I walk into fire, surrounded by trees rumbling in flames, but I feel no heat. I tread down the path, fire licking at my arms, ashes fluttering upwards into the night sky like millions of grey moths. The path ends at a single tree – a white birch of dead branches unaffected by the fire around it. A picture frame hangs on the birch, but I can barely see it through the smoke. Closer and closer, the image in the picture frame becomes clearer. Suddenly, a whirlwind lifts the smoke and I see the picture – the portrait of Jesus Christ upside down.

My feet are stuck. I look down, my legs knee-deep in blood. Strands of long brown hair and severed body parts float in the red swamp.