Snapshot Stories

A Sacrifice to Make

I stared at myself in the mirror. I was wearing nothing but the ritual pants lent to me by the other members. I puffed my chest out as I stared at myself proudly. I had a great physique, strong arms and a toned six pack. They said I would be perfect for the role. I was excited.

I walked into the room slowly, looking around at everyone. They all have on white robes and surround an altar that had a salt diagram of our crest on it. I walk between them and they part for me like the red sea. I climb onto the altar and lay down face up, feet slightly apart, and palms up. Our leader approaches the head of the altar and begins to speak.

"We begin this tradition to appease the gods. With this tradition we offer one of our own for the return of good health and prosperity. May we begin." He pulls out a Kris knife. The chanting begins. I close my eyes and let the chants wash over me; cleansing me.

I feel the tip of the knife on the middle of my collar bone. I feel the sharp pierce as our leader pushes into my chest and drags down to just below my belly button. Pain flows through me but I refuse to make a sound or move. I stay strong. I will please the gods. I feel the hot liquid drip down my sides, coating me in my own blood.

Then I feel the tips of the pins come down. He pushes them through my eyelids and into my eyes, pinning them in places. The pain was even more acute than in my abdomen. Every little movement in my eyelids or eyes made me feel like throwing up. I tried not to move a muscle in my face, but that was near impossible. Every small muscle in my face made the pain sear into my head. I began screaming, but I dared not move from my position on the altar. I heard a faltering in the chants off to my left and briefly heard a sob from what must have been my mother.

I knew what happened next. I felt the stakes drive into my hands and into small holes in the stone altar I had placed my hands over. They held them still. This is where most people chosen would try to run. The cowards. I stayed still, though I let my screams pursue.

I felt the edge of the knife line up with the first knuckle. I heard the sound of the knife hitting the stone beneath me before I felt the pain at losing the tip of my finger. I scream even more. I screamed as he cut off all of my fingers from all twenty-eight joints.

The pain was unbearable. I ran the words said to me over and over again when I was selected. . The sacrifice must know true pain. If they are sacrificed quickly with no pain, the gods will think we are not serious.

I felt the knife slide against my throat. My screams were cut off, my vocal cords severed. Blood filled my mouth and ran down my neck. My blood pooled over the corners of my mouth.

"It is done." Is the last thing I hear before I slip away.

Prompt: A ritualistic sacrifice