Soot Stained Knees

Every part of him ached. His knees, ankles, elbows and back were sick of supporting his weight. His stomach cramped with hunger and his head throbbed with illness. Rough clothes scratched against his dirty skinny frame as he tried to wriggle free. Billy's soot stained knees were wedged firmly beneath his filthy chin and his thin legs were slowly crushing his chest. Every soot filled breath was painful. Tears made clean streaks on his otherwise grotty face. They were not tears of sadness, his life wasn't all that great. It would be a relief to die. Soot floated around his head, not yet settled from his sweeping not long before. It was not how Billy had wanted to die, if he had to die doing the thing he had come to dread more than anything else in the world. He'd wanted it quick and fast, preferably painful to take his mind off dying.

Billy didn't want to die, he really didn't. He was too young. He hadn't been a good kid either. He didn't want to go to Hell. From the few Sundays Billy had listened in Sunday school he'd gained that Hell was like another chimney only hotter and darker and that there was no escape or hope. Only misery and despair without relief. Billy quivered at the thought, and tears ran more than ever down his face, if only he could turn back time. God wouldn't want him, he was sure if that. He wouldn't want him if he was God. He didn't listen in Sunday school unless he was caught fooling around with the others at the back. There were several times Billy had stolen food, clothes and valuables from his clients. He'd even cursed God for weeks after Little Tommy had been died.

Little Tommy, the shaven white haired boy with bright eyes and a large smile. Little Tommy who had shared his food rations. Why did he have to die!? Why did he have to be a sweep!? Why had God sent Tommy to him, only to snatch him away!? All of the sudden, Billy couldn't wait to die. He'd go before God and Jesus and he would tell them what he thought. It wouldn't matter if they sent him away, they wouldn't have taken him anyway. He would tell them that if they were so powerful they should do something about the chimney sweeps. If God could create heaven and earth and all that is in then, then he could give everyone a way to warm themselves without a chimney or he could make them have bigger chimneys. He'd tell them that they shouldn't have taken Tommy, they had no business doing that. They had lots of other old people they could've taken. Why did they take Tom? There wasn't any reason.

Billy was uncontrollably sobbing now. 'It wasn't right, it wasn't right,' was all he could think. He'd go to Hell because he didn't have a family to look after him and teach him right from wrong. He would miss out on heaven and an eternity of love because Master Ashdown wouldn't feed him enough. He would go to Hell because, he William Blake, had made the wrong choices, and Hell was the punishment. If only he'd followed Tommy's lead. If only he was good and kind. He'd be going to Heaven. The beautiful angel from Tommy's dream would have come down and saved him. The angel would have taken him and all the others to that clear blue stream in that fresh, green field. They'd all leave their bags and brushes in their graves, and race through the field. They'd wash in the stream too. His blackened knees and elbows would whiten, and his face would finally be clean.

Billy jolted awake, his predicament had worsened since he had accidentally drifted off. His eyes not only stung from the soot, but ached from crying. His mouth was dry and tasted of ash. He wanted to vomit. Billy shook all over. Tears welled up in his eyes, and a horrible feeling welled up in his chest, over the dread and fear in the pit if his stomach. He had thought he'd cried himself out before. He didn't want to die, didn't want pto go to Hell. He didn't want to live either, didn't want to go back to the Sweep house, to the others. Didn't want to get up tomorrow and crawl up another chimney. 'It didn't matter what he wanted,' Billy thought,'his soul was probably as black as is knees, were years and years of dragging them up soot filled flues had permanently stained them.

'Dear God, if you're listening, I'm really sorry for all the bad things I've done. I'm sorry for stealing from people and punching John. I'm sorry for not listening in Sunday School and not learning about You, or your son Jesus or the Bible. Most of all I'm sorry I didn't believe in You sometimes an I'm sorry I cursed You and called You lots of beastly names. I'm really sorry. I am. If you can forgive and let me into heaven i won't be any trouble, and I'll be really thankful. I promise. I'd even make it up to you, I don't know how, but if you tell me I'll do it. Just please don't send me to Hell. I'll understand if you do. I would. I haven't been a good person. If you do send me to Hell, could you let me see Tommy first. You know Tommy Dacré, he was my brother and I never got to say goodbye. But please, please God, if you can hear me, forgive me. Let me into heaven please, let me be cleaned with the other boys and the angel.' Unsure how to end a prayer properly and his brain not working enough from lack of oxygen, Billy added a hasty 'Amen' and hoped from the bottom of his heart that God got his prayer and forgave him. Billy closed his eyes against the black, it made no difference.

"Billy! Bill." Someone called to him. Someone familiar. Billy smiled, he was saved.