Saturday, February 6, 2010

Soldier cont.

The silence, the life and light of the sun snuffed out like an oil lamp and now these words. Why didn't this cursed Jew just die? Why didn't this self proclaimed king just curse god and give in to the nails and crown, to the spilled blood, to the shredded back and just die? Now cold and calloused men, men who have killed scores of men and watched hundreds, yea thousands die, now they are quiet. The joking and jeering have ceased, the guards that were slumbering are now watching. What was taking place on that god forsaken death mound was troubling every cold hearted soldier there. A couple of the soldiers moved a little closer to the king hanging suspended between heaven and earth.

The king sounded like he was choking and gasping for air when he told the soldier he was thirsty. With a sponge the soldier gave him some of the wine that was close by. Now the soldier was very close to the king. Looking up into the king's face he could see every crusted drop of blood and the dirt that was smeared on his face and stuck in his beard. He noticed the thorns bulging under the skin on his brow. He was so close he could smell the sickly sweet blood, he could smell death coming to this poor wretched broken form of a man. His glance caught the eyes of the king and they locked to each other. He was startled for a moment, not for what he saw, but for what he didn't see. There was no panic in the king's eyes. There was no hatred, no despising the once jeering and hateful crowd. He was looking into beautiful calm pools of peace. The soldier sensed his own troubled soul and stepped back. He didn't want to look again. He didn't want to see peace when there should of been hatred and fear. The soldier began to sense his own depravity, the evil coldness that had penetrated his soul for so many years, so many battles, so many deaths. Now he began fighting another battle, a battle he never faced before, this one was in his soul.

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