Veni, Vidi, Amavi.

The Cultist and The Sacrifice

"I am fragile and unholy. Open. Ravage. Eat."

- Tanaka Mhishi, Literary Sexts II (via ghost tearz)

Ash clung to your sweat-soaked skin. It filled your lungs. You were bathed in it. Watching as it fell from the sky like off colored snow. It silenced the world around you. No longer could you hear the cries of fellow humans. The laughing call of the demons.

All you were, was here and now.

The shackles digging into the flesh of your wrists. Ankles.

You breathe in more hot air. It dries out your already cracking and raw throat. Your lips were chapped and split. Your tongue thick and heavy in your mouth.

You were a fool to have come here. Or at least to have traveled alone. To one of the few habitable places on earth.

The Cultists had gotten you. The deranged group had gotten you late at night when you so foolishly slept.

The Sacrifice. They called you. The fucking sacrifice. They pulled your dirty clothes off and dressed you in a white long shirt. The hem brushing your knees.

They painted symbols into your skin. The paint sticky and burning to your sensitive skin.

The Sacrifice. They called you as they shackled you to what is now going to be your death bed.

The Sacrifice. So that the demons may leave them be. May save them from an eternity in hell.

You cried the first night. Drew blood as you pulled against the shackles. Desperately trying to pull at least one hand free.

The second night they came. The cult leader coming to check on you. To oh so sweetly brush your hair from your eyes. To assure you that this was for the greater good.

You bit his hand when it came near your mouth. Warm blood spilling and coating your lips. Your tongue. You gagged an sputtered and received a harsh smack across your face. One that made your ears ring and your lips to split.

The third night you called out for help.

From anyone.

A fellow human.

One of the demons just to put you out of your misery.

Or maybe your mother. Dead as she may be now.

The forth night. Here and now. You felt your body failing you.

Your breathing grew shallower.

You hadn't eaten or even drank anything when the Cultists had found you. Your body already weak and tired. And now?

All you wanted to do was watch the stars from the hole in the roof. Pretend that the falling ash was snow. Pretend that the ever-present heat was nothing more than a warm summer afternoon.

You were tired. Ready to rest. Give relief to your aching body.

Footsteps sounded to the right of you. Multiple.

You felt a clammy hand press to your forehead. You closed your eyes. Imagined your mother.

"They are still alive." A voice sounded above you.

"Amazing." Said another. "The will in this one is strong." The hand left. Metal sang against metal.

"We do not need strong wills. We need a sacrifice. Why have the demons not come yet to claim them? Were we wrong? Did we choose wrong?" Your eyes fluttered. Breath stolen as you caught a flash of stars in the parting of smog and clouds.