The community had come to an agreement. One must be sacrificed for the good of the many.
That one was me.
I donned a fine, white cloak and bravely approached the hilltop stone. The gathered community watched my every step. I reached the summit and turned. My mother was standing among the throng, a strong smile on her face but her eyes weeping. She caught my eye and gave me a small nod. My father was nowhere to be seen. I was certain he couldn’t bear to see his eldest daughter die.
I laid myself on the granite slab, suddenly self-conscious about my modesty, careful to keep my cloak over my legs.
“Don’t worry,” said the woman administering the poison. “You won’t feel any pain. It will be just like falling asleep.”
I wasn’t worried. I knew, deep in my heart, I would live again.
I just wished someone — anyone — would sit beside me and tightly hold my hand.