Let It Shine

• Hannah Taylor, Grade 10
• Short Story
• 2017

It was so dark. The blackness engulfed the room in a heavy fog, brushing against their bare shins like the cloak of death himself. The shallow breathing of the room’s occupants cut through the darkness like soldiers’ bullets cut through flesh. Heartbeats echoed in the room. Now, all they could do was wait.
They had been meeting like this since the soldiers came, speaking in hushed voices, singing praises under their breath. They never met when the patrols were underway, and when the meeting time came, they had always been careful. Tonight, however, they had not been so cautious.
There had not been patrols in weeks, no routine executions on street corners. Naturally, they had become lenient. This week, they had only asked for one of the three passwords. A little mishap, but a fatal one. The heart of the pastor sitting in the middle of the room skipped a beat as he realised the truth - they had not scraped away the sign of the fish in the dust of the doorway. Praying silently for God’s mercy and the power of the desert sands, he turned his face to the ceiling of the hidden room, mouthing ancient pleas for help.
A crash from above. A window, perhaps, the only one left in the house. These soldiers seemed to love fear as much as they loved their guns. Deep breaths echoed around the small space. Hopefully they wouldn’t lift the carpet and find the trapdoor. A few shouted words, then a set of dark chuckles as the soldiers made themselves at home in the sparseness of the living room above. Children buried themselves deeper into their parents’ arms as the soldiers showed no sign of leaving. Maybe the soldiers would wait until the lack of water made the believers emerge from hiding. The pastor eyed off the empty shelves solemnly. They had no choice but to make a stand.
A single candle sputtered to life in the darkened room, producing a dull glow as it seemed to scan the frightened faces. A flame dropped on the straw covering the basement would cause unspeakable damage, but the weathered hand that held it was firm despite the years evident on the owner’s face. The woman’s mouth crinkled into a smile, gazing at the light as if it were God himself. And then slowly, she began to sing, clutching the candle tightly.
It was a song everyone knew, one that hailed from days gone by, its soft tones telling the story of the love and mercy they all knew by heart. Gradually, a voice joined her, staying quiet in the crowded room, and then another, louder and unafraid, joined in the chorus. Soon they were all singing, basking in the glow of the candle, ready to face whatever came their way. For they were only a few of many believers, and there, then in that moment, they had never felt so alive.