Toiling

Laden with lead, forced down with weights, chained to the metal ball that dragged on the floor, he toiled on. The blazing red rays stung his back, burned it bright crimson then darkened it to muddy black as sweat and blood rolled into the spots. He wished he had a shirt, at least a single shade of cloth in between his naked skin and the crude sky. He wished God would grant him one last wish and grace him with a drop of water. But no, no miracles would come. He had been through too much - oh indeed, too much! - to delude himself with such nonsensities. So he toiled on.

They would be coming soon, stick in hand, cruelty on their mouth, insanity adorning their tainted minds, their saintly souls having been crushed for who knew how many long years. They were the devils on Earth, these soldiers were! In these ruthless beings' eyes, the children, the women, the elderly, they were all the same. Slaves to be put to use, toys reserved for their pleasure. Not human beings, never human beings. Those who toiled on these grounds were animals, worse than animals, that existed solely for their entertainment. As he listened for the familiar stump, stump of the boots, he mashed his teeth together (what was left of his teeth at least - the strain had been hard on his body). He felt sick in his stomach. How could they treat him - us - like that when we all had the same two eyes, shared the same identities as beings created by the Creator?

But his rage gradually lessened. How could they help it, when this way was all they knew? When they were taught from birth that they were the superior, the better, the reigning entities, and that the others were beneath them. It was not they who should be punished - it was the world. Oh, this heartless, spiteful world! Unkind to some in ways that should not be so. So no, it wasn't they who were at fault. Their only sin would have been to be so thoughtless as to accept all that was thrown at them without a second glance of conscience. Their only sin was ignorance - pure, utter absence of rational thought. Beings to be pitied.

All this while, he toiled mechanically. Arms out. Legs out. Left. Right. Left. Right. It had become a habit. And was he himself also not at fault? He had become used to this slavish action. He had, in effect, become a slave in not only body but mind. Gazing down at the cold bonds holding him down, he momentarily stopped his toiling and experimentally lifted his feet. Up, up, up, higher than he had lifted it the past few .... how many years had it been? Above, freer, to the sky!

He saw the pain before he felt it. The sharp slash against his exposed back, white flashed in front his eyes, then yellow, and finally red as the pain settled in. His knees buckled and he fell, slumping, and his vision cleared only to be clouded again with another pang of white. They were shouting something at him, swearing, laughing viciously. But it fell on deaf ears. What he saw was the fallen angel, his feet once again on the laden ground, chained just as before.

Ah, what a futile life he led, is leading. 'God, grant me one last wish,' he lamented, silently. 'Grant me one last grace. Take me into your arms. Guide me to safety. Free me! Oh, my Lord, I beg you. Release me from this disgraceful state. Allow me a chance to retrieve the pieces of my shredded pride.' Wishing for a miracle he knew would not occur, he shed tears that would not take physical shape, having dried up years ago.

The slashes grew steadily harsher until blood flowed freely, running down his back and coloring the brazen earth. 'How ironic,' he thought, 'that my blood should be so free. They can escape to the four corners of the Earth and no pursuers will ever be on their trails.' But it would not do to bewail what could not be changed. He so wished to escape from his fate, in whatever method he could, that he simply lay there, withstanding the steadily increasing stings. What did it matter. He would die anyhow. If he must, he would die doing what he wished to, not laboring in endless routine for them. He would resist in the only way he could, to do nothing.

At some point, the soldiers lugged him up and towed him off. He had drifted off into darkness by then, but he had a contented smile brightening his face. He had not given into the pain, he had not uttered a single sign of anguish for their satisfaction. He had triumphed! For once, he had not given them what they wished to see, and for him, that was freedom.

Then, a miracle happened. He was lifted, floated upwards. He slipped through the lead, the weights, the metal ball. Continuing up, he reached the sparkling blue spotted with cotton white. The sun no longer bothered him; instead a bliss he had never felt before filled him up. He began laughing as he had never before.

#sarahchang #fiction