High school feels like the best time of your life while you’re there. It’s easy to think that whatever you experience during those magical years will last forever. When you finally meet your true love in your senior year, it seems meant-to-be. You are entirely sure that this is the man you will spend your life with.
I don’t blame you for having felt like that, but for most people such dreams just don’t last. They certainly didn’t last for you. Eventually, you broke up with him and now you get to watch as another woman ties the man you were going to marry to a sacred rock before bleeding him dry in an ancient ceremony.
I can’t say I feel sorry that the two of you fell apart. You just didn’t play your cards right. Maybe you were only with him to get popular. It’s different for me. When I tell him that his death will feed the starving gods and bring our community a bountiful harvest, I mean every word.
Sometimes I still struggle with jealousy. It kills me that I could not be there with him like this years ago: smearing his own life-blood across his forehead while chanting in ecstasy. It is painful to remember that you got to spend all that time with him. But you didn’t do it right and that tells me you were never supposed to be the one driving the sacrificial dagger into his abdomen. He was meant for me all along.
You got to go to school dances with him and wear pretty dresses. I admit that sounds kind of fun. Prom dresses were exciting to pick out, back then, and so colorful. You know what else is colorful? The blood and the intestinal tubes pouring freely from the knife wound in his side right now. I am sure you had fun choosing just the right dress, but believe me: I’m having fun now too.
So I stop myself whenever I get jealous. You may have matched his outfit to yours before countless dances and rallies. You may even have found yourself crowned queen at a shallow high school ceremony; a bloodless imitation of the ritual that I am enacting with his body right now. At the end of the day, it’s my holy robes he gets to look at while I carry his heart to the altar where the gods will consume it. This is mine forever: you may have worn the prom dress with him, but I got to tear out his liver with my own two hands and burn it as a pleasant sacrifice to the gods.