"Sir, the numbers are just too high," the assistant said, "There's nothing else we can do."

The man walked over to the window, and looked out into the world he had always known but despised. His forehead creased with thought. He hated the Ritual, he had lost everything through it. But it was a necessary part of life, and he had the unfortunate job of enforcing it.

"Damn it! Why does it have to be this way!" he snarled to the people he saw below him, walking without knowledge of the burden he alone carried.

"I don't know, sir. It has always been like this," the assistant said.

" If it's necessary, then go ahead and send out the letters," he sighed.

Kaatje ran through the fields, those wide, open spaces of the mountain filled with yellow flowers. She had to stay in the fields, the woods held unseen dangers. That didn't matter though, she was happy out here. The winds whistled through the grasses mingling with the birds songs while the river quickly rushed; it was music that no one bothered to listen to. She looked down at her shadow, controlled by the great star that controlled the world. Her shadow was very short in front of her and she knew she should get back home if she wanted to eat and then take her turn working in the fields. If she wanted the food, a question to which an answer her stomach quickly gave, she had to work for it.

The air blew past her ears as she ran back into town. On the way she passed other children who were taking advantage of the nice day on the mountain. She couldn't tell if they were male or female; everyone dressed the same. They had probably just come up from their own fields. She ran along the dusty path through the town to her home, a little house made out of felled trees. It was an old house that had survived 3 generations. Kaatje was from the fourth. She pushed aside the heavy cloth that protected the inside of the house from the ever-blowing dust. Once inside, she took the cloth veil off and shook off the dust onto the floor. The cloth and goggles that covered her head were necessary evils. She could remember a time when she had gone out without them. It was not one of her fonder memories.

"Momma, I'm back!" she called.

"Come get your food in the kitchen," Kaatje's mother called.

Kaatje's feet slapped the floor as she went into the kitchen. She found her food on the table beside a cup of water. The food was not particularly appetizing-bread with some animal fat-but she ate it ravenously all the same.

"Kaatje," her mother said when she had finished her food and washed the cup, "Your father wants you to help him in the wheat field."

Kaatje replaced her coverings and set off reluctantly for the wheat field, only to be met halfway there by her father. In his hand was an envelope. It was black, the color of mourning. That could only mean one thing. She ran to find her siblings, leaving her father in a swirl of dust. She found Brice at the edge of the woods, chopping down a tree. She got his attention by throwing a wood chip at him, and he turned to her, annoyance in his eyes. She lifted the white sleeve of her robe to expose her forearm. The dust tore her skin. He nodded, recognizing the signal of distress, and ran in the direction of their house. She released her sleeve, which went back to covering her now red arm. To each of her siblings she lifted her sleeve, and by the time she had found the last of them, her skin was peeling off.

At her once cozy house she found her mother and father already dressed in their black robes, both wearing their head-coverings indoors but leaving their faces uncovered. Once she and her brothers and sisters had donned their black robes as well, their father opened the black envelope. Inside was a black piece of paper with white writing on it. "Theron," was all it read.

Their mother and father, Nabrika, Daloen, Brice, Kaatje, and Shanta all turned to face Theron. Solemnly, Theron unwrapped himself from his robes and stepped outside, into the dust. He struggled through the dust over to a stone slab near the house, the others followed, fully covered. Her father carried a long knife that glinted in the bright sunlight. All the people gathered around the stone, and encircled Theron's body which was already becoming raw from the dust. They waited until not a single bit of his flesh wasn't bright red, and was the same color as the sun had made the sky. Only then did the flashing blade dive into him. His body convulsed into the knife. All were forced to watch member of their family vanish into dust. They witnessed his body uniting with it. His body finally stopped twitching and they knew the Ritual was over.

"I'm sorry brother," Kaatje whispered, the sound drowned out by the heavy cloth surrounding her. She looked over to the neighboring houses, each family watching a body melting into dust. "I'm sorry you had to go like this."