Sundance, an ancient art. A ritualistic fusion of primal dance and doped adrenaline escapades into the mind. A scent more foul than ancient sewers assaulted my nose, along with a mixture of acrid flesh and boiling water.
I had been bound, held without regard on charges only these tribesmen know. What was left of the rest of my expedition crew lain in course piles on the ground. The thunderous, rolling beats of their drums scared off all other creatures, nary a single flap of a wing could be seen through the clear, bright sky.
I wondered, maddened by my surroundings, at what fate I had in store. I had gave up my god days ago, months of capture proving how prayer never worked. I begged forgiveness, now, as the sharp, shrill cry of a blade to stone called out through the rest of the cacophony.
May you all burn in hell, I thought, as the spear tip raised from stone and pointed towards me.
May you all burn in hell.
Image source: Roberto Pazzi/Daily Mail UK