Between Hell and Hallowed Ground

It was unnaturally warm that night. Even many years later, Florian had only to close his eyes and he could feel it, the stifling heat prickling over his skin, causing the hairs on the back of his neck to stand on end. A siren blared somewhere in the distance, the boy jumped, glancing around warily.

Florian was scared, but he couldn’t back out now. This was something he had to do, to renegade wasn’t an option. He thought of his parents, tucked up in bed, blissfully unaware of their son’s plan. As devout Catholics, they had tried the best they could to raise him into a kind, pious, polite young man - everything that he refused to be. They tried everything to guarantee his place in Heaven with their own, he however, had his sights set on a different afterlife; one with more fire, more excitement.

After all, Florian thought, Heaven was inconstant and unpredictable. Hell was much more trustworthy. He knew he was damned. He just knew it, as sure as he knew the back of his own hand or the inside of a pawn shop. That’s why he had to do this - he had to make sure his place in Hell was certain, that there was nothing his parents could do to save him this time. Everything was meticulously planned, down to the very last detail; there was no way this wouldn’t work, and subsequently, there would be no way he’d be saved now. There’d be no need for petty things like robbing cigarettes from the corner shop, or smashing house windows with stones after this….

He ran.

Past the houses, past the Post Office. From pure muscle memory his legs carried him along the same route he took twice every weekday. The rhythmic pounding of his feet against the concrete rang loud into the night, startling a cat on her way to a midnight hunt, causing her to bolt into the darkness with a hiss like a radiator on overload. Somewhere to his left a murder of crows took to the skies, squawking anxiously and incessantly at their untimely disturbance. Everything was on edge. Every living being knew that this was the night that something happened, that something changed for ever.

Florian stopped at the flaky, wrought iron, Victorian ingress that twisted skywards in an arc over a foot above his head. He jumped up and clambered over with ease. As he approached, caught from the glare of a street light, the school shone through the Marian blue sky like a golden altar. The caretaker had left long before, the place, usually full of vibrant hope, was now abandoned and lifeless.

His plan didn’t take long. A window to the left was broken without effort, revealing the dark classroom behind it through its jagged glass frame. Florian didn’t take the time to peer inside before he pulled the matches out of his pocket. He smiled to himself as he struck a few against the side of the box. He had no anointing oil or fragrant incense, but matches and a rag were just as good- there was no room for error, no symbols or sacraments, merely phosphorous, wood, and cotton. He felt the heat on his fingertips as the end caught alight, and watched the night breeze dance the flame with sick fascination.

“The wind blows where it chooses, you hear the sound, but you do not know where it comes from or where it goes.”

Then, without any further hesitation, he threw the rag inside.
Minutes, that’s all it took; mere minutes for the lifeless school to become ablaze with light. The alarm rang, barely heard above the flame’s roar, but later its unrelenting siren would penetrate through Florian’s memory.

He stood. The heat from the fire was almost unbearable from this proximity. Thoughts of Hell flickered through his mind; the ceaseless fires like this one, the pain, the torment, the excitement, the adrenaline pumping through his veins. There was no way out, now.

But it’s odd, isn’t it, how fire can inspire contemplation. As he stood there Florian’s mind gradually reached a different conclusion, perhaps, he thought, there was no Hell after all. Perhaps there wasn’t even a Heaven, or a God, or saints and angels. Perhaps this- standing at the edge of what would soon be regarded as a catastrophe - was Hell itself, and the demons were all on Earth.

Fear began to grow inside him, kindling in his stomach and sparking into his nervous system, the burning building began to creak and groan. He forced his muscles to move, no longer a pillar of salt, he backed away from the flames, the harsh ringing of a police siren cut through his consciousness.

Florian turned, cast one last look back at the monument to an unbelieving soul, and ran.