Flash Fiction Friday (45)

Dottie over at Tink's Place have come up with the idea for a Monday Morning Flash Fiction challenge. Each Monday a new picture prompt will be posted and if you choose to participate you post your story on Friday - 350 words, give or take.

I have to thank Blodeuedd at Book Girl of Mur-y-Castell for introducing me to this fun meme. I don't know if I'll be able to keep up with every week, but I'll give it a try from time to time.

The Image This Week:

(Unknown artist)

Story by:  Melissa

Gamila was one of several girls raised for this reason.  Over the years girls were eliminated and now only two remained.  In the end, she was the one selected for him.  She was not prepared for all the pampering she received; bathed in scented water, hair decorated with gold ribbons, the color of their mighty god, and red roses, to show the love the village had for their god and to romance him with her.

Gamila dressed in a sheer slip of a gown and covered with a blanket, so none of the village could see her sacred body before their powerful god had his first full view.  She was guided to her carriage, and the women of the order took her to the plateau away from town, for privacy of the Gods, and hers.

Gamila exited the carriage with the blanket wrapped tight around her shoulders.  The woman escort nodded once to her, fluffed Gamila's hair, and bowed before returning to the seat to head back home.

Gamila watched the carriage disappear into the forest, and then looked around the plateau and to the sky.  She was the villages' gift to him, one beautiful female every thirty years.  She was the honored one to be picked by the village, grateful to know she was the most beautiful in town, but to what end.  No one knew exactly what their god did with the women, but it kept their lands and animals fertile and healthy.

She unwrapped from the blanket, flipping it out to sit on the ground.  She would wait; he would come to her when he was ready.  She had to look presentable to draw him in; if he refused her, her village would die.  That's what she was told, etched in her from the time she arrived at the order.

After a time, she laid down across the blanket, looking to the sky she whispers, "I'm sorry if I offend.  If I'm not what you desire.  Please, forgive my town.  I've waited all these years for you."

A warm wind picked up, blowing rose pedals through the air.  Gamila stood.  Her hair flowed around her, the rose pedals shifted along her body with the wind.  The thin gown did nothing to protect her skin, but that was the point.  The wind felt different, Gamila gasped.  Gentle hands of wind grazed her breasts, a warm draft between her thighs grazing up over her curved hips to her lean smooth stomach.  Gamila's eyes widened.  

She looked around, seeing no one, just pedals and gold ribbon floating around her.  This had to be Him, and he must be pleased for next she saw a young man walk from the forest toward her.  Dark chestnut hair, he glowed in a uniform of white lined with gold.

She stood stunned by the sight of him, watching him walk to her.  As he neared, she saw his eyes sparkle like gold in the setting sun.  He is pleased, she thought as her eyes drifted over his long body.  His hands took the place of the winds and his strong long arms pulled her to him.