When Rose woke up under a shroud of stars entombed in drought dry grass, the first thing she noticed was the blood dripping down her face. The second was that she floated above her body. She reached for herself, still and bloody, to pull herself back inside. That was her body, that was her home. Even as she felt herself sucked back in, Rose felt her body heal itself.
She stood up in the moonlight filtered through a saguaro’s arms before looking back. Her crumpled Honda jutted from the arroyo’s sandy bank.
A flash streaked from black sky to the purple horizon.
The sacrifice was accepted.