otic jewelry from another era. Th ey appeared to be celebrating. As she listened to their banter, she though t she recognized the language. Was it French? Maybe Spanish? The unknown accent made her question her guesses.
The fire blazed as they t alked and drank. Three men took their seats at a collection of handmade drums. As they played, all chanted in unison.
Next to the fire was a large wooden table with a primitive-looking goblet wrapped in animal skin. The drumming led to dancing. Still hidden, she watched, dreading the volume of her heartbeat would give her away. The rhythm got faster, taking on its own life force. Some of the dancers discarded their sarongs, gyrating naked in sync to the dru ms while frothing at the mouth. Others randomly fornicated with the nearest person available. Where am I?
Six men dressed in white linen carried out a white man on a cot mad e of tree branches and canvas. He wore nothing but a bright, long scarf with swirls of red and orange. Jessica couldn’t see his face. S he contemplated if he was dead. But then his lifeless body began to stir as he closed in on the fire.
The cot carriers stopped in front of the table she now believed to be an altar. The sedated victim was transferred onto the wooden surface. Drumming, chanting, dancing…Jessica could feel herself getting sleepy, almost hypnotized by the drum beats. One of the men dressed in white raised his arms, abruptly ending the festivities. Everyone fiercely dropped to the grass and bowed towards him and the altar. Jessica presumed he was the leader. He took a curved dagger and pointed to the sky while reciting a prayer. It’s definitely French. Four years in high school and can’t remember one word , she thought, disgusted.
Everyone repeated the leader’s words, and then he delicately sli ced into the dazed man’s chest. After each cut, he caught the blood as it seeped out of the body with his animal-skinned goblet, occasionally pressing down on the incisi ons to increase the blood flow.
The white man awoke in panic, sc reaming like a tortured animal. The leader inflicted more slashes on his shoulders and carved up chest whil e the other men held him down. The leader then set the knife on the altar, sipped from his goblet, and yelled something foreign to the sky. His guests shared sips from his goblet as if performing a demonic communion. The victim sat up and wailed, hacked up and splattered with his own blood.
Against her survival instincts, Jess ica crawled towards the altar. Sh e had to see the victim’s face. Closer, and closer, and close r….It was not a man, but a boy. Something familiar…she strai ned her eyes for a better look. “No!” she screamed.
“Jessica, wake up! Baby, it’s alright! You’re home!” Tom yelled as he shook her in bed. “What kind of dream did you have? You’re soaked from head to toe! You were tossing and turning, and then screaming…”
Disorientated, she looked at the clock, 4:00 a.m.
“I can’t seem to remember,” she answered.
Chapter 17
Leah was not surprised to learn T.J. died without a checking or savings account, but his financial status didn’t end at zero. From the shoebox of bills she found inside of the coat closet, T.J. owed multiple credit card companies. His rusted old Camaro was yet to be paid off. He died young, alone, and worth a large negative number. She called Mona to give her details about the wake.
“Didn’t want anything to do with him in life. Why do you think I’d be interested in death? Listen Leah, I’ll go to his grave. But I’ll be wearing my tap shoes,” Mona snapped.
“Go right ahead! He’ll just haunt your miserable ass for eternity,” Leah snapped back.
The mortician had recommended cremation after learning of the family’s paltry finances, but Leah didn’t care. If she had to, she would beg, borrow, steal, or whatever it took. She owed him a proper burial, but
The fire blazed as they t alked and drank. Three men took their seats at a collection of handmade drums. As they played, all chanted in unison.
Next to the fire was a large wooden table with a primitive-looking goblet wrapped in animal skin. The drumming led to dancing. Still hidden, she watched, dreading the volume of her heartbeat would give her away. The rhythm got faster, taking on its own life force. Some of the dancers discarded their sarongs, gyrating naked in sync to the dru ms while frothing at the mouth. Others randomly fornicated with the nearest person available. Where am I?
Six men dressed in white linen carried out a white man on a cot mad e of tree branches and canvas. He wore nothing but a bright, long scarf with swirls of red and orange. Jessica couldn’t see his face. S he contemplated if he was dead. But then his lifeless body began to stir as he closed in on the fire.
The cot carriers stopped in front of the table she now believed to be an altar. The sedated victim was transferred onto the wooden surface. Drumming, chanting, dancing…Jessica could feel herself getting sleepy, almost hypnotized by the drum beats. One of the men dressed in white raised his arms, abruptly ending the festivities. Everyone fiercely dropped to the grass and bowed towards him and the altar. Jessica presumed he was the leader. He took a curved dagger and pointed to the sky while reciting a prayer. It’s definitely French. Four years in high school and can’t remember one word , she thought, disgusted.
Everyone repeated the leader’s words, and then he delicately sli ced into the dazed man’s chest. After each cut, he caught the blood as it seeped out of the body with his animal-skinned goblet, occasionally pressing down on the incisi ons to increase the blood flow.
The white man awoke in panic, sc reaming like a tortured animal. The leader inflicted more slashes on his shoulders and carved up chest whil e the other men held him down. The leader then set the knife on the altar, sipped from his goblet, and yelled something foreign to the sky. His guests shared sips from his goblet as if performing a demonic communion. The victim sat up and wailed, hacked up and splattered with his own blood.
Against her survival instincts, Jess ica crawled towards the altar. Sh e had to see the victim’s face. Closer, and closer, and close r….It was not a man, but a boy. Something familiar…she strai ned her eyes for a better look. “No!” she screamed.
“Jessica, wake up! Baby, it’s alright! You’re home!” Tom yelled as he shook her in bed. “What kind of dream did you have? You’re soaked from head to toe! You were tossing and turning, and then screaming…”
Disorientated, she looked at the clock, 4:00 a.m.
“I can’t seem to remember,” she answered.
Chapter 17
Leah was not surprised to learn T.J. died without a checking or savings account, but his financial status didn’t end at zero. From the shoebox of bills she found inside of the coat closet, T.J. owed multiple credit card companies. His rusted old Camaro was yet to be paid off. He died young, alone, and worth a large negative number. She called Mona to give her details about the wake.
“Didn’t want anything to do with him in life. Why do you think I’d be interested in death? Listen Leah, I’ll go to his grave. But I’ll be wearing my tap shoes,” Mona snapped.
“Go right ahead! He’ll just haunt your miserable ass for eternity,” Leah snapped back.
The mortician had recommended cremation after learning of the family’s paltry finances, but Leah didn’t care. If she had to, she would beg, borrow, steal, or whatever it took. She owed him a proper burial, but
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