Out of the Fire

A story loosely based on Daniel Three

By Bob Freye

They had a bad reputation for being too good. They came by it honestly, which was dangerous in a place that seemed to thrive on brutality and treachery. People didn’t survive here by being honest and good. They survived by being tough and cruel.

Or invisible.

One day there was an announcement. Something big was coming. It was all good. Nothing to worry about. Just a little old-fashioned group participation. That was the thing. Participate. Everybody had to participate. 

Everybody.

Worship the king, the crowd chanted. Worship the great nation. Worship the values that made us great, the values that degrade the meek and the good. Worship the insane craving that starves the soul.

And do it on cue.

Listen for the music, with trumpet and flute and piano and string bass and harmonica and high-pitched soprano saxophone that squeaks when you try to hit the E above middle C.

When you hear the music, worship your god!

And they did.

The music played, and they worshiped their god. People fell down and bowed toward the king and the temples and the towers and the money. They worshiped their god, whoever it happened to be.

The city was rich with gods. If you tossed a cat in any direction, chances were good that it would land on something that was dedicated to a god.

You could have a god for every day of the week. You could mix and match your gods. You could wear your gods like a belt or a scarf and store them in your closet when they fell out of fashion.

Anyone could find something to worship in all that clutter of silver and gold. It didn’t mean anything, anyway. Bow down to the big image or sing a hymn to a stack of pancakes. Either way, you went out the same way you came in.

So when the music played, and people heard the squeak of a high-pitched soprano saxophone trying to hit the E above middle C, they didn’t even think. They all bowed real low, and they worshiped their god. Everyone. They all bowed.

Almost.

Someone looked up and saw three men standing.

Don’t do that, the crowd whispered.

But there they stood.

The crowd hissed, just pick something. Worship anything. Worship nothing. But do us a favor, and bow down. Lie, if you have to. Pretend if you want to. Compromise your principles. We’ve all done it. After a while, you don’t even feel it.

But they stood anyway, three stiff vertical exceptions.

The crowd began to rumble. We can make you bow, they said.

But the men stood.

The crowd began to growl. They were a thousand smoldering fires, and they came together in a rush of flame.

We can kill you, the crowd yelled.

But the men stood there. One shrugged his shoulders. Maybe, maybe not.

The flames shot up toward the ceiling. They merged with each other and fed off any little scrap of tinder, until they swallowed the room in one large gulp of flame.

We can burn you, they roared.

But the men stood against the breath of the flame. And a voice whispered back, not this time.

[-] © 2006