Saturday, 29 September 2012


I shall be killed. I shall be killed.

I shall be killed because I am different from anyone else. I am being dragged through this cobbled street, with only my already thin and damaged clothes separating my peeled skin from the hard ground. I am numb. They have already beaten me in the prison. I am weak, but I still hold on.

The caravan that pulls me moves ever so slowly through the crowd. Some of them throw little stones at me. Little stones, they are told not to murder me, yet. Just a moment ago, a beautiful child came to me and kicked me hard in the shin. He roared, “let’s see if hell’s gonna receive you!”

I smiled at him. He didn’t understand.

The caravan stops in the middle of a piazza. A towering obelisk is located in the middle. In front of it is a stage. My death is an entertainment show for everyone else. A person approaches me and picks me mercilessly. He brings me up on the stage and throws me like I’m just a mannequin. I think I am one.

I lay lifeless. My eyes only see the sky above me, but my ears listen to an announcement. It goes like this:

My people, we are gathered today to witness the execution of a defector. If he is your family, your son, your husband, your father, your friend, I must tell you this: from this moment, you shall forget all that. He is not to be remembered and his name is not worthy to be spoken of.

According to the report given to us, the sin that contributes to the execution of this defector is the possession of a holy book. His house was visited by the members of the Department at 1.30pm in the thirtieth day of the fifth month for the compulsory monthly peacekeeping check of Division 7. This defector was trying to hide the book, but fortunately, he was caught.

People, be happy to know that the book is now just ashes. What is God, my People? It’s nothing but an ancient belief, an inhibitor to our progress and modernity. We are the Gods. Look at us, what we have achieved are all because of our own ingenuity and hard-work.

As for the defector, he shall be disposed for he is unworthy of our peaceful existence. His life shall end in the same way as the book.

The end of the speech is met with a great uproar and applause. I am not the People. I am disposable. I am put above an altar. I shall perish, but I am aware this is not an end. This will be a beginning, and it starts with the words: burn him!

I look up as the tongues of the flame turn into a monster. I look up and in that hell, I see the heaven.

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