The walker's ritual
With every step, some of the beach's sand was lifted away and carried by currents too small to feel. As the walker's foot landed, the sand was pressed down by his weight, briefly marking his existence. He stopped at the ocean's edge, just shy of where the highest waves were reaching, and looked to the crescent moon on the horizon.
Dawn would soon follow the moon. Time was running out, but the walker did not panic. He knew how this would end and he knew it would be done before the rising of the sun. That was how they had always done it.
Hundreds of steps, almost in sync enough to be called marching, sounded behind the walker. He did not turn around. No one ever did. Those who believed in their innocence would not give the others the satisfaction of turning around. Those who believed that they were guilty were too shamed to turn and face the others. The walker did not know what he was accused of, and so did not know if he was guilty. All he knew was that he must not turn around. Never turn around.
When footsteps stopped, all that could be heard was the crashing of the waves and the quiet chaos of a hundred breaths. The walker continued to look at the moon in the distance. He took that first step forward and condemned himself. The waves pulled at his ankles but he did not flinch or cry out. His doom had been set as the others watched from behind.
With a few more steps, the cold water of the night ocean reached the walker's knees. The light around the horizon was slowly brightening as he fought his muscles to move him forward. The others continued their silent vigil from the shore.
The walker grudgingly took some more step against the frigid heaviness. The ocean was above his navel now. Only a few more steps and the ritual would be over. As he forced his body further into the water, his mind reflected on the life he had as one of the others. He remembered being adopted into the group. He remembered the way the stars looked from the village. He remembered watching other condemned ones performing the ritual.
The sound of gunfire broke his reverie. Without thinking, the walker ducked under the water as screams came from his audience. He had never tried to hold his breath underwater before, so he came up for breath seconds later.
Approaching along the shore was a figure wielding some kind of long gun. The gun was pointed to the sky, but the sounds of the shots were enough to drive off the others. Slowly surveying the area, the gun-wielder noticed the walker in the ocean and waded in with a hand reaching out.
In the light of the early dawn, the walker saw another condemned person. He considered his options and then walked towards the extended hand.
Dawn would soon follow the moon. Time was running out, but the walker did not panic. He knew how this would end and he knew it would be done before the rising of the sun. That was how they had always done it.
Hundreds of steps, almost in sync enough to be called marching, sounded behind the walker. He did not turn around. No one ever did. Those who believed in their innocence would not give the others the satisfaction of turning around. Those who believed that they were guilty were too shamed to turn and face the others. The walker did not know what he was accused of, and so did not know if he was guilty. All he knew was that he must not turn around. Never turn around.
When footsteps stopped, all that could be heard was the crashing of the waves and the quiet chaos of a hundred breaths. The walker continued to look at the moon in the distance. He took that first step forward and condemned himself. The waves pulled at his ankles but he did not flinch or cry out. His doom had been set as the others watched from behind.
With a few more steps, the cold water of the night ocean reached the walker's knees. The light around the horizon was slowly brightening as he fought his muscles to move him forward. The others continued their silent vigil from the shore.
The walker grudgingly took some more step against the frigid heaviness. The ocean was above his navel now. Only a few more steps and the ritual would be over. As he forced his body further into the water, his mind reflected on the life he had as one of the others. He remembered being adopted into the group. He remembered the way the stars looked from the village. He remembered watching other condemned ones performing the ritual.
The sound of gunfire broke his reverie. Without thinking, the walker ducked under the water as screams came from his audience. He had never tried to hold his breath underwater before, so he came up for breath seconds later.
Approaching along the shore was a figure wielding some kind of long gun. The gun was pointed to the sky, but the sounds of the shots were enough to drive off the others. Slowly surveying the area, the gun-wielder noticed the walker in the ocean and waded in with a hand reaching out.
In the light of the early dawn, the walker saw another condemned person. He considered his options and then walked towards the extended hand.