[ written due to annco123's insistence — I am not to be blamed for the creepiness ]

Sacrifice.

   It was the word that guided the knife in my hand, that drove the men that dragged the offering to the altar, that was behind every frenzied heartbeat, every stamp of feet on the ground.

   It was the word that pleased the gods, that sated their thirst for blood, that kept them alive, century after century after century.

   It was the word that let us live.

   The offering was dropped at my feet. It trembled and murmured unintelligibly, praying to some false deity. The ceremonial herbs that raced through my blood brought fury to my mind immediately, and I snarled, reaching forwards and slapping the offering in the face.

   The offering's head snapped back, bringing a roar of approval from the crowd. It stared back at me, its eyes rolling up until I could only see the whites, the glistening orbs trembling in their sockets. Blood flowed freely from its nose. I had given the gods their first taste of life-nectar.

   But now they would be eager to properly start their meal. I yelled at the other priests and they made a path to the altar. Men picked up the offering again, and it did not make an effort to resist, or to even support its own weight.

   They stopped when they got to the altar, and rested its body on it. Four black-robed priests immediately came forward and pulled its limbs down, spread eagle.

   I strode forwards, and raised the knife to the air. My people screamed and tore at their hair, cutting themselves and adding their blood to the offering.

   I held the knife out above the offering, and it finally had a reaction. It opened its mouth and screamed, a high, reedy sound that cut through my ears. It began to thrash, and one of the priests wrenched an arm into place. A crack resounded through the air, and the scream grew in volume.

   I slashed suddenly with my blade and the creature was shocked into silence as blood welled and gushed from the incision. For a second, I watched, hypnotized by the way it rolled over skin.

   But the offering began to scream again, and I was reminded of my task. I made the cut deeper, and slashed again and again, my work precise and fast.

   Finally, I dropped my knife and raised my hand up, holding it in the air for a moment before plunging downwards into its chest. My fingers curled around what I wanted, and I felt the body working, trying, struggling to keep itself alive.

   And then I ripped out the still-beating heart, raising it high above my head for the crowds to see and the gods to take.