You can not start cooking right outside the National Museum, even if they are religious offerings, and expect not to be arrested. Especially not today!
The Prime Minister was coming to inaugurate the new stone idols gallery.
After all the ancient artefacts had been sourced from the remotest corners of the country.

The smell of kerosene and lentils permeated the air as the city officials and crowd watched the police van pull away, yet no one moved. They knew better than to interrupt the ritual.

Meanwhile three thousand miles away, in a small unknown and neglected village, men, woman and children danced on the streets. Their offering was being accepted. The rain gods were smiling.

In response to the 129th Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers Challenge, based on a photo by Yarnspinnerr.

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13 thoughts on “The offering

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