Note: Once again this material is not suitable for minors.
The bonfire continued to blaze under stars and moon as embers lifted themselves to the heavens. Everywhere I looked I could see people celebrating, most standing, some sitting relaxed on logs cut for the occasion. In the darkness, an olive skinned woman caught my eye, she looked back at me with her head over her shoulder, staring as if she knew every one of my desires and failures. Suddenly, my youngest brother cut through to greet me. He was drunk and stumbling over himself. Aromas of blackberry wine wafted through the air and he offered me the bottle to drink, so I did. He was trying to speak to me but the words came out so slurred that I could barely make anything intelligible out of them.
I'm taking the bottle,
I said to him.
Don't! I need it,
he said back in protest, his voice a sluggish glissando of vowels.
His hands reached for the wine but I held my grip firmly, refusing to relent. I could see the desperation in his eyes and perhaps, a bit of loneliness. My eyes wandered away to scan the surrounding scene, more jubilation, more people walking towards a stage in anticipation of something. My little brother could sense my disinterest in his predicament and gave up. At present, the crowd seemed to be working itself up to a fervor. We wandered towards them to see what was happening.
Music played, with strange drums and flutes, as fire breathers worked the crowd. All of the music blended with the sounds of cheering and chainmail rustling against skin and armor. Volunteers were picked from the audience, they seemed to be playing some kind of game, as they approached the stage men and women came out from backstage, completely naked and annointed with oils, with field flowers in their braided hair. They danced alongside dissonant flutes and ghostly choirs as the clothing and armor were stripped from the volunteers, who proceeded to dance with them. The attention of my eyes drifted towards breasts.
Behind me I could hear shouting and shoving, my head turned and I spotted my brother in an argument with a stranger. Vitriolic insults were hurled back and forth. Hit against the ground, the bottle in my hand became a weapon. Slowly I stepped towards the altercation, grabbing my brother by the shoulder and trying to pull him away from the situation. Before I knew it, he threw the first punch. If the situation were reversed, I might’ve cut someone with this improvised glass dagger, but, he made his decision and now had to live with it. All I could do was watch until my assistance was needed.
As they wrestled each other on the ground my head turned back to the stage, and I could see that the volunteers had slashed throats along with a deep cut down the length of their stomachs, dripping with dark blood and their exposed entrails. All of their faces looked caught between eternal pleasure and endless agony, as their eyes rolled back into their skulls.