Friday, January 29, 2010

A Cold Soldier cont.

His men throw the lunatic king down on the ground. As he gets to his knees the guards tear the robe from his decimated back and as they do dried blood and clots are ripped off and more life pours out of him. The soldier thinks that the king's back looks like meat hanging in the market. He knows this king won't last long and in few hours his wretched excuse for a life will be over. The king is kicked over onto his back and his arms outstretched. The first hand is placed stretched out on the executioners tool, with one blow a spike is driven through the socket in his wrist. A few seconds later the second spike is driven home. They drag the king over to the post that is lying on the ground, right next to the socket that the upright will get dropped in to. The top of the post has been chiseled to a tenon and the mortise of the cross member fits on top. Another spike is driven through the king's feet. It takes three of the soldiers to bring the cross into the upright position and drop it into the hole. The soldier notices that the stones that make the hole have been rubbed so many times by the upright they have a bright polish to them.

Many times men on the very edge of the death cliff begin pleading to some god to save them, making promises they can never keep. Usually men who are being crucified moan and beg or they curse and damn their executioners or god. This king hasn't done any of those. Up to this point the king has not uttered an understandable word. Oh, he has cried out in pain, when the upright was dropped into the hole. The soldier wondered if the king was even able to talk. His lips were swollen from the beatings and his face is covered with blood and dirt. The crown on his head caused fresh bleeding every time the king was thrown around. Again, the soldier thinks, you got to give us Romans credit. We really know how to kill a man. We can kill'em fast or slow. It really doesn't matter, they all end up wretched broken corpses.

Thursday, January 28, 2010

A Cold Soldier..cont.

Was it the steel in his hand that turned his heart cold? Was it the killing and watching countless die that had turned his heart to granite? He thought again, why this wretched place and these miserable Jews? They say they worship the only true god. What a bunch of liars and cheats the religious leaders are. Their so called leaders of the only true religion are rich and the common people live in poverty and death. Well, they can have their god; Rome and Caesar have my allegiance and they make sure that I have food and shelter...........

He notices a small group of people coming up death hill. He recognizes a couple of his men escorting a prisoner. The men are following a Nubian carrying the cross member of the crucifix. Behind him is a man that must be the blasphemer that is to be executed. He is bloody and dirty. Blood from his head has covered his face. He looks as though he is wearing some kind of hideous mask as the color of skin is obscured by dirt and blood. The form of a crown has been crushed down upon his head. No doubt one of his men made the crown. They would want to recognize a crazy Jew who claimed to be king. He sure didn't look like much of a king. He wondered why the Jewish leaders were so worried about this poor piece of flesh. As the king comes to the top of death hill he can tell what took place already. A robe covers the back of the king and it is easy to see the trophies of the scourge. The back of the kings legs are covered in blood, some crusted and almost violet and bright crimson streaks winding their way around and over the dried blood. He watched many men die from the hand of the scourge. He admired some of the men in his company, they were experts and killing a man with the whip.

Wednesday, January 27, 2010

A Cold Soldier

His duty assignment came early in the morning, another execution. how many had it been since he was assigned to the hell-hole called Palestine? Yes the Jews thought it was their promised land. If this was a promised land he would gladly serve in a cursed land. Had it been a hundred, two hundred, probably closer to five hundred times he had been ordered to sit and watch some miserable Jewish criminals die?He gathered his weapons and wondered how long it would take the poor wretches to die. He was hoping it wouldn't take very long as he had other things to do. far to many times he had to sit all day and night waiting for the condemned to give up. He muttered to himself that this was a cursed place. He wished he could be serving any place else. He was a trained roman soldier, he should be on the battle field fighting for Caesar and his beloved Rome. He would rather face any warrior than sit at Golgotha and execute Jews.

He life was one of following orders and these orders he would follow out to the letter. He was trained to never question an order even if it meant certain and painful death. The steel blade at his side obeyed orders swiftly. his steel paid no heed to the flesh it was commanded to strike down. His blade recognized no age, sex, no infirmity, and no mercy. Once the command was given his heart was turned off and his training and experience directed every motion and decision. His arms holding steel and shield moved in trained and experienced rhythm.

Tuesday, January 26, 2010

It has been a long time since an update. I am going to post on this blog some excerpts of a fiction work that I have titled, Liars, Lepers and some people like us. The work is based on the premise of the mystery of many of those in the upper room on the day of Pentecost. Scripture tells us that about 120 individuals gathered. We know many of them, the apostles and other close followers.

I have taken some obscure characters from the gospels and built a life around them. Their meeting with Jesus radically changed their life. The fiction works takes the minor scriptural encounter and follows the character past the crucifixion to the Easter morning or the day of Pentecost.

Those of you that read the story would you please sign in as a friend.