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 justification. 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. But my forearm remains stiff and bruised, gripping this tangled knot of hair. Yes, our life depend on it.
Watch my elbow buckle, dragging this body across the open field.
Acknowledge my struggle as I hunch forward. Feel every step — not lifting, not pushing, but dragging — scraping across this peppered field of rock.
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 fold 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.
Taste the bitterness of my blood as it dries across your face — the 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 matted 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,
A groan.
The half-naked parched man slowly picks himself back up, barely piecing together his hands as he dunks his head into the running stream.
I watch as he drinks.
His throat inhales the thickened ichor from the black river; sticks and other sediments tangle around his tightened throat.
Once drinking 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 sits upright but remains still small.
His once-stout, spineless frame stiffens into hardened stone.
He then turns, staring 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."
He repeats the prayer, each recitation growing louder than the last. Practiced, pious, precise—his heart beats faith and blood even in his 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 and bow to perform their orchestral cries in chorus as they sing fervently about tales of lament.
Taking a moment, I resonate with their impassioned expressions of suffering shared through beauty — their only creative outlet.
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 my 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 bring the water to my lips.
The moment it touches my tongue, my eyes roll back as I swallow, analysing its earthy texture.
It has an interesting mineral tang to it — superior to the wet-dog I sampled earlier, if I'm being honest.
It is at least of acceptable quality for me to drink.
I look down at his body again, shaking my head.
If only you had been more cooperative from the start.
I address him further.
"I must also apologise 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 for his response.
He remains still, silent.
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 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 whispers. "First line of the holy fable."
A response at last.
I nod.
The river, the wind, the insects — all 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, he suddenly yells,
"That's Sacrilege Heathen!"
He tugs against the rope with all his force, legs scuttling himself away.
Hu He Hu he hu he.
His breath sucks in through the woven bag as he sprints 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 to where he's fallen.
"I suppose; I have no choice in this matter do I?" His face groans into the early dew of morning grass.
I lean over and talk.
"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 in response.
"Water is not weightless; it only pretends to be. Bit by bit, drop by drop, generation after generation, 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 to find."
I blow softly down his neck. Sweat trickles down.
"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.
"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, you— 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.
"'Death by a thousand cuts'," I raise my voice to articulate the gravity of this.
"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 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—please 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 continue clicking my discordant rhythm near his ears "is the evisceration of structure 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."
"..."
Clock.
"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 the blackened 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 say. "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, pride sharpening his 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?
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 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 forth — before him my form finally revealed, his face pales at my glorious witness.
"Impossible — you can only wear those robes in the holy house. Unless…"
"I was wrong. Heavenly one please accept my—"
"Foolish primate," I answer, conducting 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, mangled. The prophet himself demanded I find out why.
So I will ask again todd… Where… is… the… 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 cracking.
"I already asked him, he said it was you." I raise my voice loudly and interrupt, digging my finger 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 man. I would never betray the orders."
"I gave you the benefit of the doubt, Todd," I softly purr "But the lord's eyes are never closed." I hold up the scrunched report from my pocket before 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."
I open the crinkle of parchment paraphrasing 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 report into his face.
"It all fits. You are the foil of the 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; our lives are now on the stake. 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?"
I stare, tilting my head a slight sideward. "Living among these filthy pests has weakened your resolve."
I pause; my voice turns a softer, yet more sinister tone.
"Truth is, we have been watching, testing your conviction. Earlier was a test too. The results were… disappointing." I shake my head, pacing 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 ahead of his form.
Turning to see his face fully, 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.
I lean forward, stepping on him.
"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.
I must do this,
for us.
"Insufficient… But perhaps not entirely lost."
I lower my tone, placing my hand onto his shoulder and lift him 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."
"If that clears my name I would do anything for her benevolence." Salt streams down tears as he collapses down soiling his knees; I release his shoulders.
His steps pebbles. Slowly they skim across the ground. Heading towards a pity's edge.
All to end himself.
Almost there. So close.
He stops one throw away, looking 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 in deep prayer.
I walk behind and hold his embrace whispering into his ear.
"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?" He bumbles out.
"Every action has a motive, and that motive is always yours. Still your choice remains undecided. Do you believe in yourself? Deserve this reward of sending that suffering self of you, away silently? 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.,
Leaning over the cavern edge, he stares into the abyssal beneath.
Gently.
Forcefully.
My palm touches his shirtless back.
Then.
I push forward.
His body stumbles, flipping around in abated death—
Reaching back for me, eyes wide with confusion clear, mouthing words too small to hear.
The 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 killer 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.
...
I had to act first.