A girl of fifteen-years-old lays motionless on the Earth, its cold dirt touching against her bare arms; the trees lightly rustling above her; crickets singing around them.
No thoughts enter the girl’s head, as the people of eight surround her in a circle, chanting the ritual. They end the chant by thanking the girl to be a volunteer in their sacrifice, to ask for rain which waters the crops. Many moons has passed since the last rain, and this left the people of the village to wonder. Though the bravery of this young lady shall be remembered dearly for generations to come.
Thunder rumbles. Wind blows against their skin, shaking the trees and its leaves to fall. Howling in their ears. Almost like music with different tones where they sing along to the note they hear. Now, droplets of rain falls against their skin. Slowly. One by one. A smile spreads on each face.
The girl has no smile, but a mouth that is agape and her eyes full white—the pupils sucked out of her.
“May her spirit Rest In Peace.” The leader of the sacrifice sings and the rest hums a note of agreement; a sign of respect for the dead.
The rain is pouring now.
The Gods are happy.
But her soul still wanders.