Claude stood in front of the only building far from , holding the strap of the bag on his back. He was selected for this task by the Sloths, the poor of Ville du Seigneur.
“You can get him out of hiding. We need him to lead us,” he was told by his father.
The house’s structure was in the process of becoming dilapidated, with chipped paint and window panes sagging like wrinkled skin. He also noticed kerosene lamps glowing through the windows, giving the only light in the night. To Claude’s left there was a room with a simple wood stove and a bed in the corner. To his right was the living room where he could only spot an arm chair. Through the wave like glass window of the door he could see a desk across the hall with a man sitting at it.

He knocked on the door. The head in the door’s window turned and emitted a gravelly voice that still retained some power from years ago.

“I don’t know what papers you’re leaving, but just leave them and go.”

“I’m not here to leave something,” Claude responded. “I came here for you.”

As the man spoke again, a slight panic came into his voice.

“You have no need to take me!” he yelled. “I have taken part in nothing for years!”

“I’m not a police man or with the Sacred Soldiers or any secret group like them. I’m here because I know of your ideas and need to talk to you.”

Claude saw the clouded figure screech his chair across, what he assumed from the sound, the wooden floor. The figure walked toward the door with the sound of creaking planks, which was followed by that of something being unlocked. As the door opened, the figure was revealed to be an old man who had a worn out and wizened appearance. He wore a faded black dress shirt and tan pants that were now too big for his shrunken figure. On his feet, there were nothing but calluses and veins. His grey hair was unkempt, as if he had no need to keep up his appearance. His small but scraggly beard and sunken green eyes suggested someone who has given up.

“Why are you here?” asked the man.

“Because you’re Michel Duquette, the leader of the Sloth Revolution.”

Michel slammed the door in Claude’s face. Claude pushed the door back open and walked after him.

“I want nothing to do with you,” Michel spouted out with anger. “I’ve sworn off contact with the people of Ville du Seigneur long ago.”

As Claude walked toward the stomping old man, he noticed several pieces of paper scattered across the floor. He stopped to pick a page up and read it. He found it to talk of politics, a perfect society, and God’s role in both.

“You’re still thinking about what can be done, Michel. You haven’t fully given up.”

Michel slammed his fists on his desk to silence anything Claude would have said or thought. There was nothing but silence in the dying house.

Michel took a deep breath and spoke.

“Do you want to know what happened then? From my own eyes and ears?”

Claude hesitated to respond, surprised by this chance to really know what went on then.

“Yes.”

Michel sat and began to speak.
“Ville du Seigneur was, and most likely still is, a place of tyranny and repression. The Holy Council ruled with a grip as strong as the God whose words they supposedly followed. After the civil war, everyone thought that those select few who spoke to God would bring peace and unity if they governed the people. The only peace was for the council and the merchant leaders they worked with, like the Devil with his minions. They treated the poor with cruelty and malice, calling us sloths and garbage.”

“My family grew up being bossed around by our landlords, the policemen, and the rules of the council. I followed the teachings of the church as set out by the Holy Council, but as I got older, the less I saw the actions of God in the actions of the council.”

“I wasn’t the only one that noticed this. We, the ‘garbage’, began to talk and think of change. Some wanted to fight.”

“One day, a man bombed the entrance to the meeting hall of the Holy Council. After this, the Council went against the poor and ordered for punishment.”
“Then the burnings came.”

Michel’s eyes grew wide.
***

A torch was thrown into one of the peasant family’s homes by a group of four policemen. Screams came out of the burning wood structure. A man, woman, and young girl dressed in simple cotton clothes ran out. Two of the men beat and slashed the peasant father until he bled as the two others ripped off the clothes of the wife and daughter and forced themselves upon them. Michel looked on in horror as he saw this happen to his family

“Look at the blonde beau over there!” said one of the officers beating Michel’s father,

“Don’t feel scared!” his companion said with a grin. “You won’t be feeling much anymore when we’re done with you!”

The limber eighteen year old ran from the police as fast as he could. Everywhere he looked, similar acts took place. Houses of his friends were burning, men were being beaten and slit open, women were being battered and r---d.

He reached the church at the center of town and closed himself inside. He pulled pews, chairs, and whatever objects he could find to barricade the entrance. The guards beat at the doors.

“Forget him!” yelled one of the men. “There are others who’d be easier bait.”

Michel’s fear of harm went down as he heard the sound of their footsteps get smaller and smaller. His heart rate and fear of the harm and loss of his loved ones stayed high.

His body trembled as he walked toward the altar. He needed guidance from God, or protection, or anything. He just needed Him.

Michel got on his knees in front of the table covered in red cloth with a gold structure of the sun. Putting his arms on the cloth, he grasped his own hands and prayed aloud.

“God, my people are suffering. Something must be done. You are needed now more than ever. I know you don’t speak to the poor but please listen at least!”

Suddenly, a light shined on the desperate young man and a voice that sounded like hundreds of men and women speaking in unison spoke.

“We speak to all. The Holy Council is not Our voice. All can be Our voice and messengers. All Our brothers and sisters are on equal foot if you pull away the curtain of mortal greed and lust.

“You are a special messenger. You will lead your people and right the wrongs done upon you through the love We pass on to man.”

The voice and light faded away as the prophet sat stunned and confused.
***

“My whole world was shaken by what God said,” Michel states as he remembers what he felt that night decades ago. “I doubted what I heard at first. I even considered that I had gone insane from fear. But then I felt God’s warmth within me and I knew it was true.”

“That’s when you began your movement, right?”

“I led it, but it wasn’t my movement. It was the movement of man closer to God.

“When the tensions from the burnings died down, I began to preach and to share the idea of a land where the Sloths would be equal and intermingled with the merchants, the upper class. There would be no Holy Council, but all would be their own council. This was the beginning of the Sloth Revolution.”

“You didn’t start any violence, am I correct?” asked Claude, searching for truth.

Michel’s body tensed at the statement.

“I preached peace, but some thought differently. Some factions from the War began to reform as I began to teach. They thought that to peacefully disobey the Holy Council was not enough. Using my words as a base, they started attacks on Council buildings and homes of merchants. I publicly attacked their actions, saying this was the opposite of what was needed to bring equality.

“With attacks becoming frequent, the Sacred Soldiers were formed to capture and repress all who were against the Council, starting with those involved with me. We were beaten and treated like ungodly animals in prisons hidden beyond the mountains. Piece by piece, the work God sent me out to do was destroyed.

“When I was released, I was given this home in the will of a sympathetic farmer. I still dream of the utopia that could’ve been created, but I feel it is useless. I still hear the voice talking to me, saying ‘It is not over. You will rise again.’ But I can’t help but doubt it.”

“You shouldn’t doubt it,” said Claude.

He took some newspapers out of his bag and dropped them in front of Michel. He picked them up and read the headlines:

“Lower Class Fighting Back”

“Fight For Equality Rises”

“‘God lives in all!’ Says The Sloths”

“What is this?” asked Michel as tears welled in his eyes.

“Your resurrection.”