Prelude To A Gift (627 hits)
Category: NoneRating: 2 on 9 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by Draqus (View user info) at 2005-06-29 20:29:39 EDT
You have no purpose on the mortal plain; you have no reason to be here. Your only purpose is in eternity: your only gift is for your tribe. You shall not be missed; your honour shall outlive you. Your family's pride will heal all wounds. You are lower than the sweepers, and you shall be higher than the emperor. Your hereafter will be gladness, whilst here is nothing but sorrow. Your purpose is here, in life and death, and blood.
That is the victim's promise. She had heard it, accepted it, believed it. There was no reason not to trust the priests.
It was a carnival atmosphere that surrounded her. The streets were lined with jubilants and sycophants, adding their cries to the sinuous chorus of soul-lifting praise. She was alone and surrounded, her feathered mask providing a wall, her escorts a barrier, her purpose a veil.
The Temple dominated the scenery. Her village was like any that had grown up around it: small, indistinct, populated by regular, brown, square dwellings and simple, repetitive people. She was like any other person, or so she had believed, until Malachi had arrived, and seized her from the group around the well, and given her the promise, and filled her head with dreams.
Of course, her parents agreed, because it was an honour, was it not? And her brothers did not care to see her leave, because she took up space and diverted what scant attention there was. No-one seemed to mind that she had gone- no, would go, except for the fact that she felt gone already.
And now she felt important, or so she told herself. In truth, she felt apathetic: she could see nothing of worth. But her supporters- as she believed them, wanted them, to be- could see the value; it was obvious through their shouting. And so she steeled herself to believe, and be content.
The Temple was in the centre of a collection of villages, less on the account of its geographical location as on its gravity: everybody ended up in the Temple, one way or another. She was taking the quick route along the long streets, and getting it over and done with early.
It was made of stone. They said it was held together by no fixative other than the will of the gods, but her oldest brother assured her that there was building-mud behind the stones holding it together. He claimed to have been inside where only the priests could go, when no-one was watching.
She doubted it.
It was older than the sun. The priests assured them that the gods had made it clear that the sun had been created so that the people of the valley could see the Temple in all its glory. Depending on the day, the sun could shine through a number of different columns in the Temple and illuminate it; the priests claimed the gods had designed the sun to allow for this respect of human devotion.
She doubted it.
No-one could count the steps to the top. This, she knew, was true. She had heard stories of a boy in the village next to hers who could count to numbers greater than he had fingers to count with, but until she saw this genius, she doubted this story, and believed the unaccountability of the Temple steps.
She did not count the steps as she ascended. Her escorts dropped off after she had climbed half-way; her supporting crowd had not climbed any steps at all. It was forbidden. Instead, she thought of her family. Malachi assured her that she would not miss them; the gods would care for her and tend her, and she would not want for familial love. This did not stop her sorrow; she would not see them again.
And there was the top; she saw it, she reached it, she conquered the Temple. Her future lay before her, stained, and seeming to glow from within with black light. A priest was standing nearby behind a ceremonial mask, and his eyes watched her through the slits, and said: lie.
She lay on the slab, and stared at the vault of the sky, until the mask obscured her vision. She realised it was Malachi, and she took comfort in his presence.
"Foolish girl."
And the knife came down, and she gasped, and was gone.
User Reviews
Submitted by Chillax (user info) at 2005-07-12 18:31:03 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I'm proud I realised that it was an Aztec ceremony quite early on. *You* now owe *me* a blowjob, Draqus. And you spelt 'plane' wrong. When you say mortal plane, it's plane, not plain.
Still pretty fucking good, though. Deserving of a +2.
Submitted by Viciousriffs (user info) at 2005-07-12 01:05:40 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Had to review this again, it didn't receive the credit it deserved.
Submitted by badassmofo (user info) at 2005-06-30 09:40:24 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
This is very good Draqus.
Submitted by simple_catalyst (user info) at 2005-06-30 01:21:25 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by Viciousriffs (user info) at 2005-06-29 22:17:02 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
You are becoming one of my favorite writers on here.
Submitted by peckerhead (user info) at 2005-06-29 21:41:34 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Oh well, you gotta go sometime.
Submitted by ghola (user info) at 2005-06-29 21:20:59 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
like the pic.
Submitted by LadyPlural (user info) at 2005-06-29 20:42:59 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Cool.
Submitted by knucklesnelson (user info) at 2005-06-29 20:36:28 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment