two nights ago

a dream: i am an instrument of ritual murder. robed in white, i silently wait, sitting in a department store juniors department with a sharp knife balanced on one knee. the setting, familiar to me during middle and high school, no longer exists. two fellow celebrants, uniformed like myself, enter. one, blindfolded, is the sacrificial bull; the other is both his eyes and his chemist. the sighted makes his egress, his role completed, leaving the blind behind. i stand, crossing the room with steady strides, to face the remainder. i kiss him, once; a goodbye. i fall upon him with my blade. the first cut is insufficient; i make another, a perfect slice along the windpipe. the angle of the opening combined with the pharmeceuticals fed to the victim make this a bloodless death; an end to darkness.