“Human sacrifices were once made on this hills above this river,” he said, slipping on gloves as well putting on some protective glasses. “Bodied burned, water seeped through the wooden ashes to create lye.”

“This is lye. The crucial ingredient,” he stated, holding up a plastic container of white powder. Once it mixed with the melted fat of the bodies, a thick, white, soapy discharge crept into this river.”

“Can I see your hand, please?” He asked, sitting down in the chair that was pulled up to the table while gesturing to you.

Once you had given him your hand, he grabbed it. His right hand wrapped around your wrist as the other wrapped around your forearm, keeping you in place.

He licked his lips, looking up into your eyes as he rubbed the saliva evenly coat them as he dipped his head down and kissed your knuckles.

“This is chemical burn,” he stated, pouring a rather generous amount of the powder onto your skin to induce a reaction between the slit and lye.

He kept you there, his hands and hovered frightening around your arm and wrist, determined to make you ride out and accept the pain.

“Stay with me, don’t shut this out,” he said, his voice firm as he kept your focus on the pain of the searing pain of your flesh being melted off. “Without pain, without sacrifice, you would have nothing.”

No matter how hard you pulled or begged, your whimpers and mewls wouldn’t make him let go. He slapped you to keep you in the moment multiple times even though your knees had given out.

“Listen! You can either run water of your hand or— look at me! Or you can use vinegar to neutralize the burn,” he said, looking deeply into your eyes to silently tell you he wasn’t giving up. “First, you have to know —not fear— know, that someday, you’re gonna die.”