The line was spread for miles. We all stood shoulder to shoulder. Silence infested or minds. Plastic cups containing small doses of red liquid were passed out to each person. We obediently swallowed the juice and watched the others do the same. My mind festered with questions, though a sin. Why was I here? What was this drink? What was a “white night”? Nobody would answer these questions for me. They all ignored me. It was like they all shared one brain, one mind, one soul. My eyes darted back and forth. The silence, the silent sound of 800 people, is amazing. The workers all stood in a line, cups in hand watching us all. The families, the children, the elders. Father came over the loudspeaker, “You have all just drunken poison, and you will die in forty-five minutes or less” The ear piercing screams of mothers echoed through the field. People scrambled and some sat in shock, like I was doing. Others smiled, being as loyal to Father as they were to themselves. My eyes dashed furiously in every direction. I felt like I was going mad. My heart beat faster and I felt like I was going to drop dead.
The minutes felt like days. My head in my hands I sat, my mother clenching my little sister in her arms. My mother was hysterical, and my dad just sat in shock. My two brothers were almost, happy. They were with Father. They were one with Father and were completely and utterly devoted and loyal to him. I never understood why. They never spoke to me, unless to remind me of mass or something referring to Father. Many others were like this, and I never understood why. I looked at the clock. An hour had gone by since we drank the drug. We should all be dead but, here I was. Still sitting, dizzy and tired. Father’s voice blared once again. “ You were not poisoned.” You heard hundreds sigh in relief, but it sounded like a thousand. “This was a loyalty test. I need to know that you are loyal to me. Return to your cabins, now.” I snapped back to reality, which was also most likely a sin. I had learned in school about dictators. About people who controlled others. The dictators I read about in my text book seemed different that Father. Nightmarishly different than Jim Jones.
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