by Christian Seidel
They were waiting for us. Soldiers and armed men were hiding behind trees, surrounding the clearing by the sacred stone. All were we detained without trial. Bonfires were built, to be lit at dawn.
They are lighting the fires, burning us in the name of their god, whom they claim to be just and merciful. I know that can’t be right.
I stare at the blood-red clouds reflecting the flames of the fires. I cannot force myself to look at the fires; I cannot look at the others. The air is thick with the stench of burning flesh.
I hear the panicking screams. I hear the cheering crowd. I have to keep staring at the flame-lit skies. What I see with closed eyes is so much worse.
I shiver from the cold sweat of fear. The fires roar in the chilling wind. I hear the cheer rise as another fire is lit. Soon it is my turn; soon they will celebrate my death too.
My eyes are fixed at the blazing sky. I can see the moon between the clouds, I stutter a desperate prayer. I pray to the Mother Goddess.
The stink of burning bodies is unbearable. The smoke is dense. The cheering is now ecstatic. I can sense their manic lust for blood. The smoke is burning in my throat and my lungs; I feel the fiery heat of flames. I scream.