Memories in Black

Inspired by a Question

Prologue:

I’m surrounded by familiar faces, blankly staring at me. They’re staring, waiting for something. Their eyes dart to the ground and then back at me. Under my feet there’s a pitch black drain, and in my hand a serrated knife. They’re all waiting for me.

A deep voice like a crackled flame came alive in my mind, “Sacrifice thy corporal delusion and bask within its dissolution.”

A sense of dread, a creeping compulsion, this must be my retribution. I walk towards one of the many familiar faces. I step behind them—hand trembling and gaze adverted—and slit their throat in one swift motion. They gasp for a breath that’ll never come. They collapse to the floor, stained in blood. The others continue to wait patiently.

The smoldering voice spoke again, “There are no half-hearted sacrifices. A Shepard remains a Shepard even with the loss of a single sheep.”

And so, one by one, I slit their throats. Their scarlet blood swallowed up by the bottomless drain down below.

A second, benevolent voice cried out too late, “Please stop. a sacrifice must be given, not taken away.” The words rung like a sacred bell and drowned away the crackle of the voice of flames.

Every familiar face was gone. I killed them all, with my blade. All those lives and all that blood vanished within the pitch black drain. My hands shun a bloody red, forever stained by their pain.

The voice drenched in flames erupted once again, “A bargain made from plants and scraps? That’s no way to gain our favor, and a flockless Shepard is no better.”

The drain opened up and swallowed me whole.