sacrifice [Theme]

Not sparing, not leaving alone, the horror of awareness twisted and twisted her from the inside: “What I saw was not just spontaneous lynching. This is a sacrifice. War, God, failed fate... Bloody message: "Enough." There has to be some way to justify such cruelty.”

- Then start with yourself.

And we will cry with delight.

In Mexico, hearts were ripped out for the sun god. In ancient Britain, servants were ritually strangled and buried with their masters. Commoners accused of witchcraft were crushed with large stones and burned at the stake. In the Tokyo subway, people were gassed. Fully fueled planes with passengers crashed into skyscrapers. If only we could rebel. All of us who died unjustly for the sake of the mad Gods. There would be a lot of us.

A sacrifice is needed.

We're going to get out of this mess, even if I have to suffuffle each of these freaks with my bare hands.

Do you think this is a domestic assassination attempt? An attempt at ordinary murder, which every day in Russia a saint is accomplished? No, my dear, this is a ritual act. The rite is religious. Sacrifice to a creature dark, evil and envious.
- To whom? Komissarov flinched.
- There is one beast, - Pavel Matveevich strained.
- Wolf mental? - Vasily Khristoforovich said and he himself did not understand how these two words developed in his head.
- How do you know? - Legkobytov was alerted and looked suspiciously at his interlocutor.
- He said.
- About the mental wolf? The hunter asked greedily. - And what did he tell you?
- He said that every sin and all virtue begins with thought, and one must be able to distinguish between thoughts and premonitions, which of them are from God and which are from a demon.
- How's that?
- And for this you need to think every morning and every evening with prayer to clean like teeth with tooth powder.

Sacrifice is a phenomenon that is considered both justice and sin, and everything depends on the circumstances under which the victim dies: whether deliberately, by compulsion, by his own will, or ... and from the purpose for which the sacrifice is made: for what; for whom, why, ... but murder occurs in any scenario, and it cannot be changed: someone will die anyway; sacrifice himself. How much life, so many opinions.

The altar is the place where the priest in ancient times produced the guts of the Holy sacrifice, to honor their deity, and was preparing her meat for the participants of the ceremony. Now this word is rarely used, except when determined by the place from which the fool and the fool to give up the freedom and peace of mind.

I found something strange during today's nightmare. A wreath made from animal bones. Nothing in nature does not create things like him. I threw it into the fire. And he quickly disappeared. To my surprise, the fire can burn things. But why not my hand? The next day, something changed. The world was different. My only conclusion is that I must find something like it. A simple sacrifice? But for whom? And who made it? If they would help me get out of here?

Night called Irina. Interrupted a dream where I was talking with Socrates about the benefits of ritual in the work of dealer meat market. I argued that you can not see the pork heads and the smell of blood, and to bear philosophical thought. He laughed at my naivety. And convinced not to surrender to the slavery of the animal shop. Isn't flowing there, as on the battlefields, blood, and sweat? No, I smiled, this is not a battle. It's a ritual of pagan sacrifice. I am a priest, not a slave. I cut and I cut a sacred product and not dismembered corpses of animals. Play sacrifice, hone ritual, as Spinoza magnifying glass. But my heart remains untouched. Blood of alien ritual comes to my mind. A robe? Well. Bathrobe will give in the wash. Or throw it like a snake casts of its old skin.
- Do not dissemble to himself, ' replied Socrates. I swear to dog, you won't be able to protect your inner peace from the market of the stench. You're too weak for this. Too vulnerable, though not a poet. The meat shop is not for you. Go to Church and nephrosis temporarily as a watchman. It's yours.
- In the Church? Hmm. As a watchman? But it is impossible to grind lenses. It is impossible to sharpen a ritual where Christ drove out the beach vendors. In the Church you cannot be a worker. You can only serve. And I'm not ready. I swear to dog, Socrates, I am not ready. If you want to live in freedom, to learn to serve. Little patience, Socrates. A lot of ease and very little patience. Perhaps I'll take the wording of the text of the play. And benefited from it. I'll think about it.
And then the phone rang Irene. A dream come true.
Disturbing voice she said,
- Daughter problem. Locked myself in the bathroom crying. Evening came drunk. Said that I raised her wrong. Said I took away her opportunity to be happy. She will never be happy because I taught her happiness. How does it feel to hear of your mother?
- Why all this? Have accumulated? Or reaction to the event?
And reaction, was accumulated. Some Director gave her up. Told her that she is young. And it needs to be taught everything. And what is everything?
- What? Oh, this Melpomene. I believe, not theater arts. Where is she now? In the bathroom?
Yes. Quiet. I'm going through. Wouldn't have done something with us. Silly.
I got out of bed and approached the laptop. Opened the email, found a file with the text of the play "Suicide".
What is there in the play? - I asked. - Don't have time to read. What's up with the heroine?
- Opens the veins, - a small voice said Irina. - What to do? To break down the door?
Break. I'll sit on the phone.
.....
People fell in love with acting. Actors - founders of the mod. The mummers - house on the sand. Open the news feed and rested his eyes in the murk and the husk, which is called life...
(Psychologist and a psychopath)

Calling enough of your sacrifices, he wants your life.

This village was so poor that it could live only 50 people. To live, we sacrificed each other. But the surface for us was a world where I could live all, I fought believing it. But... I was wrong. The upshot was that I almost sacrificed more lives.
This sin I have to atone for.

When priests have sick stomachs, don't bring a sacrifice to the gods of heavy meals.