Tuesday, March 30, 2010

Cyrene cont.

As the soldier gave the criminal a kick a sickly gasp came from the condemned throat and he fell down again on his death walk. The man from Cyrene picked up the cross-piece and his eyes took in the evidence of the guards cruelty. Strands of hair were stuck in the fibers of the wood and blood had seeped into the wood as well. As he picked up the cross-piece the condemned man's eyes again caught his. As he looked into his eyes he was astonished at the gaze coming from the criminal. His eyes weren't glaring, they weren't squinted, they were eyes filled with a sense of sadness. Not a sadness that would be a self-pity. More of a sadness of soul. As the Cyrene drew close he thought he heard the man speaking. It sounded as if the poor wretch was whispering something about Jerusalem and how he wanted to gather her like a hen does her chicks. The Cyrene dismissed the babbling as that of a man ready to die.

As they neared the gate the crowd grew louder and some began to curse and spit on the still stumbling criminal heading to the death hill. For the Cyrene the next minutes seemed to drag on as he followed the lead of the soldiers. He had no idea where he was heading, he just followed the soldiers and watched the crowd. Soon he could tell where he was, not by remembrance but by the stench that was filling the air. The smell of garbage and human waste was almost overpowering as the death procession moved on. The soldiers moved up a small footpath to an area that looked barren and covered in stones. A few soldiers were waiting for at the site for the condemned to arrive. The Cyrene had witnessed more than his share of death and horror but what awaited him and the criminal was beyond description.

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