Page 9 of Whispers of Fire

Our Shepherd is about sixty years old, how could he and his wife bear enough children to create our community? And what would it make of us? Cousins? All coming from the same original womb? The thought of it makes me want to vomit. It doesn’t add up, it must be fabricated, how could it be otherwise?

I look around searching for a reaction, anything that would show me that I’m not alone listening to this masquerade. But no one reacts, speaks, or raises their hand, questioning this tale.

“Head down, Mrs. Parker,” orders Mr. Collins. I want to ask, just to see if I fell on my head this morning, just to understand that I’m wrong and that all of this is the only truth of our world. So I take a piece of paper and write a question, extending my arm to him.

He grabs it, reads it quickly and crumples it in his hand. Acting as if nothing happened, he carries on with his lesson until the end of the day.

The clock rings and we all stand.

“To cleanse our sins…"

"…We must obey," the class answers. But this time I don’t make my lips move. And this small act of rebellion doesn’t go unnoticed by him. My classmates leave the room, and Mr. Collins calls me in his nasal voice, “You stay here, Mrs. Parker,” before I get the chance to go out.

I know I’ve misbehaved, and I’m fully aware that a punishment will be coming. Which one I do not know.

“Sit and put your fingers on the table,” he says blankly, keeping his back turned to me. “Why are you questioning the words of our Shepherd, Rose?”

I shake my head, unable to speak. If only he would give me some paper to explain myself. But he doesn’t really care; Mr. Collins loves to humiliate and hurt his students. I just gave him an opportunity too and I know he won’t let it go.

“Doubting, thinking, all of this shouldn't even be a part of your vocabulary, Rose. This is the greatest sin of all, to wonder about the truth of our world,” he says with a twisted grin on his face, making it look even more scary.

“I’m going to punish you ten times now, and then I will inform your father so he can make sure you fully understand the consequences of your actions.” My body shivers, knowing I will have to fight for my life, once again, tonight in the tub.

He turns and walks to his desk, taking out a long wood ruler.

I stay still, dissociating myself from this moment like I’ve done so many times. Training my mind to save itself by wandering into differently made-up realities in my head, taking away momentarily the hardship I’m not able to face. I look at my fingers, photographing their delicate shapes before he crushes them. I saw a classmate endure this once, and his fingers never fully recovered after.

One.

I inhale deeply.

Two.

I wince.

Three.

A small silent cry comes from me.

And then again, and again, and again.

Until my cheeks are covered with tears and my fingers throb with pain and blood, coming out of my nails, staining the table underneath.

“In your pain, little lamb, find the seeds of redemption and embrace the only truth of our world,” he says, looking at his bloody ruler, satisfaction on his face.

“Now go.” Dismissing me without a look.

I stand with difficulty, my hands weighing heavy and my eyes seeing black and white spots.

I fight to carry myself outside to my father’s car. He doesn’t say anything nor help me. Instead, he sits in the driver's seat, watching me in the rearview mirror.

“Mr. Collins called. Your mother is preparing your bath,” he says, his voice running on my skin like poison.

I turn my head to the window, knowing what’s expecting me at home. The bath punishment is the most common one in our community. We believe water can cleanse sins and help members find the truth of the Ascension in the struggle for air. My father performed it on me many times since I was a child, while my mother sat in the back, simply waiting for me with a towel. I’ve learned quickly to hold my breath for as long as I can, training myself at night in my bed.

The drive takes less time than usual, probably because for once I wished I could stay in it forever. We arrive in front of our home, or should I say our house.

Is it really called home when you’re afraid of it?

---