No Way Out. One shot.

So this idea has been floating in my head so I thought sure why not put it here. It's quite long so apologies for that. Enjoy

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“Good night my baby girl”, I said as I pulled up the tattered blanket and tucked it underneath my daughter’s fragile body. Her quick, shallow breaths soon became deep and soothing to her little tired person. Her fair, shoulder-length hair lay limp over her tear-stained pillow. Her soft, untainted skin was illuminated by the moonlight that shed some much needed light in this godforsaken place.
I walked down the stone-cold staircase, regretting not putting on my slippers. I sauntered into the sitting room and fell heavily into the down-trodden, once cobalt-blue sofa. I lit a penny candle and placed it onto the stripped, hard-wooden floorboards at my feet. I did something I rarely did, I prayed. I prayed for news, good or bad. I prayed for safety, for stability, for their survival. And when I remembered just how fruitless, how futile it was, I broke-down in tears. Wondering how did it happen that I was succumbed to this? What did I do to deserve it? Hell! What did they do to deserve it?
We wanted to get out of this place for years. It’s like a prison and living here is not dissimilar to a man in a six by four cell, convicted of a crime he didn’t commit, awaiting the death penalty. Of course we couldn’t leave, we were trapped. It’s a complete catch-22. The worst thing is you can’t keep your family safe. You can’t make any promises to your poor, defenceless daughter, just in case the worst happens.
Once, this place was a place of beauty, an oasis in the desert, a cathedral in the sun, our haven. But things change. Now it’s a place of conflict. There were cracks in the foundations which have now led to divides, to fights, to war, to deaths.
It all started twenty years ago when a new village was established by the government. The sheer prospect of happiness led us there in our hundreds, to an enclosed village, surrounded by grand mountainous peaks. We lived in the lowest syncline of the valley, the safest, they said.
The government had helped us to become a self-sufficient community. They also elected the Elders, people whom others seeked advice from. The Elders, according to the government, were the most wise and would lead us well. The Elders were devout Pagans; they held rituals to celebrate nature and the earth around them. The winter solstice ritual was ethereal. They would pick flowers from the earth in all colours and lay them down, spread along the base of the standing stone, which was used as the pagan calendar. Then a fire would be lit. The fire would be enclosed in a stone circle, each stone a different colour to the next. We would all gather around the dancing flames and play soft, sweet, melancholy music. We would watch the vibrant blues and purples and reds and yellows of the flowers wilt and dry. These flowers then would be buried to fertilise the soil.
Even though it was like a cult, at that time we were free to leave. Now, our only way out is death. Back then we were happy to be here. We became such a tight-knit community, we felt nothing could change.
I, myself married one of the Elder’s sons, and we moved into one of the vacant houses that were built for the people that would marry. We were happy. We had a son and he brought an abundance of joy. But due to the vicissitudes of life, this didn’t last forever.
When the head Elder died, it was decided that his eldest son would take his place. This man was my husband’s brother. Around ten years ago, he officially became an Elder. He started off well and continued with the current pagan rituals, but then the government intervened. We were so out of touch with the ‘real’ world, we had no idea our country was at war. Half of the men left to fight for their country without hesitation, just like their grandfathers before them. My husband was one of these men. They would do six months then return for a few days and go again. Six years ago, my daughter was born. It was difficult, raising a new-born and an inquisitive ten year old but a year later the war was over. My husband was home and we were a family unit again. Now things aren’t so well in the village. According to the Elders, our timeless rituals weren’t working, but the head Elder had a plan. This was a plan, that as soon as I heard of it my blood ran cold. It started off as the new winter solstice ritual. Instead of burying flowers, it became much, much worse. And now it’s the same ritual for all celebrations. It is scary that after just three years, the head Elder was able to make a cage of bones.

Children. It was the lives of children he took, he takes, to satisfy ‘nature’s needs’. Twelve a year is how many he takes. One for every time the moon rotates the earth. Each time he lays out the flowers in front of the cage of bones. He picks a child from the village via a lottery, leaves this poor ‘chosen’ child to grow weak in the cage until the flowers die naturally. A scythe is his aid of choice. He then strips the warm flesh off of the tiny, white bones, places the not yet cold flesh into the ground, before the mother even has the opportunity to grieve over her murdered baby. The young innocent life is over before it gets the chance to start.
Last year another war began and again, half the men left without hesitation. Again, my husband left but this time my little boy went too. Due to the new ritual they have to return home for the cage lottery. In the five years of this lottery, I had been lucky, neither of my darlings were chosen.
Yesterday the men were supposed to arrive home. Some of them did, more of them didn’t. My husband and our baby boy were reported MIA, but more likely KIA. It was just me and my darling six year old girl to represent stone house number nine today for the lottery.
For the lottery, there is a square of linen cloth for each household. One by one the head of the household goes up to the standing stone and withdraws a square of cloth. When each household has a square of cloth, the head of the household must open it. Whoever has the cloth with the bloody fingerprint on it, their children will each have to go to the ominous standing stone to seal their fate. Each child hopes for a square of cloth as pristine as the bones on the cage.
Today, I was the head of the household. I put on a brave face as our house number was called out. I had to wait for nine other houses to collect their fate. On the count of three, each head of household held their breath as they opened their meagre square of cloth. “All I have left is my baby girl”, I said to myself, “My husband’s gone. My beautiful boy is gone. Right now she’s my world.”
I heard the word ‘three’, a quick movement of cloth to be heard. I held her close as I opened the square of soft fabric and my eyes couldn’t tear away. On the cloth there was a crimson stain, a perfect bloody fingerprint.

 

I forgot I wrote this lol.

Funny the things you find as you scroll back