Eight paces. Ten paces. Eight paces. Ten paces. It’s always the same. No matter how many times I take my small venture around the perimeter of the room I always reach the same conclusion. The room is ten paces long, and eight paces wide. The heavy wooden door is in one of the corners of the room, opposite the straw mat which I have been given to sleep on. I wake up every morning itching from the burlap rubbing against my skin all night. One night I had even taken to sleeping on the cold stone floor to avoid this, but that had been a mistake. I don’t think my back hurt like this before I came here, though I can never be sure. They tell me that I am serving some noble cause by being here. That I should be proud of my accomplishments, whatever they are. They say that I should not be discouraged by the damp and dank depths in which I am detained. It is hard to heed their words when the heavy gray stone walls are pressing in on me through the implacable darkness.
Who are they? These people who appear once or sometimes twice each day to speak with me, never showing their face, but appearing as dark outlines against the light from outside? They are my silhouetted tormentors, my shadowed friends, and my ephemeral caretakers. To be certain, I am not exactly sure who they really are. I get the feeling that these people are in some way connected with the loud explosions that rock my cell every few hours, and that they are associated with the shorter and more rapid bangs that permeate the air sporadically. A strange symbol has taken on an odd meaning for me as well. When I came upon it in the darkness, it felt at once like an old friend. This odd pattern of chicken scratch impressed into the wood of a door seemed to be the single most significant thing in my life. I had just awoken the day before and at that point did not feel up to movement. I had been too busy coping with the loss of my memory to be bothered with exploring my surroundings. Eventually boredom won out, and I began to feel my way around the enclosure that had become my world.
My hands grope about the walls again, searching for the symbol. The stone walls are rough. It is all stone. Every single inch of it besides the door is made of the same blocks of rock. Even the small lavatory in the corner on the back wall that is not occupied by my bed was just a hole in the stone floor, which leads down into a stone tank that reeks. I put the stench out of my mind for now, and continue my exploration of the enclosure. It does not take me long to find what I am looking for. The door is across the cell diagonally from my pallet, and the symbol is in the direct center of the door. I run my finger across it.
The high vaulted ceiling arches up above me as I stand next to the hundreds of others that came to this building in the center of the city on this special occasion. Incense rises from the multitude of golden stands placed throughout the enormous room. We all chant words. The words seem important, but I wonder how many of the people reciting them actually know what they meant. We are happy to recite the words however. After the recitation, we line up in the aisles to receive blessings from men in white robes. When I reached the front of the line, I notice the symbol embossed on the left breast of the robe of the man blessing me.
Quite frequently now, I receive visions like the one that came to me when I touched the symbol. These visions seem to be triggered by various events. I think that they may be memories from my past coming back to me. This is of some solace to me. As a man who has lost his entire memory, gaining any knowledge at all of my past is of paramount importance to me. Then again, what else am I going to do in this dark, dank, eight by ten cellar?
The answer to my rhetorical question makes itself apparent as my cell becomes inundated with light. My hand shoots up to cover my eyes, though I can still feel the light burning against my face. I know someone has come to talk to me. It is always the same when they come to talk. They do not open the door when they bring food, they simply push it through the flap at the bottom. Sure enough, after the door is shut and the light is gone, it speaks.
“Good evening.” Says the only voice I ever remember hearing besides my own.
“Is it evening?” I ask.
“Yes.” The deep sympathetic voice replies.
“I should be asleep then.”
I have taken to playing dumb with these people for some reason. I am not entirely sure why. They keep asking me questions though, questions about my past, questions that I am unable to answer. The voice once again breaks me from my thoughts.
“Not necessarily. Many people prefer to sleep in the daytime.”
“Am I one of those people?”
“I don’t know, why don’t you tell me?”
“I don’t know either.”
But all of a sudden, I did know.
The sky overhead looms darkly as I exit the temple, but that is fine with me. The night sky is my friend. The moon overhead shines brightly, casting the street before me in a cool glow. I walk briskly along the moonlit streets, entering the pools of yellow light cast by the street lamps at regular intervals. Not many other people are stirring. Only the others like me who go to the nighttime service, preferring a close intimate setting rather than the bustling packed ceremony that is the daytime service. I turn and shut the door to my small apartment as the sun peeks over the horizon. After pulling the shades down around the windows, I crawl into bed, and sleep.
“You know now don’t you?” The voice asks, snapping me back into reality.
“Yes.”
“Good, you are recovering your health then.”
There he goes again, always talking about my health. I suppose they are trying to help me though. I have been getting more and more of my memories back lately.
“Well, which is it, night or day?”
“Night, I sleep during the day.”
The voice says nothing, though I can almost feel him nodding and moving towards the door again. That’s one thing about living in darkness, you start to rely more on your other senses. The light comes again and I cover my eyes quickly. I wish they would warn me when they do that. Then he is gone. I walk over to the door and run my hands along the bottom; maybe he left food for me. It is not food that I find though. It is a rough wooden emblem on a string. The man must have been wearing it as a necklace before it slipped off and fell to the floor. Upon further inspection I find that the emblem matches the scratches on the back of the door. Interesting. I slide the string around my neck and fasten the emblem there.
I find myself in a large room. Red carpets muffle my footsteps as I walk forwards towards a large chair in which an equally large man is sitting. The man is dressed in rich white robes embroidered with gold. Around his neck he is wearing an emblem that matches the one I wear. I kneel down before him and kiss the ring on his outstretched hand.
