[Image credit:Tejas Prajapati]
“Sticks and straw and stretched out skin.” They chanted in near unison. A cackle came from the back of the crowd.
“Blood and guts and holy sin.” The high priestess lifted her hands behind the podium and displayed the head proudly, as high as she could reach.
“Rabbit owed our lesser kin.” The chant roiled into a threatening group whisper.
“Hollow the hearth, abandon the young, spill upon the hungry soil hurried death.”
“Hollow the fruit, abandon your lovers, Spread gentle sacrifice across the Earth.”
The priestess slammed the head down on the altar. Black blood oozed from the neck and spread out over the stone table. The man’s face was dour and twisted. His slack jaw and upturned eyes were a perversion of rapture. The priestess ran her fingers along his cheeks, facing away from her. One finger slipped in the mouth and she uttered a low “ew.” and moved it quickly, the dry residue that had been blood and saliva stained her gloved finger with a foul stench.
The congregation had continued the chant while she caressed the sacrifice. They looked up expectantly in the dim torchlight of the make-shift cathedral at their leader. Sister Agatha met their gazes one by one. Her stout jaw shut tight in prudent temper.
Then, with shocking dexterity, she grabbed her athame and ran it straight into the head vertically.
“Release them!” She cried out.
Sisters waiting on either side of the massive stone room started rapidly opening cages. They ran while hunched over the small cages and coaxed rabbits of every species out. Their temperaments spanned the gradient of known rabbit personality. Many tried to run away but all of the exits were closed. Dozens of rabbits disappeared into the shadowy corners of the hall.
The women began to chant again, this time Sister Agatha started grabbing pieces of the sacrificed man from his excised torso, which was laying on the stone altar still. The warmth of his lifeblood felt comforting, even through her black leather gloves. She took the gunk she grabbed and tossed it ceremoniously toward all of her sisters.
The chants became excited and less rigid. Some sisters went off on tangents, others chased the rabbits while making insane noises. Some stood still and massaged the blood into them. A couple disrobed.
As the circle of women began to rotate with their manic movements and chasing, the rabbits were forced from the dark. Like a satanic assembly line they cooperated with each other to drive the animals into the center of the undecorated concrete floor. Agatha splashed the mass of the man’s innards there in the center. As pieces of organ and flesh slopped on top of floppy ears, the rabbits seemed to calm down. Some partook.
The ceremony lasted for hours. In the depth of the night, after the rabbits were exhausted and sated they found meandering women to comfort and console them. By 4am every sister who wanted one now held a satisfied companion. When it was time for the 33rd annual convening of the Rabbit Cult to disperse, Agatha ended with tradition,
“Why do we do such?” She asked the room at large.
Many of her sisters had slipped into fugue delusions of imagination or simply gone to sleep. They awoke with a start and bright smiles. They yelled raucously and spoke with definite pleasure,
“Fewer men, more rabbits!” They cried out. The newer members laughing and joining in the answer as they observed the others.
“Fewer men, more rabbits!”
I couldn't agree more.