There are wires connected to my body. Long, snaking things that wrap around the hot, dry air and connect to monstrous machines that slowly beep, beep, beep in rhythm with my heartbeat. My body is racked with a sort of electric, throbbing pain; not stopping; not lessening, not leaving. My nostrils flare as my breathing shakes, hitching at the burst of awful, scream-quenching flames that seem to erupt from my sides, my chest, my head. My teeth grind together and my eyes squeeze shut, causing colors as vibrant as a sunset to roll behind my eyelids. But I am not alone.

    God is good. God is good. 

    It’s a chant I keep in my head, seeming to dull the pain that rolls over my body like waves crashing against a shoreline again and again and again; reminding me of the calming presence that surrounds me as if covering me with a warm, soft blanket of lamb’s wool that protects me from all harm. Not stopping, not lessening, not leaving. 

    God is good. God is good. 

    I don’t know where I am, or why I’m there. All I know is that I was taken from my bed and dragged to a sort of grotesque train, crimson and packed with people of all shapes, sizes, colors. Row after row of twins, shoved into trains meant for cattle and overfilled; packed side to side with bodies of all ages. I don’t know where my brother is now, or if he’s still alive, just as he knows not where I went after we were torn apart at the train station. I’m almost glad for it - if he could see me now, his brother born only minutes before him, it would break him. I cracked my eyes open, the blank ceiling above me changing as I imagined my brother’s face in the dancing shadows, the midnight shapes telling our story as it was an untold amount of time ago. The time before we’d been separated and I’d been brought here. To this horrible place where blood stains tell the stories of those who’d been tied to this table before me, and tell me of my own fate. But I am not alone.

    God is good. God is good. 

    A clang breaks me from my trance and once again the shadows look like monsters, looming out of the dark, aiming to swallow me whole. A face appears above me, the dim light casting sickening shadows upon his face; a ghastly skull stared down at me for a moment before moving down slightly, pressing its cold, dead hand against the side of my bare back. A shock ran down my body, and the edge of a thin skalpell blade made for healing glinted in the corner of my blurry vision, used now to harm. The Angel of Death was making his final mark on my body; for what I do not know, nor do I want to. But I am not alone.

    God is good. God is good. 

    The pain only lasted for what seemed to be only a moment before a form of peace washed over me, enveloping me in a sudden warmth as my eyes fluttered closed. It felt odd; the room was still cold and dark, but here I was - seemingly enveloped in loving arms which had the strength I did not. When I opened my eyes again, I was standing in a lush meadow, full of trees and grass of the brightest green; birds sang in the air - doves, white as the clouds in which they dipped and whirled in - and a fresh brook gurgled soothingly to my left. And there…standing only two feet away from me, was the man who’d held me through my long, long time in that room. A smile spread across my face; the first true time I’d smiled since the night before those wicked men, with the crossed red marking upon their hearts; upon their souls. He opened his arms and I flew into them, the holes in his hands pressing lightly against my back, which was now free of the jagged scars that had previously marred me. 

    God is good.