"This wouldn't hurt," a rough voice said behind me.

Before I could turn and look over my shoulder, there was a loud bang, as a shot of pain pierced my back. After another second, another shot rammed my rib, and I collapsed unable to bear the pain. Then there was no pain, but I could feel the weight of the two bullets in my body. Sprawled on the cold, hard floor, I couldn't look up to see my executioner, but I felt another bullet land in my left thigh, then another on my right knee, and then on my left calf, shattering my shin.

It was morning, around nine when the last shot shocked me from my nap. It was quiet around, while we were in the study hall of our Seminary reading seriously theology and spirituality. From that moment on, I knew that I was in deep trouble. Schedule was strict, especially with our Prefect of discipline, Br. Miguel, who was in the office behind us. I would only take a glimpse of the missionary who was behind me, because I was aware that he was looking at us too, whether we were studying or not.

Br. Miguel has been to places far and wide, and he has been through challenges of the mission land. His rugged appearance indicates his frugal and down-to-earth personality. In the missions, he learned that not to work meant hard days. One must strive his best to survive. Personally, I find it good, but sometimes, it can go so far, as to study and work is good, to relax for a moment is laziness, to avoid harsh work conditions is cowardice, and to nap during work or study meant deep trouble. How deep it was, no one knows, but as far as we know, the most serious incident was when a seminarian got expulsed from the institution, and was asked to pack up and go home.

I turned to look again into his office, and it from his place, it seemed that Br. Miguel turned his sight away from the window to his laptop computer. "Darn," I thought. "He knows that I have been sleeping." I then heard his heavy steps go behind me, as he walked out of the study hall. I looked around at the other seminarians; there were some others still with their heads down, sleeping. I just hoped that Br. Miguel was looking at them, and not me. I picked up my book and continued reading from where I left off.

The topic was on Jesus' mission on earth. The popular verse from the Gospel according to John was quoted, "For God so loved the world, He sent his only Son not to condemn, but to save it." This reminded me of someone whom I asked whether he believed that death penalty should be imposed. He replied to me that once in his life, he thought that no one can be saved when he is damned, that a person who has done such heinous crime should be executed not only in payment for the sin, but because he is a menace to society and must be purged. But afterwards, he said that he realized that if Jesus died for the reparations for our sins, there is hope to be saved. Even if a person is eternally sick and the chance for failure of cure is high, he still has to hope. On that thought, I felt assured that everything would be right. In myself, I thanked God for His life-giving light.

But everything stopped when the brother assistant, Br. Neo, the coadjutor brother, rang the desk bell. Everyone sat straight in attention, including those who were sleeping. "There is an announcement from Br. Miguel. I will call one by one those concerned to be accompanied by Fr. Lucio."

"Something's wrong," I said to myself. I started to pray silently, "Lord, help me. What's going on? Keep me safe, O Lord, keep me safe..."

My prayer was interrupted when Fr. Lucio came walking towards my place. My heart started to beat faster, and I closed my eyes. No one came to me, and I opened my eyes just as I sensed someone standing up and walk. It was Jose, whose desk is just at my right. I let go a sigh of relief. "When would this end? Lord, help me," I continued praying.

To be called by Br. Miguel is one of the most terrifying thing that would happen, moreover when it concerns serious matters like studies. Then I remembered what came to my mind a while ago. I just hope that the Lord will have mercy on me and deliver me from this ordeal. "Lord, I am all yours. Your will be done."

What does our Fr. In-charge have to do with this Fr. Lucio is not that harsh like Br. Miguel. Being the one in charge of the seminary, his word is strong, and his plans are to be carried out. But now it seems unclear, and all the more ominous when Fr. Lucio affirms a proposal from Br. Miguel.

Then, Fr. Lucio comes back into the study hall. Who's next? Jose didn't come back. What's going on? I am puzzled more. Fr. Lucio looks at his list, looks around, and surprisingly, he fixes his sight on me. I am stunned, my heart is frozen. I cannot look back anymore at Fr. Lucio. It is just too scary. I could just feel the footsteps coming closer, until it stops beside me. He taps my arm, and signals to follow him. I stood up from my chair quietly, but in the back of my mind there is fear and anxiety. I followed him out of the study hall with a downcast heart, trying to see what is going to happen. I managed to get a glimpse at the list in Fr. Lucio's hand, and I saw a list of 11 names. I wasn't able to see them clearly, but the 2nd on the list was my name.

