Goofycabal

Burnt Offerings The Papier-mâché statue. Wind blown, stoic. Watch him stand guard. His painted eyes gauge everyone's hearts. He makes the feeble cower. Makes the braggarts puff their chests. This sacrificial guardian awaits his destiny of ashes and flame. Patient. You envy him. The drummers wake. Leaping heel-toe-heel-toe, a primal stalk before their instruments. Your ears pulse to the rumble of stick-on-taught-drum skin. Your heart matches pace. Bass drum pounding drowns its smaller brethren, a quickening of rate. Drummers frenzy, their whirling sticks merge with the night air. Invisible. You feel their drumbeats in your gut. A