Rain on Chichén Itzá
by Emma Wenger
I was crying when they took my little sister, though I knew why.
I should not cry for her. It was a great honor to be an offering, but I still loved her. She was only six.
I watched my sister be led up those steep, treacherous steps. My mother shushed me, scolding me for being sad. Mother was right, my sister was doing an important thing.
Silently, I watched as she was placed at the altar and the axe was raised. I smiled as her head rolled down the stairs.
Thank you, sister. Thank you for bringing us rain.