I just followed Fr. Lucio, and he led me up into the "white room". The white room was tiled and had washing sinks. There were steel benches at the end of the room. It looked like the ones in the men's showers, but this is not a shower room. The white room had no showers. Everyone calls that room the "white room" because of its spotless tiles, and no one knew what it was built for, until now.

I stood in the middle of the room looking at Br. Miguel, who was standing at the end of the room, while Fr. Lucio was behind me, and Fr. Smith, my confidant when I have to say something, was sitting on the bench. I looked to the corner of the room, and I saw Jose's body sitting there, with blood trickling from the hole in his forehead. I remembered now that a while ago, I saw Jose sound asleep in the study hall. Now I knew what that meant.

"Justinio," Br. Miguel's gruff voice that has been through years of missionary work called me. "You know what you did. You have to face the consequences of your actions. Normally, a seminarian has to study. He has to work hard. He has to study hard." My face was blank. Br. Miguel had this habit of drilling on one topic, and repeating the same words.

After speaking for a little while, Br. Miguel asked, "But what were you doing then?" I didn't reply, but just a blank face. I didn't show any sign of discouragement, because I knew what I did. I was afraid, but within me, I believed that I will be safe, not because I was tough, but because God was here.

"What were you doing then?" He asked again. Again, I gave no answer. After some moments of staring at each other, he finally shrugged in frustration, and with a twitch, he cried out, "Sleeping! Now do you know? You have to be responsible for your actions."

The treatment was not unusual, being drilled at with the same words.

"We're sorry, Justinio," Fr. Lucio said behind me. "But we have to do this."

There was a surge of fear that ran through my spine, and I closed my eyes for a moment. Even Fr. Lucio was involved. Is this God's will? Why do I have to face this punishment? Now I doubted the saving God, as if He abandoned me, as if I was betrayed. I searched the corners of my heart for at least even a flicker of hope in God. "Lord, if You are there, save me." Then I lifted my eyes, and saw Fr. Smith. The little grain of hope that was left in me began to sprout and shine a great light. God had answered my prayer.

"OK," I said softly, now filled with the light of hope. "Now I understand,” I looked over to Fr. Lucio and asked him, "Can I make my confession?"

"Hmhmm, ok," he replied. "Fr. Smith is over there. You can make your confession to him."

Fr. Smith stood up from the bench, and walked across the room. When he was beside me, Fr. Lucio motioned towards the corner behind us, so I went there, followed by Fr. Smith. The confession was heart-rending, and my heart softened, to the point that I would want to cry, but the tears were held back because I was happy that I am back in my Father's arms. Fr. Smith finally told me, "God loves you, and even at the hour of your death, He will never abandon you. Remember, don't let the small things get you." And he gave me the absolution.

I returned to the place where I had been standing before, with Fr. Lucio, who was now holding a Glock 9 mm handgun, and Fr. Smith walked out of the room. I didn't feel alone anymore, and I looked at Br. Miguel straight in the eyes. I was not angry, but willing to take the punishment. I didn't have any regrets for what I did. It was a small thing, and I didn't want to let it get in the way of my faith in God.

"Anything else?" Fr. Lucio asked me.

"Just a favor," I replied, looking at him. "If you please, spare my head."

After some thought, Fr. Lucio nodded in approval. Then I turned my back to him, facing the wall where the benches are. And there I saw my friend sitting on the benches, crying. I don't know if he was really there, or if it was just an image. Whatever it was, I felt sorry for those who loved me, but I was filled with courage to show them that I stand for what I believe. That is why I wanted my head to be spared, just as what Jose Rizal, our national hero, had requested more than 100 years ago, when he was shot in Bagumbayan, for things he was falsely accused of, and yet he stood for what he fighting for: reform in the Spanish colonial government, and equal treatment between Spaniards and Filipinos.

"OK, then," Fr. Lucio said. But after a while, he asked me, "Blindfolded?"

"No thanks. I want to see how I fall, and how it looks like to die."

"Fine." Fr. Lucio then loaded the handgun, and switched the safety off. "This wouldn't hurt," he said in a rough voice. This is it, the final moment. I looked at Br. Miguel, who was looking back at me with vengeance. Then I looked at the one crying behind him.

"You are a martyr," my friend said, his words doused in sobbing and weeping. "Thank you."

Gently, I nodded and closed my eyes, to wait for the shot. I was filled with hope, and faith in God. My heart was on fire with God's love.

I waited for the shot to ring and the bullet to pierce my back. No shot. It didn't come yet. Another 30 seconds passed, not yet. When? I opened my eyes, and then found myself lying down, in our tent.

This is a dream that happened last may during our summer camp. the names have been edited to save the face of the real people portrayed.