So this is what it feels like to be hated.

I always wondered, after being raised in such a loving environment, if such a thing as hate really existed.

Now I know. I feel the metal of this cage scrape across my flesh, and I know. Hate is a real, living, viable force. Hate has placed me here. Hate will let me die here. All because I have a different set of beliefs.

I saw the world in a hazy, rosy glow for a long time. I saw only the good in people; I was the eternal optimist. But I am not longer the irrepressible youth I once was. Hate has cured me of that flaw. Now I see the world as it is. We do not live in a pretty place.

From my vantage point here, I can see much of the town, even in this early morning mist. People are beginning to stir from their homes. A few have even stopped to point and stare at me, hanging here, helpless on the side of this church.

A heretic, they say I am.

So be it. I refuse to relinquish what I believe. Nothing can make me give that up. They can do whatever they like to my body, but they cannot touch my mind.

They've done quite a lot to my body, so far. The lack of food makes my head spin; I feel as if I am constantly falling. The cold, damp nights leave me shivering and feverish. Even these bars torment me, wearing permanent grooves into my legs as I lay on them.

They treat me worse than any animal. Even circus animals are not starved to death and left to die in their cages. Even they are given food and straw and a warm place to sleep. Not me. I am a heretic. I do not deserve to be human. I do not deserve to be alive. And so I am placed in this cage, sentenced to hang here until I die.

I will not give in. I will not sink to their level.

I will not hate.