My father stood at the nave, barefoot, dressed in a white tunic and loose pants that brushed his ankles.
My mother stepped to his side, wearing a cream skirt and white blouse—her Sunday best, even though it was only Wednesday.
“Everyone,” he said, spreading his arms wide in a welcoming gesture, “it’s time for judgment day, time for you to prove your faith, to prove our devotion.”
I didn’t know what devotion they were proving. I tuned out most of my father’s speeches. There were only so many times you could hear a man refer to himself as the Divine and Lord before wanting to scream out that it was all fake.
Instead of looking at him, my gaze drifted around the old chapel.
It was small with rows of narrow pews lined in front of the altar. The main entrance was behind us. The double wooden doors were the only way in and out unless you counted windows.
“Today is the day we die. We’ll burn for our beliefs to take us to where our faith leads. You will stay in here, in the chapel, where we give ourselves to our faith.” He peered over at my mother and rested his hand on her shoulder. “The Higher Beings have instructed me to go to my office and do this. My wife will be joining the Divine in our final moments while you stay here, my followers.”
I rolled my eyes at how much he loved referring to himself in the third person.
My mother nodded, which led to others around me doing the same.
I scratched my head, staring at my father, unnerved, as a pain formed in my chest. Something about this felt wrong.
I heard something move behind me and looked over my shoulder to see the doors shut. When I heard a loud bang, I knew someone had dragged the wooden crossbar across the outside of the doors, locking us in.
My head spun in panic when my father grabbed a red kerosene container. He tipped it forward. Kerosene fell from the yellow nozzle, splashing onto the floor. He soaked the pews next, going row by row.
My chest suddenly seemed too tight as the sharp smell of oil filled the chapel. I wheezed out a breath when he struck a match and dropped it onto the floor.
At the sound of another match strike, I darted my gaze to my mother just as she tossed it onto a pew.
Then he flicked another while she did the same.
Small fires started near the front of the room, blocking anyone from moving toward them.
No one even tried to move anyway. No one screamed. No one did anything as my parents turned around and walked toward his small office.
For a moment, I didn’t either.
The way they started the fires made sure no one could run to the office without going through the flames.
Kerosene fed the hungry flames, and they leaped from pew to pew, spreading fast.
Wood cracked and popped.
Within seconds, the fire had taken over the entire nave and was spreading toward us.
Heat spread through the room, and I fell back a step. Smoke covered the ceiling, caving in toward us, and people coughed.
Again, no one moved. I overheard a few people praying.
They wanted this. They were willing to die for the fraudster.
Children started crying, and smoke filled my lungs. The first cough that left me was my wake-up call.
I turned around, ran for the door, and pain shot down my arm when I rammed my shoulder against it.
It didn’t budge.
I backed up again, hitting someone with my body, and slammed into the door harder this time.
Nothing.
