And so: The virgin’s sinewy golden frame was stretched taut over the grey stone alter. Her wrists and ankles bound in gold cuffs attached to leather chains pegged into the alter’s sides. A line was drawn with indigo ink above her heaving chest- her tan orbs like generous scoops of coffee flavored ice cream topped with chocolate cherries- from armpit to armpit.
   The priest donned his ceremonial headgear- the head of a gold-plated badger- and stood above the quivering virgin.
  “Fear not, young virgin,” the priest told the girl chained to the alter. “You exist for a higher purpose than any that could be bestowed upon you here.”
   It was true, the girl bore a full, healthy mane of dark hair and skin that seemed sculpted of polished bronze.
   Adhering to the inky blue guideline, the henchman swung the axe.

  White flakes had been descending down for days, though it was the thick of summer, and the temperatures remained hot.
   However, while temperatures around the jungle were usually humid, this summer was exceptionally dry. The usually lush vegetation was growing brown, wilted.
   The village medicine man was summoned. He’d determined a drought was due, because the harvest god contracted dandruff.



Leave a Reply