"What's going on, papa?" Asked the little boy as his father placed him down in the coat closet.
The man kneeled in front of him. "Hijo," he sighed as he put his hand on the boy's shoulder, "There are many people in this world who don't like us."
"Why?" Asked the boy as he began to shiver from the chilly air in the room.
"You see," the man wrapped a large, colorful quilt around the boy, "They don't understand us and think we are bad."
"Why don't you just talk to them?"
The man gave him a sad smile, "I will, hijo. I will." He kissed his son on the forehead, "Stay here, ok?"
The boy nodded, "Yes, papa." He clung onto his quilt which had bunches of little, spiky flowers that formed big squares. The patterns were blue, purple, and green with little bits of red sprinkled in while the base color for the quilt was white.
The man then got up and closed the closet door. He turned to face the shattered window on the wall to his right. There was a brick on the floor, surrounded by pieces of broken glass. The room was flooded with chilly, autumn air from outside along with the sounds of aggressive chanting. Outside of their house, there was a large crowd of people holding flame torches and pitchforks.
"El brujo!" Screamed the people in the crowd. "Burn the witch! Burn the witch!" Chanted the angry group. The man approached the shattered window and groaned as he watched the people make many attempts to knock his door down with a log.
*They want to burn me,* he thought, *Yet, I have done nothing wrong. I have been an honest Christian man my entire life and the moment they think I am a witch, my own community turns against me.* He sighed as he paid closer attention and recognized a few familiar faces in the angry crowd, *Jorge, the local butcher. Martha, the local tailor. Fernando, my favorite barber. I have interacted with all these people almost daily. In fact, it was only last week when I went to get a clean shave.*
The man looked down and shook his head, *Fernando held a sharp blade to my neck and he could've slit my throat right then and there if he believed that I was a witch. I never thought it would come to this. The people who are supposed to be my friends and family turned against me because I went against their beliefs to help others. However, these people are not fools. I know how smart and capable these people truly are, therefore, I do not blame them for giving into this kind of behavior.* The man looked up and saw a priest in the crowd, encouraging the mob as they got angrier, while the men continued their attempts to knock his front door down, *The church is to blame. For generations, they have been abusing their abundant power by hurting people simply because those people were different and they claimed that it was all for the greater good of humanity. They have also brainwashed many people into believing that the church is always right and have shown them countless times the consequences for disobeying their authority.*
The man then turned away from the window and put his hands together with his palms facing inward. He took a deep breath and prayed, "Lord, please forgive these people for they are not in their right mind. These people aren't committing these terrible sins because they advocate for witch burnings. They are doing this because they are scared and do not want to face repercussions from the church. It is not the church's job to do such things and this is not what you have preached to us. Amen!" He then made a cross gesture on his chest before he faced the closet door, *I just hope Tezria gets here in time and saves him.*
"Burn the witch! Burn the witch!" The aggressive chanting from the crowd got louder as they had finally entered his house.
The bedroom door quickly ended up on the floor, causing the man to quickly shift his gaze, as three angry men entered the room. Two of them, wearing beige shirts and dirty overalls, pointed their pitchforks at him. The third man, wearing a long black robe with a big cross around his neck was holding a bible in one hand and a larger cross in the other. He held the larger cross up to the man.
"Senor Metchez," said the priest, "You are under arrest for practicing witchcraft and now it is the church's duty to prosecute you."
"Prosecution?" The man raised an eyebrow, "Don't you mean you're going to burn me at the stake without a fair trial?"
The priest narrowed his eyes, "Fair trial? You're punishment, Senor Metchez, shall be fair enough for a heretic such as yourself. You lost all your god-given rights the moment you decided to worship the devil and practice his craft."
"So you're going to kill me just because I disagreed with the church's views by not worshipping the same deity as you?"
"We are just doing God's work."
"Claiming that you're doing God's work by deciding who gets to live and who has to die due to their beliefs is blasphemy."
The priest clenched his fist, "How dare you accuse me of such a thing! You're just a heretic. What would you know about our lord?"
"Well," the man smirked, "If you claim that you're doing your lord's work, then you are implying that you are on the same level as him. In other words, blasphemy."
"Enough!" Said one of the farmers as he took a step closer to the man, "You shall pay for your crimes and for disrespecting Padre José!"
"Take him away, gentlemen!" Said the priest right before the two farmers grabbed the man by his arms and dragged him outside.
As they left the room, the boy opened the door slightly and peaked through the crack. He gasped as he witnessed the events unfold in front of him. Tears began to roll down the boy's face as he began to sob. Nobody could hear him over the loud, angry mob chanting to kill his father.
"Papa!" The boy gasped as he abruptly woke up. He darted his eyes around the dark surroundings as he realized that he was still in his bedroom in Tezria's home. He then sighed as he calmed himself down. *It was just a dream,* he thought to himself, *Just a dream.* The boy fell back asleep.