Burned
Outside the city all was dust and ashes. Abby knew this — everyone knew — children left school for a day once each year to walk the walls and see the barren lands and hear the stories of the people of the past, who had failed to steward the resources God had given and so brought down devastation. Only the people of the city had survived, protected by the righteousness of the Father. “New Jerusalem,” he named it, the shining city on the hill, and only those who could show their value had a place within her walls. Abby’s value was minimal at best, and she lived and worked in the outer periphery of the city, far from the high-value homes at the center. She walked from her drudging job as she had a thousand times before, as she expected to walk a thousand times hence, ‘til death or the fire took her. But this night there was something different. This night there was music. It was muffled, faint, and it sounded like crying — the sorrowful heartbeat of drums and pain vibrating strings. And i