Arc

She came to the gate.

The old man on the other side did not acknowledge her. Behind the bars, behind him stood the Temple no one entered and where only he worshipped.

He coughed.

She cleared her throat, 'You know it is time.'

She sat down in the dust and waited; directly in front of him, the gate, the temple.

She neither drank nor ate as the days passed. But she was neither still nor silent. She paced and urged the old gatekeeper to let her pass.

On the 7th day, she died.

He left her lie there just as a street sweeper leaves debris behind.

His eyes flickered on the morning of the 8th... when she rose again.

Scowling, accusatory, vindicated she sat there for another week.

Again she died and rose.

And again the next week.

'Women suffer for the mistakes men make!' she cried out.

Still he did not move.

Finally, near the end of the 6th week he unlocked the gate and beckoned her into the Temple; where no one entered and where only he worshipped.

In the nave they waited.

Three days later, the old man fell asleep and would not wake.

As was custom, she took his robes and laid him in a tomb.

Alone then she approached the darkened shrine, the Holy of Holies; where no light shined and where only she could see.