8 8. Burning at the Stake

For a child of his age, Mao Yin was considerably mature. However, it is inevitable that any individual who has only lived for eight years has much they don't know or understand. This fact remains true in Mao Yin's case. Although he is quite sensible and able to care for himself, he lacks a basic understanding of how other's thoughts would progress based on their perception of things. This is especially the case since he no longer has parents to guide him and since he refrained from interacting with any of the other villagers for such a long period of time. This lack of exposure has played a large part in the events leading up to the present situation.

To Mao Yin, who lost his mother and father at such a ripe age, the concept of togetherness and family were one of the most important notions in his heart. Therefore, he had thought that despite the situation he was in it was crucial that the children's parents were able to see them one last time. In the midst of his pain and shock, the fact that his intentions may be viewed differently did not occur to him.

But the question remains: why did he choose to help those children despite all they they did to him? Could it simply be due to the naivety of a child? Or perhaps he felt a sense of empathy towards their parents for the death of a family membership? Whatever his reasoning at the time may have been, at the moment he certainly regretted his prior actions and his feelings of pity.

At the moment, he was bound to a wooden pole with his arms around its back. He had been immediately dragged there despite his kicking and screaming. However, even as the villagers dragged him towards the pole where they were preparing to burn him alive, his resistance was mild since he refrained from scratching and biting. Perhaps if he had, they would've let him go for a moment; but he knew that if one lets go, another can capture him again with ease. He was in a hopeless situation.

Even so, the real reason he refrained from doing so was because there was a part of him that didn't want to hurt the villagers. He still wanted to be accepted in the close little community they to laugh, play, cry, and go through the ups and downs of life together with them like he would a family.

But as he stood there, with tears and snot streaming down his dirty face, mixing together with the dried blood that was previously there, he saw a glimpse of their true ugliness.

Both the old and young.

Men, women, and even children.

They all stood together against a small boy, shouting for his death. Although he was misguided in his thoughts, Mao Yin had pure intentions. Yet not only was he not able to explain himself to them, but he was treated worse than garbage.

The villagers stood in a crowd against him. Many of the faces were of people he knew, however, their faces were hard to recognize due to their distorted expressions. Their nostrils were flared, noses scrunched, brows twisted together, and their mouths agape as they screamed for his condemnation. In that moment, they didn't seem to be human in the least. Almost as if their regular appearance was merely a clever guise.

A single word came to mind when he saw them like this.

Disgusting.

Utterly repulsive.

A few villagers had taken the initiative to spread some dried twigs and leaves by Mao Yin's feet to help the fire spread while another one began to strike a flint. Fear gripped little Mao Yin's heart tighter and his anxiety heightened. He could feel a cool rush through his limbs as adrenaline began to pump through his body in hopes of escape.

He began to try worming his way up the pole to escape the flame that just caught on the dry brush but a withered hand caught him by his pant leg and yanked him down mercilessly.

The back of his tattered shirt lifted against the wooden pole as he was pulled down and several large splinters lodged themselves deep into his back. However, his pain was forgotten when he saw the owner of the withered hand. It was the old village woman who often took pity on him and allowed him to work in the field. She was the only villager who had ever showed him any form of kindness yet she was among the first to pull him down to hell.

She balled her hand in his hair and pulled his head down. "You cursed ingrate! You should've died with your two miserable parents. If only God had taken you away then." She spoke with such force that her spittle rained on his face. She slammed his head against the pole before letting go with disgust.

The edges of his vision went dark because of the force she exerted and a small stream of blood dribbled down his chin from the corner of his mouth. At this moment, he began to truly despair.

Mao Yin had always sought love and affection yet he only seemed to attract ire and irritation. Though he is still but a child, he is not so naive as to continuously chase something far from his grasp. At this point if he couldn't very clearly see what their opinion of him was, then he would've been an absolute fool.

It was fairly clear previous to this incident as well, but Mao Yin believed that he could change their opinion of him This situation made him realize that they never really had even the smallest amount of pity or care for him. Even the one person who seemed to care was using him for cheap labor, cursing him behind his back the entire time. In fact, it almost felt like they were looking for an excuse to come together and get rid of him.

The flame began to lick upwards slightly and the villagers cheered, so excited that spittle flew from their lips.

Mao Yin tried to wriggle away from the flames that were gradually growing larger and larger but the village children pelted him with stones whenever he tried to move away.

Is this how he will die? He felt discontented once again at the prospect as he neared his death. And for once in his short life, he felt anger. Anger at the world, anger at his situation, anger towards the villagers, anger at his parents for leaving him.

At that moment, one of the stones hit his temple and the world went dark.