One night, we forget we are his prisoners—or at least we do our best to try.It starts with gathering wood in the morning. Every Congregant combs the woods for tinder and logs; some team up to cut the big logs that will feed the fire into the dawn.Then we pile them high.Now we’re nearly finished. The Congregants stand in a circle around the firewood, watching me. Always I put the last branch on the fire. I’m holding a thin twig from a pine tree. Its rough bark snags against my toughened skin a little.Then Mother tosses the match on top—always.I take my time, breathing in the night air, and the smell of the food. Yes, food, brought here by Darwin West. First we’ll light the fire. And soon, very soon, we’ll eat.“Hurry up!” someone shouts—Earl, I think. It’s hard to tell in the dark. But I don’t feel irritated. Nothing can upset me tonight.“For Ellie and Jonah!” I shout, holding the branch high. I remember all those other nights, all those other years—the years I was too small to do this myself.
