Moonlight Sacrifice

The thoughts came in this order: dance under the moonlight, black robes, cult, sacrifice. It wasn't my first thought, but the first thing I thought of writing.

Everyone likes to dance under the moonlight. Crescent light slopes down the jiving moves, and gravy graces every sickly poke. The baritone hums and bums disturbed the sonar of the searching submarines in the Marina Trench. Sloped black fabric scraped at the stars, and little bits of dust floomed down in clouds. The ground illuminated the abnormal dodecagon.

“Yaga dooba yaga dooba, da da da da daaaaa...” The sweeping robes encircled the spiked points on the dodecagon. The Lamb laid collapsed in the middle. A heavy chain dragged against the ground as the priest bowed and nodded, he pulled the heavy weight on his neck upwards. The stony face looked off into the crowd of obidently standing shadows.

“God Bless!” the tamberone ringed his vocal chords.

Recanting the statement, their tongues nimbly replied, “God Bless!”

“Today young Jacob gets his first chance at the sacred ritual.” A ceramic blue bowl rushed into Priests outstretched hand, “First he will drink the liquid of the God and he will blessed upon his journey into Purgotary and hopefully he will return.”

Jacob’s feet felled over the ground and he dropped to silvery chain lifted above the ground. The penchant swung. Mossy ground soaked his knees. Foreign Latin ran over Priest’s tongue. When the chant stopped Jacob looked up. Expectant eyes looked down, and he extended his hands out. The blue and china bowl, or the Crucible, weighed his hands towards the ground. His lips touched the edge and the bitter drink sloshed down his pipe. He had to drink it in one draw. Once he finished, he placed the bowl on the ground. Meancing watching pulled his eyesight towards him. “Now you’ll continue, Jacob” insticually Priest’s hand darted to his waist and he drawled the eerily wrapped knobbly knife.

The young boy whimpered as the cool metal touched his palms, “Are you sure I’m ready Al... Priest.” A full bodily shake rushed through his body, he knew the slip would be reprimanded. Reprimation was never taken lightly. Imprints burned him and reminded him of the last “reprimation” he had looked it up. He was underage and he defintely did not consent. What they had done was illegal and unsavory. Putrid liquid swelled in the back of his throat. How had his parents managed to watch on as they had move there hands in places unventeured.

“Fourteen is surely old enough. We do not want to loose you to the Evil.”

Reassurance glided past his parents lips that morning, “Just do the procedure and it will be over soon enough. The wounds will scab soon enough, and, if you are lucky enough, scar.” Softly her mothers hands brushed through his hair, “Soon you will be part of the Purge, and we will have our true dream, a pure son, devoted to the Light.”

Liquid still burning carnage through his stomach, he stood over the Lamb her eyes were closed, a mercy the Light gives on the first Scarlet Mission. The mercy is a gift that could be taken away if failure follows, or if behavior permits.

Posed there on his aching knees he waited. The knife did not just drop and sever the precious heart line. His own arm would have to guide it towards it target. Water escaped past his eyes. God, what was wrong with him! Reluctantly fingers found the soft wool of the lamb. Warmth radiated into his palms, and the whole ribcage jambored. Tears matted the wool, and his cheek dropped onto the lambs chest. Shivers wrecked his entire form, and sniffles greived the lives he would take.

Hood yanked off, he ripped himself away and took the steel viciously to his skin carving the Light onto his left wrist. Crimison stained the ground, the robe, the sheep.

A collective swoop brushed off the hoods as they basked in the creamy light plastering the milky complexion of the body laid still with soft breaths. “KILL THE LAMB BOY!” A roar ripped across the evening night and even knocked a star or two out of place.

Tears now eroded pathways down his cheek, and he got up. Barefeet stampeded over the pine needles and the rocks jabbed and poked. The forest rustled pass him, and the cool night air envigorated his lungs. God forbid the Light ever finds him.