The Inevitable Future
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Sine Qua Non
Status: Beta :: 4th Draft of the 1st Rewrite
Preface: “Sine Qua Non” is Latin for “without which not,” and is defined as “an essential condition; a thing that is absolutely necessary.”
The rituals begin when the moon glows red at twilight. Foreign science demonstrates the red coloration as a combination of dust, sea air, sunlight, spatial alignments and other fanciful, complicated terms, but the masses can only bow their heads and pray.
* * *
The camera shakes slightly – it’s obviously handheld, and in the background whispers of heresy, blasphemy – the illegality of filming the ritual – are heard only briefly as the image clears. All sound is drowned out by the roar of the processional crowd around the Great Temple, a four-sided pyramid from ancient times.
Today is the captain’s day. A fond favorite of the people from the wars only a few years past, the crowd roars as he climbs the pyramid stairs. The image flickers briefly, zooming to the top of the Temple.
The High Priest stands alone next to the Great Temple’s altar, an ancient, glorified stone slab stained red from the years; guards stand at the top of each of the four staircases, wary, entrusted with keeping the masses from climbing the stairs. As the captain crosses the threshold from stairs to altar, they cock their rifles, a hair’s breadth away from cutting him down. The captain recognizes the High Priest instantly, an indecipherable look passing only briefly across his face.
The captain swallows once, seeming to steady himself, and moves to stand before the High Priest. He salutes the High Priest with one hand, the other moving to his side-arm. The priest doesn’t notice – he smiles, nods, waving an arm to beckon the captain to stand before the altar.
The footage blurs for a moment. Now the captain stands upon the altar, eyes looking into the distance, towards the festival procession and the horizon stretching beyond the capital, white marble and glass buildings cast in bloody hues from the setting sun. As the footage shakes slightly, a glimpse of the crimson moon reveals itself.
The captain admires the view, hand still on his weapon. The priest’s eyes widen only a fraction as the captain fluidly draws the sidearm, unlocks the final safety, cocks the live round, and aims it for the priest’s heart.
The guards lock their weapons on the captain’s head. The priest waves them off, a small smile touching his lips.
The captain’s mouth moves, at first slowly, then angrily, the sound lost due to the unseeing crowds and the filming distance. The priest, calm, listens, responds. The captain pauses – continues – listens – continues – and then the priest smiles.
The captain pauses, gun shaking, hand shaking. When he glances past the priest at the city beyond, his decision fills his face, taut muscles sagging suddenly. He stands tall, straight, and hands the weapon to the smiling priest. The priest nods, still smiling – the captain closes his eyes, looks to the sky.
The guards relax visibly, turning their attention back to the city.
The priest spreads his arms wide, mouth open in ritual song.
The captain smiles for a moment, a long moment, a sad moment, as the priest points the weapon. The captain seems blissfully unaware of the gun to his head as the priest pulls the trigger on the ritual’s completion.
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