Isibel was shaking when she was awakened by a female guard at 4:00 in the morning. Isisbel knew sacrifices were staged during the early morning when the sky was a magical backdrop of colors and light. The hour before the sun rose up and separated from the horizon was a spectacle. Every morning broke in an unexpected fluorescent show of orange and magenta. The way the rising light filtered through the soot filled air was magnificent and it added to the drama. Civilians too had been up early, lined up at the gates of the plaza while Isabel was being prepared for the ritual.

The way the rising light filtered through the soot filled air was magnificent and it added to the drama.

While two brutish guards stood at the door of the steel room and watched without expression, a young woman maybe still a teenager attended to Isibel. The girl was dressed in a pair of light pants and a smock. She had blond hair and although it was held back Isibel could see the waves breaking through along her hairline. Her eyes were pale, a light blue and the unusual pigment made her skin look white. Isibel couldn't think straight and her mouth was dry.

"What will we do no?" Isibel whispered to the girl as she rose and followed behind the girl towards the doorway. The girl had the grey dress that Isibel was to wear during the execution. In that moment Isiabel couldn't be brave. Her legs were weak and they gave out under her. She collapsed and the girl turned to the guards. Instantly they were in the room lifting Isibel to her feet.

"I can walk." Isibel said and they released her and again the girl took her by the arm. Together they left the sterile cell and into the hallway. Isibel felt as if her feet were dragging behind her, they were heavy and her heart raced.

"What's your name?"Isibel asked the girl.

"Ilsa."

"How old are you?"

"Fifteen."

Isibel swallowed. Fifteen. "What do you think of this?" Isisbel asked.

The girl's blue eyes met Isibel's. Her affect remained flat. "You make me sick."

Isibel released whatever hope was left inside of her. She let out a breath and a shallow moan.

Once in yet another room — one with only a bed and table with a wash pan and a few other items — the girl proceeded to prepare Isibel for the ceremony. Ilsa brushed Isibel's hair and pulled it back in a thick black headband. The effect was dramatic, making Isibel's face a palate on which the most excruciating human expressions would be drawn. Isibel's body was shaking terribly as the girl ran a sponge with cold liquid over her skin. She was covered in the same strong smell of disinfectant she'd noticed in the cell. Why, Isibel thought, would she need to be sanitized before being publicly murdered?

After the preparations were completed, the girl led Isibel back into the hallway where two guards were waiting. They each took one of her arms and led her down the hall and into an elevator. Isibel was shaking and her legs had completely given out. The men were holding her up. Neither looked at Isibel or each other. They kept their gaze straight ahead and moved mechanically, without a word. The elevator stopped and the door opened into an arena. The sound of the mob was frenetic and even if this weren't Isibel's last living day, the out of control chants and hoots would have frightened her. It was so out of control and blood hungry. There were gates on either side of an aisle that led to a stage. Crowds screamed at Isibel as she walked up towards the executioner's platform. The men were now completely carrying her weight and she was too paralyzed with terror to struggle. She'd lost all humanity and her feelings were animalistic. It tool only one man to hold her while the other brought the metal restraints up and secured them around her waist. The chains were tightened by gears on either side of the stage. The chains kept her upright but her torso was free so she would slump over once the stones had knocked her unconscious or killed her. The mob cheered and screamed "get on with it!" as the two guards left her there alone on the stage.

The sky was at it's most brilliant and the light show made Isibel's imminent death more dramatic.

Elder Erike rose from his seat behind the long table at one end of the stage. He held a hand up and hushed the ground. Isibel could hear her breaths and she tried hard to gasp for air. Erike elder stood for a moment, hands up and facing the crowd. The magenta and orange light of morning made his robe look as if it were on fire. He looked like he was rising from the depths of hell to meet this heretic.

He walked over to Isibel and stood before her. Hatred filled her and it must have been evident in her eyes. Their gaze met for a long time and she must have mirrored his vile heart, his hatred, and immorality. Rage flashed across his face and his hand came down hard against her face. First it was the metallic taste then the warm thick liquid. The taste of her own blood. Erike wanted to hurt her before the crowd killed her.

