Mystagogue, Pt. 11

Written on an iPad, etc.

After the flesh of the walls and the floor closed over my entire body, sealing me into a fleshy tomb of fleshy fleshiness, I found myself experiencing a sensation was short and simple and utterly disgusting: I was expectorated out onto the floor of the main chamber.

In that instant, I achieved perfect understanding of the experience of the newborn: sticky and naked and blinded by a cold inhospitable world and screaming my lungs out.

Unlike most newborns (I would say all, but generalization is unprofessional,) I then found myself being kicked in the ribs rather forcefully. This did nothing to improve my mood, and so I went on screaming until the priestess’s voice rang out above me. “You imbecile! You filth! You heretic! Get up!”

“Stop kicking me!” I screamed with the air of an esteemed ethnographer. “Stop! Leave me alone!” Amazingly, the priestess did and I was able to relax for long enough to try and take stock of the situation I found myself in. I was not dead, as the pain in my bruised and battered ribs attested to. The priestess had, lamentably, put on her ceremonial robe once more (or perhaps her nude form was intended for ceremony and her robe was just an ordinary robe.) Unpleasantly enough, I was naked and sticky and my skin burned with the caustic saliva of the wall.

I ran my hands over myself, an effort done in equal parts to wipe the burning goo off of my skin but also to cover my genitalia and other assorted naughty bits. “What happened?” I asked. Incredibly, the priestess answered my question. Albeit with a snort, a sigh, and a comically exaggerated rolling of her eyes, but an answer is still an answer.

“What happened, you pissant, is that the gods weighed you in the balance and found you wanting.”

I blinked in confusion. “Huh?”

“You were deemed unsuitable in the sight of the Three-Lobed Burning Eye.”

“The who’s on the what now?”

She rolled her eyes again and unleashed an even more exasperated sigh, if such a thing were humanly possible. “The gods rejected my sacrifice.”

“Oh.” I reflected on this for a moment before realizing that a more appropriate response would be outrage. In light of this realization, I acted accordingly. “You tried to sacrifice me?” I screamed.

The priestess shrugged. “You wouldn’t be the first.”

“The first human sacrifice?”

“No, the first nosy scholar.”


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