'm scared father, is this truly what you need from me?" He dribbles out leaning forward as if in deep prayer.
"Don't deceive yourself. This isn't punishment. No. This is a long-deserved reward. Only the guilty should fear death. Believers are always righteous, always willing to step forward for the words of 'self-sacrifice'."
"But I've sinned, you've said it yourself, I've drunken, I've fraternised with the lowly. My fellow transcendent brethren shall pity and mourn how I've lost my righteous ways. Do I deserve this salvation Father?"
"Every action has a motive, and that motive is always yours. Still your choice remains undecided. Do you believe in yourself? Do you deserve this reward by sending that suffering self of you, silently away? Everyone dies. Fact, not fiction. Will you give meaning to your death—or with it, be taken away?"
He falls to his fours as he crawls closer to his pity's edge.
Leaning over, he stares into the abyssal beneath.
Gently.
Forcefully.
My palm touches his shirtless back.
Then.
I push forward.
His resistance is only momentary before his body stumbles, flipping around in abated death—
Reaching back for me, he falls, eyes wide with confusion clear, he's mouthing words too small to hear.
A wedged stake flings past my ear,
His smile shrinks, then disappears.
Falling. His body bounces, no excitement as it hits the deathly pile.
Dead?
But not quite.
His head still weeps, though the body hangs loose—
Life will pass before a determined use.
Beside me I turn—some bodies lie limp,
Waiting for a hand, slowly they tip.
Down the hole they fumble and fall.
This brings me no joy. None at all.
I only hope he finds peace even when he's dead—
His life is due.
Let boredom be his kindness instead.
I turn away and wave my hand to bid adieu.
Folding the report within my robe, I walk back through the field of clove.