Three dark drabbles for you today. Enjoy.
Novices
Walking the Red Line they called it, this rite of passage for temple novices where eager recruits walk between rows of elite guards, entering the temple surrounded by their silent, crimson-cloaked ranks.
It was exhilarating and intimidating.
Every temple novitiate aspired to be one of the Elite Guard.
I know I did.
I wish I hadn’t.
They lied to us, spinning tales of devotion, of service to the gods and the city. The temple is none of that, only corruption and greed. And the Elite, we are the killers, the eliminators of opposing voices.
The ones that make people disappear…
Acolytes
The drum sounds, a rhythmic beat signalling their coming. Villagers hide behind closed doors, praying to their gods they will be spared a knock. The lucky see only a swish of black cloak past their windows; the unlucky hear the thump of a fist on their door.
For those, interaction is swift. The chosen sacrifice is dragged from the home and the screaming child taken to the altar. The drum beat strengthens, beating louder, faster, pumping in time to the slice of the knife as it cuts through the lifeblood. Child after child is sacrificed, until the streets stain red…
The Master
He sits on his temple throne, broken and abandoned, his followers dead or absconded. The angry mobs scream outside the throne room door, calling for his life. When they break through, they will tear him to pieces.
In a whispered snarl, he spits his defiance, “I gave you everything you wanted. I told you what to do, what to want, how to think. You asked to be sheep, but now you rebel? Ungrateful filth.”
An ear-splitting crack interrupts and the fractured door flings open; a sea of enraged, armed people swell into the room. The Master stands, awaiting the end.
Be Afraid of the Dark 
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