His eyes met hers and her feelings were lethal. He kept his glare on her, let it linger. She sensed how much he wanted her to succumb. She realized that she would die with her power over them. Their hypocrisy. She spit her own blood at him and it left a stain on his robe, where his heart would have been. She could see his jaw was clenched. Elder Erike again raised his hand again. She watched his shaking hand above her. Then, the shouts and jeers of the crowd seemed to awaken him from his rage. He lowered his hand slowly and turned back to the audience. Again there was silence.

"Let's begin." He shouted.

Her gaze followed him back to the table where Elder Ruth and another moral authority sat. He sat down behind the long table. All three of them dressed in off white robes. It gave them the look of clerics. They seemed noble, of some religious sect. But, they were not moral authorities, they were zealots. Afraid and meek.

The morning light was at it's most vibrant. A magenta haze covered her and the crowd. A gust of wind lashed her face and lingered, the fabric of her gray robe fluttered against her legs. She didn't know what to do with her hands, being restrained in such an awkward way. She reached down and held on to the chains on either side of her waist.

A gust of wind lashed her face and lingered, the fabric of her gray robe fluttered against her legs.

She was so terrified that her body began to shake. he felt herself grow weak. She release the chains and gave into the helplessness and terror. She let the chains around her waist take some of the weight. She slumped forward and it felt so degrading to her to be held in one position, publicly with so much fear coursing through her. For someone to see her in the most private, most vulnerable moment. For others to watch her as terror set in. To see her shaking and terrified. Their witnessing wasn't solemn because it was she was so undignified. It was a spectacle. Indeed, she could hear in a muted delayed echo the voices of the crowd mostly hooting or shouting "get on with it." A pile of stones and a line of humans mostly men waiting for their chance at her. In sacrifices she'd seen on the news the woman's lover was often there, forced to watch. That was why she always believed Altmen couldn't feel love. For when she'd watched women being sacrificed for interspecies mixing, their Altman lovers held stoic expressions. They did not use their superior intelligence for anything. She turned and scanned the crowd, almost thinking he'd be there. She wouldn't let herself shed tears but something took over at one point and she began screaming. And it must have gone on like that for quite a while. She bolted upright and fought against the chains. When she turned to see the moral authorities sitting back with smug expressions, she knew she'd somehow behaved in a way consistent with their lies.

"The truth doesn't matter to you." She shouted. "You've already made up your mind."

Her accusations were met with amusement. The laughter of the crowd was haunting and it echoed across the plaza.

What happened next was surreal, an illogical dream. Reality and perception didn't match up. It seemed to be a hallucination. For she turned to look at the line of men waiting for their chance to throw a stone. Their faces were grimaced and they were shouting "Let's get on with it!" A child was playing in the dirt on the ground next to the pile of stones. And when she turned back to the moral authorities, they seemed to all three deflate and gracefully fall forward with their heads coming to face down on the table.. She turned again and saw the crowd screaming and scrambling. It was after those events that she heard the gunshots. It must have been her senses were faulty. She turned again and pools of blood formed on the table around the three bodies. The guards lay dead on the sides of the arena. People were screaming and running from the ceremonial grounds. It didn't appear they were being attacked, while the sound of gun shots broke punctuated the screams in violent succession, they must have been blanks or shot away from the crowd. The government authorities lay dead but civilians cleared the area and soldiers human and Altman encircled the arena.

She screamed as a soldier rushed to the stage, believing somehow this violence was part of her execution. Her brain couldn't process anything and she had no idea that this was untrue.

Then she recognized her husband's physique, his gait as he rushed the stage and tore off his mask. His expression remained serious. He was breathing heavily and before he spoke to her, he unlatched the chains and they fell limp in a rhythmic set of clangs. She felt them fall from her body.

"What is it?" she yelled to Nole, "what's happening?"

His eyes met hers, "the revolution."

The end.