Writer Gone RogueMinimize

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.



Delia (Postcards from Asia)
Sunday, November 18, 2012 7:36 PM
I enjoyed your story. It reminded me of Mel Gibson's Apocalypto.
The design of your site is beautiful, I love the butterfly!
# grrlwriter
Sunday, November 18, 2012 9:51 PM
Thank you, Delia, on all counts! Much appreciated :)
angie arcangioli
Monday, November 19, 2012 2:13 AM
This is my second favorite. I had to read back because it sounded like she was giving blood on a regular basis. Maybe "the blood I give" could be "My blood will" because she is only going to be a scapegoat once, right?
Wednesday, December 05, 2012 8:44 PM
This is awesome, Jess! I didn't even know you had a blog.

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