The Sewer

Larc scrambled to his feet, which were pruned from the waste water in the village waterways . The smell burned his eyes and the air forced him to cough, but he still pulled himself up after slipping on the slick brick path.
He wasn’t given more than the clothes on his back and a small, candle lantern for this task: he had to clear the blockage by hand up front.
Normally, the waste was carried away quickly down to the man-made river that diluted and cleaned it, but the sewer became backed up recently and Larc was chosen to clear it out.
The tunnel was a cramped square where Larc, as young as he is, had to duck to move quickly. The boy knew he was getting close to the blockage when he realized the water was slowing down and almost still.
He sensed it before he found it in the lanterns light, the mass appeared from the darkness. The curtain of light moved toward the mass with each step Larc took until it opened over a person sitting with their back turned toward the boy.
The lighted showed the back of the person, whom Larc judged as a man, with thin arms, matted hair, and tattered clothes. Larc called out to the man, concerned as to why he was there in the tunnels, which were restricted to the common citizen. The man gave no response, just sat there.
Larc took a step forward and poked the man with his finger to try and wake him. Instead, the man fell backward and revealed his discolored skin, torn up chest cavity, and newly born maggots burrowing into the eye that still stared pleading for life.
Larc jumped back at the discovery then realized the blockage was a mass of human bodies, each with their chests torn open and most of their organs ripped out. Sweat beaded down Larc’s chin, the sight of the bodies made the young boy start to panic. He took a step backward, hitting his head on the ceiling as he felt the walls close in on him.
On the verge of screaming, Larc rushed back the way he came , desperate to get to the surface, to be free of the pleading man’s eye.
He slipped again and again, the feeling of the dead coming after him, though none gave chase.
When the stairs were in sight he discarded the lantern and ran toward them, panic driving him forward. Once out of the sewer, he sprinted to the controller of the sewer and reported what he saw in shallow, exasperated breaths which were followed by the contents of his stomach which had finally caught up with him.

In the Matter of the Ritual...

Dear Leader,
The annual rite of passage is a time-honored tradition, encompassing the very divine authority the people of Drominia hold. The young must learn through example, and create their own future with their most powerful tool; their mind. By changing that fact you endanger the very future of our race!
By eliminating the ritual, you risk the child’s untapped potential lying to waste, forgotten into imagination, and turned into fear.
You and I have been through the ritual, and both of us have become successful in life. You have climbed to our most prestigious position as our leader, and me, taking up the noble role of master scribe. I had hoped that our continuing race would thrive under your rule; I can see now that you held false hope.
Starting out with destroying our children’s imagination? I must say that this a sorrowful error. That is why I am writing to you directly about this travesty.
What would your father think? Or your mother? Do you honestly believe they would approve of this?
My childhood friend, I wish for you to reply to this, there isn’t much time before the time the ritual would have been.
It’s not too late.
Sincerely,
The Master Scribe.