As she stood uncomfortably close to the bonfire, knife in hand, Anna remembered the sounds of that night. The memories were as horrific and clear as the nightmares that still haunted her. Despite the heat, she shuddered, resisting the impulse to cradle herself.

Across the fire, Amy and Emily stared back at her. Anna, strengthened by the presence of her closest friends, was ready. Slashing across the meaty part of her palm, she held her hand out and squeezed her blood onto the offerings in the wicker basket: a curious blend of fruits, wadded cash, and photos that could no longer be duplicated.

Anna began. “We’re here to honor our the dead and gain absolution for our sins. We have brought sacrifices to make amends. Fruit, by the labor of our hands-”

“Money, earned by the sweat of out brow-” Amy said.

Emily whispered, “Memories, given to replace those that will never be-”

“And blood, spilled in rememberance, marking us forever with the mistakes we made.” Anna finished and pushed the basket into the fire.