She stood at the center of the town square. Friends and relatives gathered around, forming an impenetrable wall. In a town that small, everyone she’d ever known was one or the other.
As a child she’d loved the festival. The lights, the sounds, the rituals of her people: they all used to fill her with a sense of awe and wonder. To be part of such things used to be amazing.
Now that she was at the center of the year’s festivities she had changed her mind. It was barbaric.
It was her best friend who cast the first stone.
This post was written for Friday Fictioneers.
It’s been probably 20 years since I read The Lottery by Shirley Jackson, but the story stuck with me and is a heavy inspiration behind this piece.