Heads bowed, throats scratchy, the mumbles of prayers barely heard over the crackles of fire, hands bound together tight in prayer. In between the crackles, I could hear the cries and begging of the person above. I was squeezing my hands, to the point of blood loss, trying to keep the faith. I dare not look up; otherwise, I would see the scene while awake and asleep.
They started as the sun-brushed the ground. The flames stopped as the moon's beams burned into the ground. I looked up finally as they poured blessed water and salt on the final embers. When the water touched the embers, they made a 'woosh' sound like a final breath.
I knew him, I talked to him, and I was friends with him. They burned him in a dress just because he could not see himself as the gender that the great god created him with. It is written that humans are flawed from birth. How can fixing oneself be a sin? As everyone started to get up, I quickly did a whispered prayer.
