I can remember the day of revelation clearly. Like noon, it was the fulcrum on which things tilted rather than a destination in itself.

To say that the morning of the day of revelation was like any other would be poetic but blatantly false. I woke up with a pit in my stomach, a physical omen. I had a sense of the storm clouds on the horizon.

The village was certainly not ordinary that day. There were colorful little paper lamps strung up across the streets of ochre-red houses. I woke up a little early that morning. I got out of bed and crept out of my room with bare feet. It was quieter that way, plus it was better to save my shoes for when the dirt and stone was hot. I remember walking through the streets quickly but quietly, as if I were afraid of being spotted.

I was soon standing out looking at the town square. I was the only one there, accompanied by the intermittent chirping of a few birds. A little beyond I saw people in our little amphitheater, setting up for the festivities. They were tall, thin, and pale, with loose robes hanging off of them. The robes were long and a deep ocean blue but had little ordination. They marked the strangers as priests.

Their foreignness was obvious. Despite this, I didn’t feel scared. I felt hopeful. I distinctly remember standing there, looking at the priests at work in our pathetic little amphitheater and yearning that I was chosen. I wanted so badly to be chosen. For what, I did not know.

I started. Those kinds of thoughts were out of the ordinary for me. I was usually content with my life in the village, with my friends and Ma. I was looking forward to learning how to plow with oxen the following season, even as everyone else complained.

I went back home after looking at them for a little while. At that point, the sun had started to come up in earnest and more birds had joined the stragglers from before. My mother made me Paizchoto just how I liked it, with sweetened cumbled nuts on top.

“A little bit of an early start today, huh?” She smiled warmly. “Here you are,” she said, pushing the bowl of Paizchoto towards me.

“Yep,” I replied. My cheeks flushed and I was a little embarrassed. She couldn’t have known what I was thinking about earlier, my fantasies of being chosen. If she did, she would have called me silly and given one of those little head shakes. It would have made me feel smaller than an eight-year-old already is.

I ate for a little while while my mother straightened up the kitchen.

“Be good today, Alzah. Ok?” She was looking at me with a serious expression, her dark brows knit. “This is serious. We have very special guests today.” She smiled. “And sit up straight.” She came around behind me and tapped my curved back.

I straightened up. “Ok.” I understood the gravity of the situation and was planning on being good. Even though the odds of someone being chosen from our village were exceedingly small, this was something monumental to witness. I wouldn’t see another one for at least 25 years. Sometimes the gaps were as large as 50 years. “Do you remember what it was like, Ma?”

“What was what like, honey? Specificity, please,” said Ma. She used big words like specificity despite being illiterate.

“The ceremony.” I didn’t really know what specificity meant, but I got the gist.

“It was pretty much like this, I guess.” She furrowed her brows. “I remember… well I remember your father being very upset that he wasn’t chosen.” She let out a little laugh. “Oh, he was mad. He walked right up to the priest and asked them if there wasn’t any sort of mistake. I think your grandmother was about to pass out from embarrassment.” She wiped her eyes. “Just be good, ok? Don't be scared.”

I nodded. Ma always got weird when she was talking about Pa. At eight, I didn’t really understand why. Now it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

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It’s weird, recalling this conversation with Ma. From the outside looking in it feels like the kind of interaction you would look back on and smile. She was being honest and caring, and I can remember all of her idiosyncrasies, like her penchant for big words. But after what she did… I was banging and kicking on the door. I was screaming and crying until my throat was raw. Begging her to let me in. She let them take me away, and her eyes were ice cold as they grabbed me.

After that conversation I left to go over to Karalia’s. Her house was a few minute’s walk away on the other side of the village. It was particularly dusty that day and I had to shield my eyes from the dirt. Even so, they stung. I knocked on her door and she peered out.

“Let’s play stones.”

Karalia and I passed some time together playing stones in the dirt. We made the grid with a stick. We had to keep going over the lines again with the stick since the dirt was so hard and dry. “Karalia?” I asked in the middle of a game.

“No distracting me.” She smirked. “I’m winning.”

“No, it’s not that.”

Karalia played her turn. “What is it, then?”

“Well,” I cracked a knuckle idly. “You… I…”

Karalia said nothing. Some may have seen it as rude, but I recognized her patience.

“Are you scared?” It came out of my mouth quietly.

Kralia laughed and I felt my face flush.

“I… I take that back! I’m not scared!” I felt my face flush even hotter.

Karalia laughed again. Then she sat in silence for a few seconds. Finally, she spoke. “I am scared. Of course. Everyone is. Even Marco.”

“Marco? He shouldn’t be scared of anything.”

Karalia giggled. She looked at me expectantly. “Are you gonna play or what?”

I made my move. I lost that round.

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It was noon when we all crowded into the amphitheater. Even though it was partially enclosed, there was a thick cloud of dust blowing around. I had to cover my eyes and look through a tiny slit between my fingers. I was sitting next to Ma and Karalia, all of us together on the hard stone step. The amphitheater was packed. I could spot a few of the other kids in the crowd. I looked at Marco. He had a smile on his face and was talking to Amicus. I wondered if he was actually nervous.

“Are you ready?” Karalia asked me.

“I guess.” I shrugged.

“It’ll be fine.”

One of the priests walked on to the stage. His long blue cloak dragged on the ground, picking up a reddish tone from all of the dirt. He waved his hands around in a peculiar fashion and looked expectantly at the crowd. That gesture must have some meaning wherever he’s from.

Then he started speaking. “Welcome.” He had a heavy accent. “Proceedings will begin in a moment. Please, will—” He glanced at a scroll. “Atya, please come up here.”

I glanced around for Atya. I spotted her near the front wearing ocean blue. She got up and walked over. I saw her nervously grimace. Then, the priest walked her across the stage and off to the left towards the church. He opened the door and let her walk in. He left her and came back onto stage.

“Now, a reading.” The priest opened up a book. He started reading something in another language. It sounded nasally and warped.

“What happens there?” I whispered to Ma. She had been to her own celebration thirty-five years ago.

“It’s different every time,” She whispered back, almost too quiet to hear.

I tried to be content with that but couldn’t. I was too nervous. “What was it like for you?”

She glared at me. “Quiet now.”

I was quiet. A few minutes later, Atya came out of the church. She looked upset. The priest stopped reading at this and checked his initial scroll. “Marco, please come with me.” He then led Marco into the church. Marco flashed a goofy grin before going in.

I waited for a while. At this point I was practically being lulled to sleep from the heat and the droning of the priest. Why do people look forward to this day? I thought. It’s just a bunch of boring readings.

The silence was broken by a commotion by the church. Marco was running out as the priest followed behind him. The priest grabbed him and threw him to the ground. Marco’s chin gushed blood into the dirt. The priest then yelled for the other priest to help him, looking around frantically. His eyes were wild. The two of them hauled Marco back into the church.

The crowd burst into frantic murmuring. Some people got up and started yelling. Still, none of them dared interfere with the priests.

At first I thought Marco had been chosen, but wasn’t that supposed to be an honor? I doubted they would be treating him that way if that were the case. And why had he been running in the first place? I looked over at Ma, then Karalia. None of us said anything.

After a few minutes inside, one of the priests returned to the stage. He was completely calm and composed, as if nothing had happened. But I could see the rips in his robe. He looked down at the scroll. “Alzah, come up here.” His voice boomed.

I got up.