Moira (noun): a person’s fate or destiny

She started sprinting as soon as her feet hit the ground.

“The girl is escaping!”

Insane adrenaline speared into her arms, a sudden burst of energy sending her flying forwards with every step. She pumped her arms. She slammed her legs. Her lungs screamed at the abrupt need for air, her breaths panting, panting, panting.

The first rock struck the ground to her left.

With a sickening splash, the dirt splattered all over her white blouse.

She kept on dashing. There was a steady pain blooming in her knee. If she looked back, she would immediately die in a shower of stones.

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This was the only way to escape “fate.”

Every year in her village, one unfortunate soul was chosen to be sacrificed. It was the only way to get good harvests in their wheat fields. It was the sole method of avoiding natural disasters like storms and earthquakes. It was the single means to survive, and it was the eternal village tradition.

Three thumping booms.

One rock exploded in front of her. One more somewhere behind her back. The final one grazed her arm before shuddering into the dirt.

Her arms were cold with fear and her legs felt as if lead filled every bone and muscle. Yet, she pushed on.

She never did anything wrong. She never disobeyed anyone. All her years on earth, she had been little more than a servant. However, something about her imminent doom was unbearably unfair to her, no matter if her death was for their god, for the sake of everyone in the village, for the greater good.

And so, she rebelled, praying silently to who-knows-what.