Friday,9th august 1936
From the perspective of Orin as a child
And I saw a beast rising out of the sea having ten horns and seven heads;and on its horns were ten diadems,and on its heads were blasphemous names…
And the dragon gave it his power and his throne and great authority…
They worshipped the dragon,for he had given his authority to the beast,And the worshipped the beast,saying,
'Who is like the beast,and who can fight against it?'
REVELATIONS 13:1-4 NRSV
10:43
Not bombs, not fire—no, the sky itself. Rain fell like needles of glass, severing the thin veil of silence the air held, slipping through the gaps of my threadbare clothes.
I felt nothing in my feet. Only numb.
As people, we find it difficult to imagine nothing. I have seen it. The face of hopelessness, plastered and sewn into the souls of men and women alike.
I looked up.
The stars were silent, speckled across the heavens like the eyes of gods awaiting the verdict—or the spears of an army, waiting for their call to strike.
Our feet beat along the slow winding pathways ahead of us. My mother and I. Through plains that once held grass and grain—memories of happiness—now of blood and stains. Now, of glass and death.
Her fingers squeezed mine. I did not squeeze back. I knew she was pretending not to be afraid.
That made one of us.
Crows rose like smoke, black feathers slicing through the air. They blotted out the sun in shifting patterns—a Rorschach of war. I saw faces caught between hell and purgatory—grief, rage, sorrow—all worn with disfigured countenance.
Then the bullet came. Just one. It tore the silence in half. I could see a thin string of gunpowder meandering towards the sky.
She collapsed into the asphodels—white and pure as phosphorus. I caught her. I held her. I was a child again, but older than time.
Her eyes trembled heavy—faltering as she bit her lip, blood seeping onto her teeth. Was it the pain of the bullet? Then I saw tears.
So this is what they call a mother's love.
I wanted to cry. I wanted to scream. But nothing came. And that emptiness calling me again… that infinite plain of nothingness.
It drove deeper than any wound could. Hurt more than pain itself.
Then I had turned.
The devil himself had come to Earth, holding a metallic rifle, its arm resting on his shoulder.
He had corkscrew horns coiling around his head, reaching from crown to toe. He had honed teeth stretching below his chin. And he stood before me, his head held high. Smiling.
When I asked him how he felt, he muttered, "Pride."
The boy glanced at me, his fingers crisscrossing into his palms, his eyes glimmering. Blonde hair. Cerulean eyes.
The crows cawed twice. He spoke no more. He didn't pursue me or try to follow me—rather, he just watched me as I sat within my silence.
I couldn't move. Or scream. Or cry, for that matter—as if time had stopped.
In moments like this, I'd always thought I would be the first to cry. It was natural to cry. But the feeling didn't come. I scrunched my face, trying to force tears. None.
"Is it—this okay?" I thought.
"Childish."
I looked onward—plains of grass and trees, a village ahead, a church bell ringing monotonously. The occasional bird chirping, sporadic.
I looked up.
The sky tore open—eight stars streaking across the sky.