Note: I have never written fiction before, but the Lord downloaded this short story while I was meditating on the flogging of Christ the other day. I pray it will bless you on this Good Friday. – Jamie
I stand in the courtyard as an angry mob mills all around me. I’ve found a post to lean on the outskirts of the crowd, and I think I’m safe here. The cobblestone pavement is gray and cold. The sun has just come up on this spring morning. But the chill in the air pales in comparison to the chill in my spirit.
They’re angry at this man, this prisoner. They’re angry and they want to kill him, and nothing seems to get in their way. Not truth, not right, not justice, not the law. They’ve abandoned all sense—common and uncommon—and are shouting murderous threats. I ought to leave, but I can’t… this is too big, too sensational, not to see how it turns out.
My thoughts interrupted by a new wave of noise, I look up and stand on my tiptoes so I can see. A soldier is coming—wait, he’s coming right toward me. He’s pulling the prisoner, but the prisoner isn’t fighting him at all. Huh; strange prisoner. Most folks would be fighting to get away, or at least fighting for fair treatment, but not this one.
The soldier approaches me and the crowd parts. Oh, wait – it’s not me he wants. It’s the post I’m leaning on. I’m not sure what they want with the post, but I move to the side. Don’t want to get in the way of the Romans; it’s better to just move when I’m told.
I can only move a few steps away. The crowd is too thick for me to get away. As I reposition myself to the side, I catch the prisoner’s eyes by accident. I’m shocked by what I see there. [Read more...]