Sacrifices Made For Love

He loved her, truly and deeply.

She was growing older, more noticeably each day, but he couldn’t imagine life without her.

So year after year he made excuses not to go.

A little longer, surely, couldn’t hurt. She was his life, and nobody would notice.

But eventually, inevitably, somebody did.

And men came to escort him to the hospital, for a test or two to figure out why he didn’t seem to age.

And two tests became five, ten, hundreds.

And days became decades.

He knows he’ll never be free. He hates what his life’s become.

But he regrets nothing.

Relationships

They lead her, bound gagged and clad in white, toward the altar, and for the first time I think to myself: I can’t do this.

Christ, she’s just a kid, couldn’t be more than 14, and doesn‘t deserve any of this. And I doubt.

You sense my doubt, and cast your gaze, blazing with intensity, my way. You flash a smile of mystery, magic and wonder, and my heart leaps nearly into my throat.

You give me so much strength, I hope you understand that.

Resolve strengthens.

Hands steady.

And ceremonial dagger comes down.

Every relationship, after all, requires sacrifice…

Sacrifice

Sacrifice was required. And I‘d been chosen.

Kicking and screaming, they dragged me to the mouth of the volcano. I protested, but the tribesmen were unmoved.

As we arrived, I called out one last time: Please!

They paused, to hear me out.

By its very nature, sacrifice calls for a willing subject. Otherwise it’s not sacrifice, it’s murder.

They looked at me, then each other. Then, grumbling, they led me back to the village.

When someone finally volunteers, there’ll be a feast to celebrate. I’ll be the main course.

Being killed and eaten, it turns out, does not require willingness.