Day 0
Do not stand at my grave and weep
I am not there; I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow,
I am the diamond glints on snow,
I am the sun on ripened grain,
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry,
I am not there; I did not die.
-- Mary Elizabeth Frye, "Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep"
The young woman's ceremonial robes fluttered like a wind-tossed cherry blossom as she knelt to light a single small candle. Her smoky brown hair was carefully washed and braided, and she had even bothered to brush her teeth that morning. Tasks too great for the past week, but everyone expected her to look nice on this particular day...
Aaranya whispered her usual prayers and added a couple more for good measure. For a minute, she bathed in that small warmth of a single candle in an infinite bleak universe. Then she forced herself to blow it out. At that moment of adjusting to the darkness, a voice like ice hissed in her ear.
<The hands, the hands! Blood, eyes, hands, kill, blood, kill you!>Aaranya let out a shaky sigh.
"I already know that, Kali. I didn't ask you."With her lone moment of peace gone, Aaranya packed a purse with a small amount of money and her phone - all the supplies she'd need for the rest of her life. She started to leave, but she noticed a candle still lit, so she blew it out. Then she started to leave, but she noticed a candle still lit, so she--
Oh. Of course it was going to be one of
those days.
Aaranya took a minute to steel herself, convince herself that she was not about to burn the house down. She tiptoed across the hall and stared at a closed door for a minute... or maybe twenty. Kabir slept in that room. The man who gave her a place in his home and heart throughout everything. He had wanted to make Aaranya a nice breakfast that morning, escort her to the festival, spend a little more time with his baby sister.
But Aaranya couldn't bring herself to feel hungry, let alone face Kabir. So, she had sneaked into his room during the night and turned off his alarm. The woman breathed the softest thank you and left a notebook at his door. The worn and hefty book was filled poems, some of Aaranya's own creation, most an arbitrary medley of poets she had loved. The book would express Aaranya better than any words she could speak today.
The girl took in a deep breath and opened the front door, out to the worn cobblestone street, dawn just breaking on the horizon. She stepped over the threshold. And with that, Aaranya Singh passed away. There was no more Aaranya, only the good and proper Sacrifice that Warlington needed her to be.
A blur of time, the good and proper Sacrifice walks among the faces
A blur of time, the good and proper Sacrifice has no family, the man is just a man now
A blur of time, the good and proper Sacrifice screams until she vomits in the bathroom. Everybody hears. Nobody hears.
A blur of time, the good and proper Sacrifice sways to idyllic melodies
A blur of time, the good and proper people wear saris, a celebration of flowing color, to adorn forgotten closet corners for ages to come
A blur of sound, the voices, the Sacrifice is not good enough
<blood falls, blood fails>
A blur of time, moon rises, night roses, a taste of death upon her hairThe time has come. The good and proper Sacrifice stands tall at the fountain, brazen light of a hundred candles surround. The good and proper Sacrifice has the honored privilege to redeem her town, to redeem her karma. The good and proper Sacrifice shows no fear...
...The good and proper Sacrifice was not able to choke down enough food and water today. The good and proper Sacrifice sinks to the ground, placing her head between her knees. Aaranya fought to stop the spinning and shaking as she let out some improper sobs.
Shazamrock