The sun beamed down over the garden, illuminating the rows of fig and olive trees. In the highest branch of one of the fig trees, there sat a small yellow bird. Its small talons grasped onto the thin wood as its head quickly turned with the sound of the slightest change in wind direction. The days were finally getting longer and warmer, and the animals were making their way onto the campus. The lizards rested in the middle of the stone pathways, and the birds innocently hopped around to rest their wings after flying. Mecca, as they called it, sat at the very top of the hill. Mecca was a large light blue barn with giant wooden double doors right front and center. It was completed with two large brass handles and large windows all over. Mecca was a place to gather on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, or when a new forecast was predicted. The top of the barn held a four foot bell, when a rope below was tugged, its ringing could be heard all throughout the valley. The bell was rung an average of five times a week. Three times for casual meetings, and twice a week for the bi-weekly forecast. A forecast was the most dreaded, yet the most frequently occurring “holiday”.  

Elizabeth stared up at the small yellow bird as it quietly twittered. The light breeze ran through her long white dress, and her necklace rattled slightly in the wind. In the distance, another bird called out, and in one swift motion, the small yellow bird fluttered into the sky and away from the garden. Elizabeth walked along the stone path, the hot rocks burning their texture into the bottom of her bare feet. She walked along the stepping stones of the garden until she reached the cold, wet grass. She took another step into the meadow, feeling the mud below the grass squelch under her feet. She took another step, and then another, left, right, left, right…and so on for hours. That is what life was like on campus; classes, gardening, meals, and reflection time. Suddenly, three loud, echoing rings snapped her out of her trance. She ran back through the meadow and passed through the garden, wiping her feet off on the path as she ran. The garden led out onto the front porch of the mecca. 

Elizabeth fell into the stream of peers flooding in through the double doors. Inside the mecca, there were six sections. Each section had six rows of benches, and they all faced into the middle around the hexagon podium. Elizabeth walked over to the third side of the hexagon, and sat in the front row. The air inside the mecca felt tense and quiet, but it was all too familiar. Silence ran through the crowd as a flame burst through the center of the podium, roaring as it grew larger and larger, until it was feet away from the hexagon chandelier. A man in long white robes slowly and dramatically climbed the steps leading up to the podium, and looked around. He quietly observed the rows of terrified followers, until he saw a young girl in the first row beaming up at him, her face illuminated by the flames. He studied her through the holes of his mask, pride bubbling up inside of him. His own daughter, ready to take on his role, ready to follow their traditions and teach their values. 

The man in the robes circled the fire six times, until he stopped, and faced his back to a row of benches. He reached deep into the pocket of his robes, and removed a gold coin. He tossed it up, and it flew through the air as if it were in slow motion, and landed in the fire. The man searched the crowd until he pointed at a boy in the third row of the fifth side. The boy stood, nervously looking around. He stumbled towards the podium, filled with dread and anxiety. The man in the robes removed his mask, and dropped it on the ground. He reached over to a stand completed with various metal instruments, and retrieved a long rod with a small square at the bottom. The boy walked up the steps onto the podium, and stood before the man. The man dipped the metal rod into the fire and held it in the flames like he was making a burnt s'more. After around half a minute, he pulled the stick out and nodded to the boy. The boy’s eyes welled up with tears as he lifted the left side of his shirt up to his ribs. The man stood back, positioning the rod. Two more people in black robes rushed onto the hexagon podium and held the boy in place. The boy let out a blood curdling scream as the hot metal square pressed into his rib cage. The man in white robes pulled the rod away and returned it to its spot on the rack. The boy fell to his knees and pressed his head against the ground.

“Flora.” Announced the man in white robes, “A flower, for a natural, beautiful departure.”

The crowd exploded with applause. People stood from their seats and chanted, and the man raised his hands in the air in triumph. 

The mecca slowly emptied as people casually strolled out the doors, leaving Elizabeth and the boy on the hexagon podium. The boy lay on his back with his knees up and hands tucked behind his head, as if he were enjoying a nice, sunny day. Elizabeth poked through the remains of the fire, sifting through the ashes. She tossed aside a small chunk of wood and reached into the fire to pull out the small golden coin.

“Do you want to know a secret?” Elizabeth asked without looking at the boy.

“Sure,” the boy replied, “your secret will die with me,” he chuckled darkly.

“The coin doesn’t actually mean anything.” 

“Well I don’t think forecasts mean anything.”

“Have you not seen what has happened to others chosen?”

“I’m not like the others. You can’t die if you don’t let anything kill you.”

“Well good luck with that. I’ll see you tomorrow…that is if you're still alive.”

Elizabeth placed the coin next to the boy's head and stepped off the hexagonal podium, smiling to herself. 

She walked through her precious garden inspecting the figs that were finally turning a deep shade of purple. She ran her fingers along a particularly round one, and plucked it off its branch. Inspiration hit her as she walked with the fig grasped tightly in her palm. 

She walked out of the garden, passing the mecca, and behind a row of hedges. She came upon a large off-white house. Being the daughter of the master did occasionally have its perks. She ran to the kitchen and placed the fig on the counter. She raised her fist high in the air, and with all her might, smashed the fig with her knuckles. The red and green juice of the fig sprayed all over the white marble counter. She dragged her fingers through the mess, creating patterns all over the counter. 

Over the next few days, Elizabeth carefully studied the boy. He got up, went to class, and ran straight back home. She searched for him at meetings, but he was nowhere to be seen. It had been two weeks since the last forecast had been held, and people were getting restless.

The sun rose yet again, and Elizabeth stepped out of the house to tend to her garden. Instead of being greeted by the usual whistle of birds, she stepped out to see a corpse flat on its back, with red patterns traced around it.