Sacrificial Lamb

CONTAINS VIOLENCE AND TECHNICAL SUICIDE

The stone beneath my back had become warm with the seeping feeling of my blood leaving my wounds, outdated ruins being carved into my arms like a fresh canvas for theirs truly. When the darkness enveloped my vision I let out a small, quiet sob… I don’t want to die just yet; I don't want this to be my funeral.

Oh dear Lord, will you bleed for my sins like I have yours?

The gravel, which continued to pile high on the ground, seeped through the pores of the mossy walls. It was an underground tomb, or if you wanted to be more specific, a sacrificial chamber. I felt the knife slice through the lump of my throat but then… Silence. The dark had wrapped me tight, the warmth came from his arms rather than my blood; holding me in his lap like I was the most precious thing to have passed by his way… I took a deep breath of air into my lungs, holding it in before slowly letting it out in hopelessness.

“What am I…?” I whisper, a voice made to scratch the eardrums that are listening rings above me.

“You are neither dead nor living. Treat my vessel well.” He leans down to my ear and for a second, he just breathes. “Try again, Achilles.”

When I opened my eyes I was standing in a hall, the feeling of the wood felt familiar beneath my feet, though it was too dark for me to tell yet. I take synchronized steps against the panels, counting the silent pattering sounds in my head.

“Forgive me Father…”

The air became thick with confusion before I furrowed my brows, my head tilting as I stared at the little boy curled up on the bathroom grout. When he looked up to meet my eyes, I could tell he was an abomination; his eyes were puffy, drool collecting at the corner of his mouth, his fists clenched around each other as he prayed.

Oh dear Achilles, this little boy has no clue where he’ll end up.

“You’re Achilles…” I state. This little boy looked just like me, it was too much of a resemblance to ignore; Our god once promised that we would get a second chance to live.; Everybody believed it to be in the form of reincarnation, but maybe this was his gift to me. The little boy sniffled, wiping his puffy eyes and only making them worse.

“I’m… Achilles,”

He hesitated, why did he hesitate? His eyes were blank as he stared back, how could such a small boy know such emptiness? We wore our name in shame, I knew that much. I sigh deeply, adjusting the black robe that scratched against my skin in an awkward way.

Oh dear lord, please give me this chance to save myself.

“Why are you crying?” I ask with a hint of gruffness added to my voice, crouching down in front of him to level our heads. His face was still morphed with baby fat, though his cheekbones were evident on his face.

“Mamma says I angered god–” I cut him off when he shudders in his jacket, raising my hand to his shoulder. “It’s not the end of the world.”

My voice was firm. I squeezed his shoulder gently; the pressure of my fingers against his muscles provided comfort I knew he needed. It was strange, I was comforting the younger me in the ways I had wished someone would comfort me last lifetime.

“But… he’s our father”

I didn’t say anything, which prompted the little boy to curiously tilt his head at my silence. Despite being crouched down, I was still towering over the six-year-old by a couple of feet.

The hood of my robe covered my face, casting my features in a shrine of darkness, but it was enough to see the scar on my lip. The boy’s hand reached up to touch his own bottom lip, feeling the indents of his scar that matched mine.

“Are you god?” The boy’s question was absurd. I stand abruptly, looking in the mirror beside me.

Oh dear Achilles, you could never amount to a creature as Divine as God

“No.”

“Then… who are you?”

I look back down at him, hesitantly holding a hand out to help him stand from the ground he so rudely dirtied with his impurity. “A friend… I’m here to help.”

If this boy knew he was going to end up bleeding on an altar for some god who didn’t care about him, he wouldn’t be so trusting. I couldn’t decide whether it was a good or a bad thing that he trusted me so easily.

“You better have done all your prayers, we don’t want our lord to be angry now do we, hunny?”

I whip my body around… Mom. I haven’t seen her in years; I definitely didn’t miss her. I look back at the kid, then back at our mom’s aging face, realizing that she was looking straight through me. I sigh, tapping the broken watch in my pocket out of nervousness, which only clinks in protest to the sudden movements.

“Yes mamma—”

“Good. Now go to bed, we have church in the morning.”

Church. Those words echoed in my head more than our Sunday prayers. My insides feel like they coiled as I hold back a shiver. They didn’t raise believers there; they raised sacrifices, bringing kids in to remember that everything is in God’s interest and then killing them on an altar to drink their “holy” blood. I take a deep breath to steady my racing thoughts of frustration.

Oh dear lord, is my blood just as divine as yours?

That night I didn’t sleep, I wasn’t even sure if i could anymore. I stood by the window, my gaze occasionally shifting between the younger me’s sleeping form and the rain outside. The car's driving past echoed through the sky like a forbidden whisper from the devil himself, every noise surrounding me telling me I knew how this story would end. Achilles' body stiffens when he sits up on his mattress, the comforter folding over on itself.

“Achilles–” I take a deep breath, pulling my body off the wall and away from the window with a tilted head. “Are you alright?”

The young boy’s arms hang from his side and rest on the bed, a thin casing of sweat covering his face. He was thinking about going to church, I could see the fears of “God’s will” written all over his face. He doesn’t answer me nor does he move, staring at the pale yellow wall in front of him. I glance over at the analog clock hung on the wall, watching the red hand click… and click… and click–

“I don’t want to go to church.” He declares. We always had theophobia growing up, though the fear wasn’t exactly irrational.

“We’ll run. We don’t have to go if you don’t want to.” I began, taking three steps before reaching his bed, offering him my hand as I pulled the black hood over my head some more. “Follow me, Achilles."

Our feet crunched against the concrete as I led him away from church, the ground wet in various places from the previous rain. Achilles turns, his body simmering in unease. We never were one to break the rules, “Are you sure we are going the right way?” I continued to walk, turning my head to look back at him. “This way Achilles, there's nothing back there for us now.”

When we got a good distance away from the public eye, I stopped the both of us, pulling him in front of me and turning his body so his back was facing me. I slip his hood from his church robe off his head. My hands coddled his collarbones from behind, standing there and taking it all in. He relaxed under my touch, tilting his head slightly as if to lean in.

Oh dear Achilles, the world is so cruel… Let future you be kinder than man.

I close my eyes gently, as if it would rid me of the sin I was about to commit. I take a deep breath of the trees surrounding us before wrapping my hands graciously around his throat, squeezing as firmly as I could. When the darkness enveloped both of our vision, I whisper…

“I’m sorry you had to die…”

My hands clot with blood as my outsides shrivel. I should have died on that altar, my blood was drained and my body was burned, but I am here. As I stood there with the younger me, lifeless in my hands, praying to a god I’m not even sure exists anymore, I knew deep down, young Achilles didn’t want to die just yet.

This vessel is nothing but a curse; this vessel is a lie made to shape and mold someone into God's will. I will end my own story. I will not let my life repeat like a lamb in a wolf's trap… I will be the wolf, for this body means nothing to me as a sacrificial lamb.