The sacrificial victim

I wake up in the dark. My body aches and pains all over.

I hear someone cackling in the near background. Nervously I wonder how did I end up here. My left side is still numb from the tranquiliser dart. I have a big lump on the side of my head. The cold hard steel of prison handcuffs burns around my tender wrists.

Floodlights burst incandescently and illuminate an altar, with me bound at the center. And now the satanic shaman comes strutting out in his (her?) long black cloak.

Drawing a long sacrificial blade from beneath the cloak, it approaches me with murderous intent. It licks the blade and draws a bright spot of blood from its obscenely pink tongue.

“Our feast is here, my beauties” the gross caricature murmurs wetly, extending its blade towards my stomach. It thrusts the blade home quickly, causing a blur of agony across my abdomen and up my chest.

“aaaaaaaaahhhhhhh” I cry in agony, feeling the many coarse hands tear out their piece of the feast to come.

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