Okay, so I found this weird diary. I was exploring the woods behind my house with some friends when we came across it. I thought it was a cool story, so I thought I might as well post it here. It’s kind of weird though, I think she’s describing where I live now. Anyway, that’s beside the point. Hope you guys find it interesting!
Mother says we don’t live like normal people. Like sinners. Her, Father, and I live in a small community together. Just us and a few other good families. We live in splendor here, peaceful and quiet. Truly blessed, as if the Heavens kissed our lands and gave away a little piece of itself. My family lives in a small cottage, one Father built with his bare hands. A warm fireplace, a bed to sleep on, and food to keep our bellies full. The soil here is rich and fertilizes our crops so well they seem to stretch into the sky. There is no illness here, no famine, nor danger. We are kept safe by a small list of rules, to be strictly abided by. We have had to banish transgressors before, but never once since my birth. Mother and Father have not spoken of these people, for they do not deserve to live on our tongues. The rules are laid simply:
By devoting oneself to following our laws strictly, the community flourishes. The time has fallen on our yearly confessionals, before the winter solstice begins. We ensure our survival through the bitter cold by doing this act. We have one holy building in our community. It is intricately made, built of the finest carved wood our forest has to offer, delicately cared for until it was ready to be harvested. Stained glass windows made from hand, ruby reds and emerald greens glitter in the sunlight. The confessional is divided by hand woven curtains, resembling doilies. One must wait patiently outside of our house of worship until their turn has come. I am the last in line, as our family has only lived here three generations, and I am the youngest. I wait with the utmost patience, hands clasped behind my backs as I listen to the birds sing from their nests, and the wind whistle through trees.
As I move to the confessional, I keep my eyes focused on my feet, careful of each step to be taken lightly. I do not wish to disturb the sanctuary of this place.
“Forgive me, for I have sinned.” I bow my head, and tuck my knees into the wooden stoop.
“Yes my child, what brings you to my presence today?” His voice is raspy. We do not know of the person who takes confession, he does not live within our coterie.
“I have been wicked to Father and Mother. There have been times of great weakness where I say foul things.” My shame slowly leaks out, floating into the air like bubbles.
“You will be forgiven, child. But this is not all. You have been greedy, eating more than your fill. Withholding truth is a breach of our laws. You must sacrifice, for this sin is great.”
“Yes, thank you. It shall be done.” His words swirl in my head, dizzying me. I have yet to sacrifice before, and it frightens me greatly. I have broken a rule.
I shake, although it is not cold yet. Frost coats my body like a morning dew. I tell Mother and Father what the punishment I have been given is. They spare me a knowing look, and tell they will leave at first light. The night is restless, tossing and turning plagues me. The day is not much better, and as the sky turns a warm shade of argon, Father and Mother return. They carry a wailing blanket. They have found my sacrifice. She is swaddled, warm and soft to the touch. She coos as she sits by the candlelight. I help to chalk our floor, careful with each line and studying the script. We place her in the center of our living area. Father hands me a silver blade, old and worn at the handle. The color long gone, but the silver glimmering in the flickering flames. I hold the blade unsteady in my hands. Sweat licks my palms and I cannot clutch properly. Tears bead in my eyes, blurring my vision.
“Is there nothing else to sacrifice, Father?” I plead, my knees digging into the hardwood.
“You know what must be done. This is of your own doing. Now you must pay.”
He is not the least bit remorseful, and I feel an anger beat in my chest. A fury like one I have never known. It whispers to me cruel nothings, taunting me with ideas of sins. Vengeance for the innocence I am about to take. But I follow through with the sacrifice, like a coward. Blood soaks into the floor, into me. Staining me with its cries for mercy. Gore lays out, displayed for all to see. Father and Mother work to clean, as I wash away the smears of death from my flesh. I scrub and scrub until my skin is raw and bare. But there is no scrubbing that can clean my soul, for it has been tarnished. How is this just? Has every person living here taken a life as well? Why do we deserve such indulgence, after what we have done? I come to the swift conclusion that we do not. Our soil is fertile with the decomposing penance, forgiven sins minor in comparison. This is not right.
The next nightfall, I break our second rule. I do not say thanks, for our blessings come at too great a price. Instead, I curse the bones of this land. When I wake, I step outside to a grey wasteland. Our crops have crumpled into the ground, brittle and useless. The grass crunches beneath my feet. Leaves scatter into the wind, flying far away. Branches reach out, furious with the cold sky. People have left their homes, red with a burning anger. Accusations hurl.
“Who has broken our laws?!” One yells. Our farmer, one who has spent hour after hour caring for his crops.
“Find the sinner! Bring them to justice!” The wife of our healer says.
“It must be the young one! She has no discipline!” The farmer’s eldest son yells.
My father steps in front of me, a protective arm shielding me from the encroaching crowd.
“She made her sacrifice just the other night, no hesitation. My girl is faithful.”
My Father is respected, he has shown great dedication for the care of our land. They believe him. Instead, the blame falls on the eldest son. He was the first to blame, casting a stone. He is quickly banished, left to survive in aggrieved forest. Nightfall has come once again, and I plan to break the last rule. As the moon rises into the sky, it illuminates the barren land. I quietly step outside of our home, and notice a figure shrouded in the silver moonlight. This figure is tall, and beautiful. It is a woman, grown and strong. Her body is covered in markings, dark as the night sky. Her hair is a golden blonde, her skin pale as snow. She approaches, and I do not feel frightened.
“You have broken the final rule, sweet girl.” Her voice is smooth and low, thick as honey. Eyes the same color as moss.
“This land is not built on righteousness, and for that it must atone.”
“It will, in time. You have a choice, dear. Stay and face your brethren, or join your sisters. We are ones with nature, she protects us as we protect her. Soon, we will take back this land.”
It took not a second thought, “I will join my sisters.”
As she takes my hand in hers, the sun breaks across our land. My heart beats against my chest, threatening to break through my ribs. I hear doors opening, and as I turn, the woman is gone. Families move out of their homes, but something is wrong. They all turn to me, eyes white. They stand still, slowly pointing to me. Their faces morphed with anger, frowns so deep they seem to reach their chins. At once, they break out into a run. Headed towards me with murderous intent. Their mouths gape into an empty scream, seeming to rip their jaws apart. Bloody tears in their skin as they continue to open. I dash to the trees, pleading with my legs to quicken their pace. I turn to see if they follow me, their bodies seem to be possessed. Joints cracking and muscles tearing, so loud I can hear it from a distance. But I make it to the tree line, a barrier of safety enforced around me. As I see the woman again, I know I am safe. I turn back one last time, and everyone has surrounded me. Unable to move closer. They stare, blood dripping from their cheeks onto their necks. Pooling in the dry grass. They cannot touch me here, but I know I can never leave. I do not believe I want to.