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 Writer Gone RogueMinimize
18

The blood I give irrigates the land, keeps it fresh and flowing.  Without my blood, crops will die and my people will suffer.

I mount the steep stone steps, going willingly to my death, wanting to be an instrument of life for my people.

I get to the top of the pyramid and look down.  No one is looking at me, so close to our gods, so high above the village floor.  Instead they are all focused on the sea, staring at the strange floating beast with giant white wings approaching our shore.

I was not sacrificed.  Our world ended.

 

  
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