Gehanna

The world is a very different place from what I remember.
         When I was a child, things were much calmer, more peaceful. People were there to help each other. People were forgiving. People…weren’t like this at all.
         I curl into a ball on the floor.
         All around me, it’s dark. I’ve memorized the layout of the room. There are six of us sitting in the room, with nothing but the cold floor to sit on. The walls, just as empty as our stomachs, only bore a sign which read:
PURITY THROUGH SACRIFICE
         I’ve memorized the message. We all have. Sacrifice…and purity…they bring a sort of comfort to us at night. I find myself running my fingers over the engraving at times, reading the sign with my hands. The only thing that gets me sleeping at night is that everything that has and will be done is for one thing: purity. A perfect world.
The door opens, and the first light in weeks touches my face, almost burning my eyes.
         It’s time.
         In a single-filed row, six of us groggily stepped out of the room, outside, into Gehenna, squinting our eyes to stop from losing them. There are only a couple of guards leading us, and if we want to, we can probably escape. But we choose not to.
We stop when we arrive on top of a cliff that overlooked Jerusalem—it looks peaceful and quiet. A utopia. I hear nothing but the cool wind against my ear. No clamour, no fights, no screaming. It’s perfect. And I begin to wonder if we’re going too far. I try to convince myself it’s for the better and accept the consequences for what I have done.
         A large man slowly walks toward us. His chest is plastered with a badge which shone brightly against the sunlight. 
         They call him…Azrael. His half-stitched mouth looks like he’s smiling—and he probably is. He elevates me several feet into the air and ties me to a wooden rod. I look beside me, and the same is being done to the others with me. We’re thieves, pedophiles, rapists, and murderers. I can tell by looking at the marks on our arms and I compare them to mine. On my own arm, a black hand is painted.

         All I did was steal some bread—bread for my family…Is that such a bad thing?

         No, it’s for the better…I try to hold back my sobs as I stare into the eyes of Azrael. He places a mask, which had a bright yellow smiley face imprinted on it, over my face and I go blind. My heart begins to pound, my muscles tense, my breathing heavies—I’m waiting for it.
         I close my eyes and hear the friction of wood and flint. I can just barely hear the flame rasp against the air as it drops down onto the fagot underneath my feet. And it feels as though hands were crawling up my legs, reaching up to grasp my shoulders and pull me into unknown depths. I try not to, but I scream.