Confession

The match hissed, coming to life and throwing the flame upward. The burning sulfur hung in the air like strong potpourri. She couldn't mistake the smell of it. Suddenly, she felt the warmth of the flame on her leg. She inhaled sharply, trying to hold in her cry of pain. She knew there would be a severe burn there, but it was nothing compared to what waited her.

"Yes, my child. That is what it will feel like all over if you don't confess," the man's voice said. "We know you for what you are, but you must give up your sins and confess to God to save your soul. If you do, we will spare you the torture and end your life quickly."

The blindfold seemed to smother the room in around her. She could have been in the grandest hall and she still would have felt like she was stuffed into a closet. "Either way, I die," she said simply.

"True, true. But one way you have the chance of obtaining forgiveness. The other will have you suffering for eternity."

She could smell the garlic on his breath. It mixed with the sweat in the air, causing her to almost vomit. "How do you know? I doubt you've been there to see."

"I believe, and it is my belief that saves me."

"What you call belief, I call superstition," she smirked.

Though she could not see it, she could feel his face go red as his rage boiled. "Heathen! You blaspheme what you do not understand! I will purge you of your unbelief." He brought the flame to her leg again and held it there. She let out a yelp of pain. The flesh reddened and bubbled under the extreme heat of the match. She tried to move her leg away, but strong cords held her bound to the chair. He removed the match and threw it on the ground. It hit the damp floor causing it to sizzle. Her head rocked forward onto her chest, the pain swelling in her leg.

"You only make this harder for yourself," he said. "Just confess, and this will all be over."

Her breaths came short and labored. "I can't confess if I've done nothing wrong," she finally said.

The back of his hand flew across her face, cutting her lip with his overly ornate ring. "Do not pretend that you are innocent. You know what you have done."

"What?" she asked through the tears. "What have I done?"

She could sense his crude smile. "If I told you, then it wouldn't be your confession. You must come forward with the truth on your own to receive the full pardon of our Lord."

"I ... I don't know," she sobbed.

"I'm sorry," he said. "Maybe I can refresh your memory." The sound of the knife being pulled out of its sheath caused her to flinch. She could feel the cool steel against her cheek. He guided the blade up to her ear and with a careful flick of the wrist cut off her lobe. Her scream filled him with a sense of pleasure. "You remember now? You remember how you did this to those innocent children in your lust for power?"

The blood from her ear flowed down her neck and onto her chest where it was soaked up by the tattered rags they had forced her to dress in.

"It wasn't me," she gasped out.

"Oh, no. Of course not. But having someone else do the dirty work doesn't make you any less guilty. Just tell me what you had them do and we can end your suffering."

Her mind was awhirl. She tried to think of what he wanted to hear. She knew of what he spoke. She had seen those children as well, their ears completely severed off their head in a demonstration of devotion. But she had tried to stop them, hadn't she?

Her mind flashed back to the dimly lit chapel. They stood with stoic faces watching the priest wield his knife and mumble a prayer. The blood that soaked the cloths held by the parents that had finished the ritual with their kids seemed to stand out in her memory. She remembered trying to scream, to stop it. But she had just stood by and watched.

"You were there," he said. "You were telling them what to do."

"No," she said, almost trying to convince herself. "I didn't ... I wasn't ..." She tried to see through her blindfold into her memory and grasp what really happened. She saw herself now standing before the priest. She looked down to her own son kneeling before her, waiting with bowed head and listening to the man in robes recite the prayer. The knife glinted in the sunlight that barely streamed through the stained glass windows. Stop him! she shouted to herself, but the memory played out. Before she could grasp fully what she was doing, she saw herself with the bloody rag in her hand. The gaunt image of her child looking at her with a tear-streaked face was ingrained in her memory.

"What have I done?" she sobbed.

"Yes," he said. "Confess your sin."

She didn't even hear him. Her mind was still playing out what she remembered. She wasn't sure if it was her son's face or the feeling that she had just betrayed him that sent her over the edge, but something in her snapped. She could see herself grab the knife from the priest and tackle him to the ground. The blade was swift and before anyone could react, his ear was lying in a pool of blood. A woman screamed and she turned to see others coming at her. She had stabbed one of them before they were able to get the knife from her.

Her memory faded as she felt the tears soak the blindfold. "I didn't stop him," she whispered.

"Do you confess?" asked the man.

"I confess ..." she started.

"Yes?"

"I confess to subjecting my child to torture and not trying to do anything," she finally said. She waited for the slap that she felt for sure was coming, but nothing happened.

Instead, he came close to her and whispered, "You can't stop us." He pulled off the blindfold and she gasped at the priest before her, a white bandage where his ear should be. "Guard!" he yelled. And then, more quietly to her he said, "Never go against the church."

The guard came in and the priest said, "Take this heathen away. She will pay for her sins since she refuses to confess them and let God take them for her." The guard untied her from the chair and roughly led her from the room.

"Our belief saves us," the priest said to her with a wicked smile.

The day was bright and the light hurt her eyes that had become accustomed to the dark. They pushed her forward, causing her to stumble. Rough hands forced her back on her feet and up on the platform. They tied her hands behind the post and placed the stacks of wood around her. The oil dripped from the soaked bundles.

They stood back allowing the guard with the torch to come forward. Without fanfare, he placed the flame on the wood. It instantly ingnited and soon the entire platform was ablaze. The heat beat upon her skin, slowly changing it from red to black. She screamed in pain and writhed in agony.

Then, in what seemed like a moment of sympathy from an unseen power, she could feel no more pain. She looked out through the flames and saw her son standing alone and crying. She wanted to run to him, to comfort him. But it was too late. And just before she gave in to the welcoming darkness, she saw the priest put his hand on her son's shoulder and smile.