Who was that? I rack my brain for an answer as I drift back into the present, but I cannot find the answer. Whoever it is must be a very important man to live in such opulent accommodations. Accommodations that are far different from my own. The only similar feature is the rough hewn stone walls of the room. A loud thump echoes through the air in my cell. This happens every so often here. I am not quite sure what it is, but I know that it is dangerous. Every time the thumping begins, the walls around me shake. This time though, the walls are shaking more than usual. Then come the loud popping sounds from outside my window again. They are closer now, almost on top of me. They are clearer and louder than before. The sound is so familiar, where have I heard it before?
There is a large crowd cheering in the streets below me. I am high above, watching like a hawk from its perch. The stairs leading up to my vantage point have been blocked off with a piece of plywood. A shadow cast by the large bell hanging above my head obscures me from the sight of anyone below. A long leather case sits beside my knee. A man in dazzling white robes strides out through the crowd below, waving his hands. People jump over each other just to touch this man. He walks towards the center of the square, where a large platform has been erected with a podium from which he is to speak. I open the leather case at my side.
“Ladies and gentlemen, fellow children of the faith.” The man begins. “I come to urge you to love your brethren, for there has been far too much hatred of late.” The crowd is quieting down now that the man is speaking. “I have heard of many terrible incidents between the two faiths of this country, and this news greatly disturbs me.” The man continues on, holding the rapt attention of the crowd. So much the better, nobody will see me until I am finished.
I raise the rifle scope to my eye. The crowd below is completely unaware of the world changing event that is about to take place, but I know. The red dot of my scope is lined up perfectly with the man’s chest. I take my shot. The white robed man crumples to the floor. I lift my rifle and put it back in the case. There is a loud noise as the plywood covering the entrance bursts open. Two men jump out of the uncovered entrance. They grab me and toss me out of the bell tower. My world goes black.
I sit in my cell in stunned silence. This is not the usual silence of my cell, but a new and deeper silence. This is the silence that comes when a person discovers something about themselves that horrifies them. I am a murderer. I deserve to be locked up like this. The guns firing outside my window are coming closer, but I do not care. Let them kill me. Two voices are coming down the hallway outside. Neither one belongs to the man who usually comes to speak with me. They pass my cell, talking hurriedly. Then, I recognize one of the voices. It is the same voice that the man I shot had been preaching with. He was not dead.
I am once again in the opulent room, kneeling before the richly robed man with my lips pressed to his ring. “Rise my son.” The man says. I stand before him with my head bowed in respect. “Your Holiness.” I begin. “What is it that you ask of this humble servant?”
“I want you to do a great service for the Church.”
“Anything, Your Holiness.”
“We must rid the land of the unbelievers.”
“Your Holiness, I am only one man. What can I do to rid the land of so many?”
“Fear not my son, many millions will surely flock to your cause once you commit but one simple act to rouse them from their slumber.”
“What is it that I must do?”
“Take this.” The man reaches to his side and picks up a long leather case. He seems about to say more, but I cannot hear him. My memory is fading away.
It was a plot then. The murder of the head of the church was planned and orchestrated by none other than himself, for the sole reason of inciting the followers of the faith to drive out the unbelievers. They keep me locked in here so I will not reveal the truth, though few would listen at this point. My cell started rocking again as another thump shakes the edifice. A large stone comes loose from the wall and lands with a clatter at my feet. It is just about the size of my fist, and pointed at one end. I grab the rock, and began to pound it against the lock on the door. The pops and bangs of automatic weapons are coming closer. I do not want to be around when they reach my cell.
The lock finally snaps and the door swings free. I am immediately blinded by the light in the hallway. After a few moments my eyes adjust and I see hazy shapes where before there was only a light blur. I dash out of the room and down the hallway as my eyesight recovers. It sounds like there is fighting going on upstairs. I decide that the best plan of action is to find some way of defending myself. As I dash down the hallway, I look in the rooms coming off the side of the hall for any sort of weapon. I finally stumble across a bedroom, where a pistol is sitting on the bedside table. Weapons have a way of turning up during times of war. I grab the gun, and continue down the hallway, trying to avoid the noise of battle. That’s when I see him. A white robed man slinking into what appears to be a hidden passage behind a hanging tapestry. I dash after him.
Then I am face to face with him again. This time I do not kneel down and kiss his ring. He is backed up against a rough stone wall with a look of terror in his eyes as I point the gun in his general direction.
“I want my memory back. Tell me what is going on.” I demand.
“My son, you are overwhelmed from your sickness.” He begins, but I cut him off.
“None of that, tell me why people are dying all around me.”
“To cleanse the world of unbelievers, surely you believe this is a just cause?”
“Do you believe that?”
“Well… Yes. Of course I believe that.”
I look at him squarely. “Where are you getting the funds for your war? Surely the tithes collected at the annual services are not enough. Besides, those are for the poor.”
The man stutters, searching for an answer, but there is none. His rich clothing and lifestyle gives him away. Finally, he sputters an answer. “The government funds all religious ventures to a certain point. We are using the money from them.”
That is it. This war is not about religion. It is about money. The government subsidizes all religions. Rid the country of all religions but yours, and all their money comes to you. Not to mention the tithes of the converts. People are dying, so this man can be rich. Footsteps can be heard coming up the hallway. I pay no attention to them. “So you deceived the public into killing each other so that you can double your cash flow?” I shout in his face. An order is barked from behind me and the tapestry is swung open. Three men with automatic rifles are on the other side. The rifles are aimed at me and the robed man. I raise my hands and drop my gun before kicking it over towards them. I have nothing to fear, I can stop this war.
“I am the man who attempted the assassination.” I tell them. “I started the war. I can also finish it. I have information that when revealed will cease the violence between the religions and cause peace once more.” I say to the man in charge without moving an inch.
The man is silent for a few moments. “I’m sorry, but in that case I cannot let you live.” He tells me. “We are winning.” The sound of gunfire from three automatic rifles echoes down the hallway past my empty dark eight by ten cell.
