The Burning of Hearts

Under the surface it was exactly like everyone expected it to be. It was dirty, dark and unforgiving. This is what we expected, this is what we imagined and this is exactly what we were given.

The smell of death lingers on the last breath of daylight and the stench tarnishes any residue of hope. One by one we fall to our knees in prayer, hypnotised by the promise of intervention from our divine leader. Her words reek with the atrocities of yesterday. A time when men and women walked freely. A time not so long ago, when the days were safe and the nights were for dreaming and dancing on moon beams

There is no more dreaming. Moonbeams no longer exist and the only dancing is the movement of the flames. Bodies are now burning, not sexually or metaphorically, but literally.

To celebrate their coming of age, the chosen ones are selected by Her Majesty.

No boy ever becomes a man. No girl shall ever become a woman and never shall the flames burn down. Hundreds of us honour her power of knowing and delight in the innocence and sanctum of our youth. Hundreds more fear for this new world and they escape. My brother is a survivor. Well I like to believe he is. Last summer he was chosen with six other boys for redemption. They were all nineteen, and looked like strong powerful men, in the outside. Inside, if you stared into their eyes, you saw the weakness.

My brother always turned away from me if our eyes ever connected in conversation. Bit I knew how, because the fear was also inside me.

On that night, when he was chosen, our eyes met and he didn’t move. He looked directly into my stare. The fear had gone and he was looking forward with determination and resilience. He was ready. As Her Majesty moved toward the boys, my brother rose from his knees and began running. He never looked back.

So many chose to run but most, like myself accepted the fate of adulthood and gave thanks instead to the joy of utopia that exists for all children.

Tonight, I am happy. Tonight I am safe and tonight we all give thanks. Each of us, atoned by Her Majesty’s song.

“women in darkness, may this Earth be my tomb. May this Earth be my tomb.”

One by one others die on hallowed ground as the children continue to dance. I dance with them, knowing that within the week I am next to be named.

The night welcomes a new day and I find myself counting the hours until darkness again. The days seem shorter since the happenings and even though it means we live with less sunlight it also means we are graced with incredible nights, lit with endless stars.

I leave my shanty to gather with the others at the fire and find my thoughts wandering to my brother. Did he find a new settlement? Were there others with him? Is he still alive?

I like to believe he is.

We have reached the common ground, where Her Majesty has already began naming the chosen for this moon cycle. I step forward.

Forced to kneel, I realise it is too late to run. I am scared, but the voices of the children calm me.

“shifrah, shifrah; shifrah, shifrah. May this Earth be my tomb"

Now I lay upon my back, and join in the chorus, “ shifrah, shifrah,”, I open my eyes and see Her Majesty standing above me.

She is a silhouette against the night and all that is properly visible is the heart locket hanging against her bosom. The locket opens and she removes a single fire stick.

As the match ignites, I surrender into new existence.

Under the surface it is exactly like everyone expected it, to be. Dirty, dark and unforgiving. This is the burning of the hearts. This is exactly what we imagined.

“ Shifrah"