Short Stories

Forty-One: Fate

 It was just another normal day, except that it wasn't. My mother kneeled down and gently dipped a roughly made brush into a white paste and painted on small dots from the bridge of my nose to the tip of my nose. One, two, three, four... nine dots in total. Nine dots to represent how old I was. She then drew a small swirl over my left cheek and right cheek. It tickled, but I stayed still for the sake of my mother. She dotted the outer rim of the swirls and smiled at me. A soft smile on her face. She turned away as she sniffled softly. Her eyes were puffy and red, and there were dry tear marks trailing down her face. I reached out for her, my small hands gently turning her face towards me. I wiped away a tear that fell down her face.

She laughed quietly. It was soft, like the petal of a freshly bloomed rose. My mother pressed a gentle kiss to my forehead. She stood up from the ground and walked quickly out of the white cloth tent. I could hear people yelling outside, trying to get the altar ready on the mountain. If I didn't fidget I could hear her crying. My mother. It was loud, like water crashing onto a beach. I could hear grandma trying to soothe her. Grandma's voice was like listening to sand fall, it was soothing and soft. I tried hard to remember their voices. I didn't want to forget it when I would be taken away. I tried to remember the taste of my favorite food. It was spicy, salty, and tender and delicious. I tried to remember the smell of vanilla that the local gatherers would sometimes find. Vanilla was soft and aromatic. I could feel the white paste hardening on my cheeks.

I reached up to touch it. It was hard and crusty. It was ready. It was time.

I heard the horns outside blare. I stood up from the wooden stool I was on, the metal rings on my neck clinked against the earring in my ears. I walked outside. It was windy, the air pulling and pushing the pink clothing on my body every which way. Despite that, I walked slowly and calmly. I walked up to the altar and faced a man. My fate was in his hands.

The priest yelled out some words over the strong winds, storm clouds were gathering over the altar, gray and menacing. I stood proud and tall.

I was ready.

I tilted my neck up, ready to face my destiny. The man in front of me took the sword in his hands and swung at my neck.

And just like that, the sacrifice was over. I stood, blinking from the bright, white light that seemed to surround me on all sides. There was someone in front of me.

"Where am I?"

"Welcome to heaven, little one. You have done well"