As a Priest, I Was Judged

At dusk, the evening light shines through the solemn church and shines on every bluestone in the square. In the center of the square, a priest wearing black holy robes was tied to a huge dark cross. The audience was filled with believers, their breaths forming white mist in the cold air that reflected the beating torches. "Admit it! Have you ever danced with the devil?" "I didn't." The priest smiled lightly. "Heresy, you will be judged!" There was the sound of dripping grease under the pyre, and sparks shone on the golden cross on the priest's chest. The believers looked at the figure swaying in the firelight, and they vaguely felt that the priest's faint smile was a bit strange - like a sickle cutting through the wound of wheat straw.