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Moonlight stretched shadows from trees bordering east of the village. Great oaks and redwoods towered like watchmen to the village-folk. In the witching hours of the night, restless children peeked pale-faced through cottage windows towards silhouettes emerging from the forest. Dancing shades, fleeting between the trees, flailed their limbs to a rhythm the colonials feared till the night waned away.
The following morning, all the town gathered beneath the Orator's balcony. The Orator, a tall and refined man, made his way onto stage. Exiting his study, his *latchet shoes thumped hollow cross the wooden platform; the august gale rustled his salted beard. Below, at the foot of his house, the crowd bickered. Dressed in greatcoats for the autumn cold, their volume grew as rumors circulated.
The Orator's eyes, silver like a freshly sharpened axe, fell on the audience. Their nervous attentions shifted between him and their own murmurings. The sun rose. The horizon bled—hemorrhaged tinges of purple and crimson and the Orator found his thoughts lost in this vivid, red reality.
"We will need three this year," the Orator's words echoed. The crowd's volume grew again, but like a gavel, his voice thundered down, silencing the throng.
"It is inevitable." He paused. "Which children will sacrifice themselves for the sake of our Colony?"
The crowd grew restless. Their eyes swam amongst each other; then a small hand amidst the thrall sprung up. A smooth faced youth with a head too large for his torso ambled to the front of the crowd. The Orator examined the swain. Raven-haired, big brown-eyed; the boy's face was as broad and innocent as a cabbage.
"Eli, is it?"
The boy nodded.
"Two more," the Orator continued.
A cool, sleek fellow with ebony hair and a tobacco pipe loosely held betwixt his fingers answered. "I will join the boy." The crowd shrieked—no adult had dare venture beyond the forest.
The Orator grimaced. "I do not understand." Pensively, he tapped his finger on the balcony's railing.
Slim with a tilted brim, the Fellow smiled beneath the shade of his hat. "The decision is yours, Orator."
The crowd bickered in their mass:
Do you want your child to go?
The Orator watched their eyes flitter between him and their own chop-and-change conversations.
My boy is only twelve!
An adult tribute was unprecedented.
Observe the Commandments!
The Orator reasoned groups were more immoral than individuals.
