The Death of Faith

I was in the foyer of St. Mary’s Cathedral, brushing bits of glass off my jacket and watching the burning building through the open doors. From inside came the screams of those who couldn’t get out in time, and the crackle of flames that were consuming the pews and the pulpit. I could just make out the cross on the far wall, its beautifully crafted silver beginning to melt like the wicked witch of the west as the flames crawled up the walls to claim it. I could feel the heat even from outside, and I was a few feet away from the door. I coughed as smoke billowed out of the doorway, carrying the acrid smell of burning fabric and hair with it. I winced as a woman screamed, accompanied by the sound of crashing and crumbling stone. It was amazing how quickly something could go from prosperous to nothing but a pile of rubble. It was a reminder of how fragile our world was, and how quickly it could be taken away from us.<br>“Don’t you ever get tired of this?”<br>I turned, expecting to see a familiar figure in a long coat standing behind me. Instead, I saw a young woman with a kind face and red hair. She was dressed in a white shirt and a flowing black skirt that was stained on the bottom, and she had a large book slung over her shoulder. She looked like she had just come from a renaissance fair, or from the set of a high fantasy movie.<br>“Of what?” I asked, moving aside as a few people ran out of the church.<br>“Burning down churches. Killing priests and nuns who couldn’t get out. Leaving people without a place to turn to in times of crisis.”<br>I sighed and rubbed my eyes. I was tired, and the heat from the fire wasn’t helping.<br>“I’m not killing anyone. I’m protecting people.”<br>She shook her head.<br>“You’re doing the exact opposite of that.”<br>I rolled my eyes and stepped aside as more people ran out, some of them stopping to stare at the burning building in horror. One man fell to his knees and began to weep. The woman put a comforting hand on his shoulder, and I turned and walked away. I heard her behind me.<br>“What you’re doing is horrible. You’re taking away something that people need.”<br>I spun around and glared. That was a low blow, and she knew it.<br>“Don’t you dare,” I spat.<br>She frowned and stepped closer. I could see tears in her eyes as flames erupted through the roof of the church, sending burning pieces of wood flying high into the air.<br>“Something is wrong with you,” she said. “You claim to be doing good, but you’re not. You’re hurting people. You’re killing them, and you’re leaving them without anywhere to turn to in times of crisis.”<br>I laughed.<br>“You know nothing about me,” I said. “I’ve spent my entire life protecting people. I’ve been a soldier, a police officer, and I’ve even been a volunteer at a fire station. I have given my life to save entire cities, and I’ve always been there to protect people when they needed protecting. And you know why? It’s because of this,” I said, gesturing to the burning church.<br>“What?” she asked, her voice trembling.<br>“Because of what I saw inside that place as a child,” I said. “Because I was subjected to the worst torture imaginable. I was burned and beaten and mutilated, and I was forced to watch as they did the same things to my family. And you know why they did it?” I asked, my voice cracking.<br>She didn’t answer. She was crying openly now, and she was trembling. I didn’t care. She had to hear this.<br>“They did it because of something that I couldn’t control. Something that I couldn’t change. They did it because I was different. They did it because they saw me as evil. They did it because of superstition and ignorance and fear. They did it because they believed that the Bible was the word of God, and that it told them to do it. They did it because of this,” I spat, glancing back at the burning building.<br>She was weeping now, and she was slobbering. She wiped her nose on her sleeve and tried to speak, but I cut her off.<br>“You are right, though. Something is wrong with me,” I said. “I was broken, and I can never be fixed. What they did to me irreparably damaged me. It took away my ability to trust people, and it made me the person I am today. I am a monster, and I know that. I’ve accepted it. And I’ve accepted that I will never, ever be able to change that. But I’m not a bad person. Even after all they did to me, even after all they took from me, I’m not a bad person. And I will keep doing what I’m doing until the day that I die. I will keep burning churches down, and I will keep killing the disgusting, vile things that hide inside them. And if you’re here to stop me,” I said, before turning and walking away. “Then you’re just another obstacle that I will have to overcome.”<br>“You’re not a monster,” she said. Her voice was trembling, and she sounded like she was struggling to get the words out.<br>I turned back to her.<br>“You know nothing about me,” I said. “You have no right to judge me. I am a bad person,” I said. “And I will never be a good person. I am a monster. And you’d do best to remember that.”<br>She tried to say something else, but I cut her off.<br>“You know, I used to be a Christian. I used to believe in God, and I used to believe in the teachings of Jesus. I believed in the power of forgiveness, and I believed in loving thy enemy. But that was before they burned my family at the stake. That was before they burned the only place I had to turn to. That was before I saw how cruel the world really was.”<br>I looked back, and I saw that the entire building was in flames. The walls were crumbling, the roof was gone, and there was nothing left but ash and rubble and the few people who’d made it out in time to watch their place of worship be destroyed. I saw an older priest, now covered in burns and soot, make his way through the crowd and collapse, weeping, onto the ground. I saw people standing just outside the doorway, their skin blackened and cracked from the intense heat. And I saw the cross, once a symbol of hope and forgiveness, melt as the fire consumed it.<br>I smiled as the building crumbled to the ground, sending plumes of ash and dust into the air. The screams and wails and sobs from the people around me were music to my ears, and the smell of burning stone and wood was intoxicating. I looked back, and smiled as I saw the woman still crying, still trembling with fear. I smiled as I saw her standing there, still clutching her Bible. I turned and walked away, leaving the burning building behind me. I never looked back.<br>I never looked back as the firefighters arrived and struggled to put out the flames. I never looked back as they pulled the dead from the wreckage, and I never looked back as the survivors fell to their knees, cursing God for allowing this to happen. I never looked back, and I never stopped walking. <br><br>Most people saw me as a monster, as the embodiment of Satan himself. And maybe they weren’t wrong. I’d been called the spawn of Satan before, and I’d been accused of being the devil himself. I had been spat on, beaten, kicked, and burned at the stake. I’d been subjected to every torture method known to man, and I’d been left to die more times than I could count. But I always got back up, and I always kept fighting. I always kept moving, and I always kept burning.<br>I am the product of a twisted morality based on superstition and ignorance and fear. I am the byproduct of a system that preaches love and forgiveness, but that practices hate and torture. I am a monster, and I know it. But I am a necessary monster, and I know that too. And I would keep doing what I was doing, no matter what.<br>After all, Tis the season for burning.