Writers Tribe Review: Sacrifice Writers Tribe Review, Vol. 2, Issue 2 | Page 51

She had always thought that the things that were the centre of her parent’s world belonged to both of them, but now she could see they were her mother’s passion, her mother’s world. It changed nothing, but a small almost unnoticeable sense of empathy for her father blossomed somewhere in the recesses of her rib cage.

The jewelry box was the last thing on her list. All the other items were tucked away in her treehouse, safe and waiting. The jewelry box was the last and it seemed it was her trial, the thing that would test her resolve. Ella thought of the woman on the calendar with the word “March” stamped across her chest and straightened her back.

I will take it then, she said, more to herself than to the shadow in the corner.

She continued her slow circle around the room every part of her aware that she was being watched, a feeling that was completely unfamiliar but not totally unwelcome. It was more attention than she had ever gotten before. Her father didn’t speak again, or if he did the words didn’t make it far enough away from his lips for her to hear. Ella’s fingers grazed her mother’s precious collection of things in the darkness, finally settling on the jewelry box. She emptied the heavy contents into a drawer and left in the same shroud of silence that she had arrived in.

It was done.

She was finally ready.

***

The equinox fell on a bitingly cold day, the kind of day where nothing Ella did could keep the chill from creeping through to her heart. A frigid breeze blew delicate flecks of snow around the neighbourhood in swirling patterns. It was a perfect day to get away from it all, a perfect day for a journey.

It was Wednesday night and Ella’s parents were going to the bar. It was the only place they ever went together and they often stayed late, coming home well after midnight and stumbling around in the dark like drunken teenagers sneaking in past curfew. It had been years since Ella’s parents had considered her of an age that necessitated a babysitter so the long cold night was hers alone. As soon as her parents left she began assembling her collection of things. One by one she lowered them down from her treehouse and placed them ceremoniously in a large circle in the backyard. In the centre of the circle she piled bits of scrap paper, a log from the fireplace, and a nest of branches she had dutifully collected. Once everything was in place, she moved inside to prepare herself for the gathering.