Warning: This work has been rated 16+ for violence.
That tall, angled window hates me. I want to grab the sun that makes my skin boil out of the sky. I want to crush it under my dirty fingernails and let the juices run down my face. The world mocks me and Father uses me. I cannot bear to live like this anymore. Before sunrise, I am ordered to stand in the holy presence of that window. Each day its hellish rays cook my skin. I loathe the hymns and graces Father sings to God. He has never seen God. I have never seen God.
The evil ghost of the Sun clogs this dirty, dark room. It watches and God watches and Father watches. They all watched as Mary’s body was crushed under a shaft and all of her bones crunched into a lifeless soup. Her screams echoed through the mill. Her vacant eyes and mangled body were carried away. Father murmured a few praises to God.
“O for a heart to praise my God! A heart from sin set free, a heart that always feels thy blood, so freely shed for me.” He whispers it in the fervor of a madman and dashes away. I wonder if he is guilty. I wonder if he will pay for his sin. I wonder if he will get punished. I want him to go to Hell and burn alive. He keeps me here even when all the other children leave or sleep.
“But son, you are only fourteen years of age. You cannot eat if I do not provide you with food. You would die if not for me. You must shed your blood for Him.” I hate it when my fingers bleed. Father asks at every sunset if I had sacrificed my blood for God. I tell him no and then he clenches his teeth and turns pale. He smiled the time I begged him for help. It’s hard to use the machinery with four fingers. Father rambled praises for my dutifulness to God. He grabbed my wrist and stroked my hand down his cheek. His yellowed eyes stared into my face as his mouth contorted into weird shapes.
Tonight Father is asleep. The moon faces me and the Sun is behind me. The crickets hiss as I run across the soggy, wet ground. I didn’t know Freedom was scary. It feels weird but amazing, too. The moon doesn’t look fully finished. It looks kinda boring, actually. It’s not even a full circle like how Mary told me it was. A feeling I’ve never felt before is making me laugh. The hill is coming closer and closer. I clutch the textiles tighter in my hand now. I had made everything perfect the night before. Now God won’t use me anymore and the Sun won’t torture me anymore and Father can’t make me his slave anymore. They let Mary free when her body wasn’t working anymore.
The tall cross Father bows in front of each morning is in front of me now. I don’t understand why he respects it and worships it so much. It looks like a dumb old board of wood to me. My mouth forms into a grin as I hop onto the bench and tie the expensive, yellow textile around my neck.
“The Sun will have to face me now! I’m not a coward. Father can’t call me a coward anymore!” I kick the bench from underneath my feet. I can feel my eyes bulging out of my skull as my chest struggles to breathe. My eyes are shut tight as my body fights to stay alive. I’m a free boy now.