Sweet Sacrifice

Sweet sacrifice. Thats what they said they needed. A sweet sacrifice to appease thier gods. The heathens. I twisted my wrists in their grip as I was marched along. I wondered vaugly if thier gods would accept an unbeliving sacrifice, but judging by thier faces I guessed they would. I struggled again, but weakly. For two day I had been kept without food, given only a sweet liquor. I remembered it's taste vaugly. It reminded me of blueberry pies that I used to bake for my younger siblings. My eyes stung a bit as I remembered them. I choked back a sob, determined not to let these men have the pleasure of seeing me break. My siblings would be on the street now. Adoption just didn't happen, especially for families of the victims of sacrifice. The new ruler, while merciful and kind, obviously didn't know about this barbaric underground practise. I shuddered hearing the screams of the other victims. The shrill, paniced shrieks of small children, the harsh, grating shouts of men and the bone chilling cries of women. I jerked and struggled again, fighting thier grasp. As I approch the small stage, my eyes lifted for toward the heavens, begging for reprieve. Begging that I would not be remembered as I died. As a Sweet sacrifice.