The Scapegoat by Wendy Staples

I probably look a bit thin and dusty by now.  There isn’t much to eat out here in the desert and water’s scarce, but I’ve managed so far.  Although I do feel a bit weak.  Even the piece of cloth that was tied to my horns has rotted and dropped off and the sun had bleached all the colour out of it.  It was almost white.  I must think about finding my way out of here, but I’m not going back where I came from.

  There I was, one minute quietly minding my own business and wondering what I could find to munch on, and the next I was unceremoniously seized by a couple of heavy handed dogsbodies, muttering something incomprehensible, and was dragged along, bleating loudly, to the door of the Tabernacle, where a large crowd was gathered.  I wasn’t alone.  They’d managed to grab another from the flock and we both found ourselves tied up to a hitching post, wondering what was going to happen next.  I had a nasty feeling that it wasn’t going to be pleasant.  I was right.

  Out came the High Priest, or whatever he calls himself, and his two heavies started herding the waiting crowd inside.  Then we were unhitched and led after them, in between a sea of flowing robes and sandalled feet and right up to a large stone block, where somebody threw a couple of pebbles up in the air and when they landed, just pointed at my companion.

  Poor little chap’s knees were knocking by now and I looked around to see if I could make a run for it; that’s if my legs would hold me up.  Next thing I know, there’s a lot of chanting going on, one rather feeble bleat and there’s blood everywhere.  At least it was quick.  I guessed it was going to be my turn, but instead they produced some red cloth and tied it to my horns.  Then I was released amidst a lot of shouting and the crowd started pelting me with stones.

  I wasn’t going to argue, so I dashed off between all the legs, out into the street and down towards the end of the town, followed by a hail of rocks and stones.  They kept at it for ages until I was so far away that I’d left all the commotion behind.

  Now that I’ve been wandering around out here with nothing but the urgent need for food and water to occupy me, I’ve had time to wonder what it was all about.  All I could hear above the clamour and the blood letting was “A gift to God”, but when they chased me out they seemed to be shouting “The sins of the world”.

  Well, if I was carrying all their misdeeds away, I hope I’ve now left them in this God forsaken hell hole, and when I get back the world will be a better place.