Chapter Text
There were three choices. None of them had a clear mandate, and the way it worked, in those days, was the priests were sequestered in the temple — a wooden-roofed round house, really — they drummed, breathed sacred smoke, possibly debated, and prayed for a sign. They got one. So did the rest of us waiting outside. We heard screams, saw the flames, and knew the fix was in. Since then, I’ve dropped marbles in pots, scratched on broken pottery, printed on papyrus, punched out chads and, yesterday, I tapped a touch screen, but, that first time, I voted with my feet.