The Offering

The air was thick with concrete dust from the falling buildings. The windshield of the car was covered in a dusty film. It got so heavy, we had to utilize the windshield wipers so we could see. I checked our rear. The tank was right behind us. Damn, it moved fast for such a large vehicle. It was almost unreal. The driver swerved viciously to avoid another falling building and I was thrown around the small compartment of the back seat. I quickly regained footing and watched as the tank plowed right through the debris, exploding another cloud of particles.

"Hurry," my mind screamed and then I voiced it aloud! "Hurry! He's catching us!"

"We'd probably be better off on foot," the driver said and I watched the back of his head move as if searching for a good spot to ditch the car. Periodically, I was tossed about as he weaved his way through the forsaken city. It had all just changed. The world was a different place. No longer could nights be spent just watching a television or hanging out at the bar with friends. Now was a time for survival. Avoid getting caught. Avoid being enslaved. Avoid torture and internment. And this was from our own government.

I checked our rear. At sometime the back window had been blown out and the clarity of the scene behind me gave me shivers. Vegas was in complete ruins. Small orange fire glows everywhere silhouetted the damage against the fading sky. Smoke tendrils reached up into the dark purple space that replaced the once ever-present orange glow. Here and there you could see singular souls, covered in soot and rags diving for cover from the search vehicles. Ours seemed to be falling behind. Maybe it had found new quarry. I felt relieved, yet sorry all at once. I informed the driver and noticed we were slowing down.

He pulled in under the half collapsed canopy of what used to be a small casino and we struggled with the doors to let ourselves out. The other passenger in the front was a small east Indian boy with eyes like the ones you see on the covers of National Geographic. His face was drawn, as if in deep thought. Once released from the vehicle, all of our eyes swept the surrounding area. The distinct whirring of choppers getting closer made us move quickly. Next to the casino was an alley and we ducked into it.

The driver was a man in his mid-thirties. He had dark hair, although the light coat of dust made it seem white. He was Italian, I think. He had that stereo-typical swarthy-ness of a lithe Italian soccer star or model. His lips were full and almost constantly pouting. He ran his long, dexterous fingers through his hair and it became black again. Sporting a white open collar shirt that was only half-buttoned up, he grabbed the young boys hand as we walked down the alley.

We came to the passageways end and a ragged cloth curtain blocked our progress. The Italian swept it aside and the sunlight pouring through the opening hurt my eyes for a moment. As my eyesight adjusted to the light, I could make out a marketplace teeming with people. Most were Indian, like the boy. It was near shoulder to shoulder walking through the melee. Suddenly the crowd parted and an Indian man in his forties was on his knees with his face up towards the heavens. His arms were outstretched to the side as he muttered in a language I did not understand. Finally his arms dropped and a couple of the bystanders went to help him up.

At my side was a young Indian girl, who smiled at me when I looked at her. Her eyes then traveled towards the Italian and she said in perfect English, "An offering must be made," and then turned to walk away. Sensing his confusion, I touched the girl on her shoulder ad asked what she meant. She pointed to a small cart from which fetishes and magazines dangled.

"Purchase something from him and make it an offering in the temple." I asked if she would show us. I followed the braided girl and indicated for the Italian to follow.

There wasn't much of a selection. An offering of bubble gum or a deck of cards seemed mediocre for an offering. A small Indian man before us bought a fetish of an elephant and walked off, presumably towards the temple. The Italian settled on a deck of colorful playing cards, almost Italian in design. He turned them over and over in his hand as the girl led us towards the temple. She started to explain.

Ever so often, God touches a soul here and announces that to save the lives of four hundred, the two hundred males around the touched must make a sacrifice of something. The sacrifice can be something as simple as a pack of gum or a deck of cards. I asked why and she did not know. It had begun long ago, but it happened very frequently. I asked if the announcement had never been complied with. She pointed to the line of forty or so men waiting to make their sacrifice.

The young Indian boy stood in line with the Italian, holding a small doll as the girl led me up the steps of the temple. We stood off to the side, but I could see the drop box protruding from the wall, the men pitched their offerings into. Some just walked up and tossed them in and moved on. Others said a small succinct prayer before doing so. The Italian reached the box and paused. He muttered no prayers. He lowered his eyes and leaned against the wall. I could tell he was contemplating the decision.

The girls face wrinkled. She wasn't very happy.

"Why does one pause to save the lives of four hundred? At such a low price?"

And then I woke up. Great dream!