Chapter One

"He is Inanis, he is our redeemer! He is our prophet! He is our powerful god of Bone! He is America's Bone Cutter!" I watched the spokesman yell on the television, as the curtains drew back, revealing indeed Inanis with a dazzling cleaver in his hand. Its handle was decorated in the finest jewels as they shone under the stage lights. Inanis himself was wearing a red ringmaster's coat, black gloves embroidered with gold, and his hair had slightly fell into his eyes as he bowed to the cameras.

My father sat beside me and scoffed, "He looks no older than you, Mirea. What idiocy."

"No." I swallowed, "That only makes it all the more awful."

"Awful indeed." My father wrapped his arm around my shoulders, "Do not worry my dear. Whoever will be chosen for tomorrow's execution will only be a lesser man. A vile individual who most likely deserves the death penalty."

"I don't know if I could stomach hearing them say their name. Whoever it is, they are going to die tomorrow. I'd rather not even know."

"But you must. It's your American duty to watch. To support our government for its benefits and its flaws."

"If this is our government, then I don't want to be American."

"Such a cruel world we live in, isn't it?" Painful words. I wanted to shove them back into my father's mouth.

The Bone Cutter wasn't always a thing, at least, not here in America. In fact, the very idea of the Bone Cutter is hundreds of years old. He started as a legend, and it wasn't until the late 1940's that America adopted the idea of him, to give the nation a sense of justice.

I never liked it; him. The idea of sacrificing a man just because people rather see blood than apologies. Or rather, blood as apologies. It's absolutely revolting. It's a national event; on the 15th day of every month, one individual who has any political association with America's government could be chosen for the execution. Inanis's job is to walk on stage in front of millions of people all watching from their televisions.

He is to look handsome and radiant as he is to look deadly and vicious -like ever other celebrity. But he's not like every other celebrity. He is the most loved, the most idolized. He is America's darling with a knife. America's god of Bone, -or so they call him.

With the weapon of his choice, he gets to kill whoever the unfortunate soul is that had been chosen, all while America cheers.

It is barbaric.

My father turned up the television whilst the spokesman talked. "Tomorrow, May 15th, will be execution date for yet another creature in our system. Who will it be? Turn your votes and winning bets in now, we will be announcing the name within the hour."

Betting, yet another thing about The Bone Cutter ideology that has ruined so many families. It's an addiction to all those who have a gambling problem. Every month you can bet on who Inanis's next victim will be. People bet millions, and normally lose, resulting in morbid financial debt, and the end to their freedom.

They'll always owe the government, because it's all just a scam.

My father took a drink from a very expensive bottle of wine. He didn't even use a glass. "How much do you want to bet it's that shitty lawyer who defended the vice president in that pedophilia case? What was his name?"

"You mean Gerlach Dinesh?"

He nodded, "Yeah, that one."

I just shrugged, "He was only doing his job, it's not like the vice president would ever go to prison, lawyer or no lawyer."

"Still, what an asshole."

I sighed. Another reason I hated The Bone Cutter so much, was because my father could also be chosen. He's Mansel Dhalmi, the State Governor of Oregon, and he's also the most bold and interrupting governor the country has. My father is the type of man to run his mouth of every opinion he's ever had. He doesn't care about the backlash, and I'm afraid his personality itself would be a viable option for Inanis.

I don't see my father much, but he has made it a tradition to watch The Bone Cutter's execution with me every 14th (the day the name of the victim is released) and 15th, the only time he and I got to spend together. It was bittersweet, really. I loved speaking with my father, because though he could be rude to all those who don't agree with him, he's also my best friend, and I hate spending the only time I have with him watching someone get murdered on national television.

Most the time, I cover my eyes. I don't think I could ever get used to it. The screams some of them make are enough to give me nightmares. I do get nightmares.

I don't know how many more executions I can watch before I go crazy.

My fathers arm snaked around my shoulders squeezed me tighter as the spokesman appeared back on the television. This was it, another victim was about to be announced. I prayed they didn't have a spouse or kids.

The spokesman bowed once, "Welcome back everybody, settle in tight, because the name of Inanis's next target will be released in a countdown of thirty seconds!" The crowd across the stage began to cheer as they all began to count down.

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I glanced up at my father, "I don't think I want to watch this."

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"Oh, come on Mirea, whoever will be announced most likely deserves what's coming to them."

"Most likely." I muttered to myself, and my father nudged me.

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"Don't be so sour, sweetheart, you must be eager to know, aren't you?"

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"Eager to know if it's someone I've already met? Dad you do know you could be announced, or even some of your closest friends! The people you throw parties for, aren't you even a little scared?"

He waved me off, "Of course not, this is the way of our country."

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I stood. "I hate this country. I hate Inanis. I hate watching people die." I began to leave, but my father caught my arm.

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1

"Now hold on sweethe-"

"Mansel Dhalmi!"

Both our heads whipped to the television, and in seconds my entire world crumbled.

Inanis was standing on the stage, a white piece of paper in his gloved hands, as he eyed the camera like it were his prey.

Written on the paper was indeed, Mansel Dhalmi. My father was Inanis's next victim.