Liberation

“It doesn’t count if you’re already planning your defeat.” The shorter boy mumbled.

“It’s not the same thing, Phil. I am not planning my defeat I am accepting it.” The taller boy chided, though he appeared doleful.

“It’s the same thing, Zack. Different ways of looking at the same thing. Get that thought out of your mind and listen…” the shorter boy leant in to whisper something.

“It wouldn’t work.” Zack immediately responded.

“Oh, trust me, it will.” Phil had a confident smirk on his face. The two ‘prisoners’ clasped each other’s hands and Zack gave a dry laugh as the blood spurted out from the pale skin on his wrist.

Words etched themselves on his hand and he smiled reminiscently staring at it. Phil flinched a bit and dropped his hand at once.

“Not a chance in hell that’ll work.” Zack spoke casually, like a man accepting his fate- a man who knew that aspirations were surreal.

Phil didn’t reply this time. The day of finality- the day of the circle as they liked to call it- was coming closer- it was the very next day, in fact. There was only a dozen ‘prisoners’ left and it must be one of them-there was a high probability of Zack being the ‘special man’ as they called it every year. None of the others were in greater distress- Ken’s hand had had a minor burning but it had faded. Zack’s ‘special’ mark was brighter than ever and his wrist spurted out blood at odd intervals.

The same word and mark glistened against his pale skin- ‘Liberation’ with a small dove- blood red in color. Ken and Sam had had a minor incident where they swore that they saw the dove on their hands. But unlike, Zack and Phil they were greatly excited to be ‘chosen’.

Liberation, thought Phil, sardonically. He thought of it and considered for a few moments. They called it liberation because of the freedom of the soul from the body and up to the greater force. He called it liberation because it could mean getting away from the sick place.

Indeed, the thought of carving a mark on his hand had crossed his head several times. He was, after all, tired of the coped-up walls of the ‘magnificent’ palace. The guardian was not an unkind man he fed them and he taught them. But no matter what he taught, his final words at the end of every ‘lesson’ would be the same:

And when everyone of you is liberated, the souls will collectively reunite with him. With whom we belong. But, do not hasten. The day of liberation will come at its own pace- it’ll come when you’re ready, pure and willfully devoted to him. Or when you’re not ready at all, sinful and unfaithful. Either way-it’ll come. I, for one, have waited for years- but I know that the circle must close…

And he would talk about the prospect of liberation as not ‘death’ or rebirth but as the end of the circle-the close and the perfection of it. The undaunting perfection.

Zack was certainly not prepared, faithful or sinless, thought Phil wryly. But Phil wasn’t about to accept defeat. No matter how much Zack scoffed at the plan, it was worth a shot.  They weren’t about to plan or accept defeat.

Time was slipping by and Phil paced back and forth. He’d planned to carve out a mark on Ken’s hand, who would be only too glad to do it. Then Zack was to attempt and diminish his mark in comparison. It might not work but it was worth a shot.

He nudged Zack and beckoned him to follow them to Ken’s room. In muffled whispers, words were exchanged.

“That’s…that’s betrayal” Ken’s voice caught in his throat.

Phil shrugged, “All we’re doing is deepening it, you’re already halfway liberated, mate.” Ken hesitated for a second before nodding, “Do it.”

They set to work- carving intricately and beautifully, with marvelous patience.

Zack rubbed some ointment on his mark and it dimmed quite a lot. It was nearing dawn now- 5:53 am was the time given. Their wrists would be checked and the ‘special’ man would ascend. Then there would be feast to honor the man who belonged to the force above. The feast was absolutely delicious each year.

As the last of the details were fixed, the song ran across the somber rooms. The song of liberation:

He who is above us calls,

When the day of liberation falls,

Quiet songs and bated breath,

There’s pure liberation in sweeter death,

The marked man to be given,

All his sins and errors forgiven,

Reuniting with the eternal soul,

In liberation we are whole.

The song ended on a quiet note and the men shuffled forward dressed in their best clothes. The ordeal started normally- a speech read so many times that the ‘prisoners’ had it memorized, then the drinking- to prepare the souls of young men in their purest form. All of them were required to do it- in honor of the man, in honor of the eternal ‘him’.

The much-awaited time came and the men all caught their breath. They glanced at Zack-some reproachfully, some sorrowfully. Phil was looking at Zack too, with bated breath, hoping it would work. He leant forward on his toes and kissed him on the lips, in case it was their last…

Zack had an impassive and determined expression as he briefly kissed him back. Then the guardian stepped forward and everyone froze, extending their hands out to be examined. A burning sensation crawled up Phil’s throat- must be the drink, he thought.

Then, a horrific feeling crawled up his wrist and dark red blood oozed out of his wrist forming an all too familiar design.

“Phil Garcia” the guardian declared with a solemn smile. Zack stared at him; his mouth wide open in horror as the shorter boy stepped forward.

With no longer than a second’s delay his head was detached from his bod. Fifteen minutes later the meal was served- the meat, in particular, was delightfully appetizing this year.