Dark Harvest

By Michelle Vongkaysone

You asked me why my soul’s for sale. It’s a unnatural process, you argued.

I said it’s reasonable enough.

When questioned further, I rose up haughtily, my eyes hard and full of bitterness and assurance.

Yours grew cold, as though afraid of my answer.

Unfettered, I began to speak, strained by the unease that remained within.

“All we are, are lambs to the slaughter. Whether it be blood, flesh, or service we live to sacrifice. All worth our price, whether our bodies or dignity are on offer.”

Why shouldn’t I put my spirit up? It’s all I have of worth anymore.