Total Votes: 5

Should I enter the WB with this story

No ending time set.
Ya rly 80% [ 4 ]

No wai! 20% [ 1 ]

TheGunslinger

Beyond Godlike Posts: 2928 Joined: 25 Jun 2008 Warnings : 3 59298 gold

The Crown of Thorns [My WB entry for July/August]

Posted on Sat Aug 01, 2009 6:03 pm

The Crown of Thorns

They tied him to the pole, face forward, and took off his garb, exposing his back. He knew what would ensue, as he bit his lower lip to prepare for it. The crowd awaited it as well, but with excitement, not fear. He closed his eyes, so he wouldn’t see theirs.

A crack of the whip when it connected with his bare back took him back too reality. He did not scream. He did not moan. The crowd would want that. He felt his hot blood running down his back.

Only a moment later, the whip struck again. And again. And again. He stoped couting after a while. There was no use. He knew that, in the end, there will be exactly hundred - not one less or more than that.

After a while, the pain became unbearable – his back soaked in blood, his eyes clouded with tears. He started to moan. And the crowd lowed it – they cheared, they yelled “Strike him harder!” “Rip his skin off!” “I want to hear him scream!” he tried, in that tortured mind of his, he tried to forgive them. They had no idea. They knew no better. They were just human.

But he could not hold out much longer. He begged God for this to stop, he begged him endlessly. But to no avail. The heavens remained silent.

Finaly, when it all seemed close to a finish, he could not endure anymore. He just couldn’t. He let go and screamed – he screamed so loud that the cheers of the croud, the cracks of the whip, everything, just faded. It fealt so good…

He looked up to the heavens and screamed, his eyes wide open, as the rain started to pour. When the cold raincdrops touched his skin, he realised that the it was already over – how long has he scream after it was finished, he did not know. He did not care.

They untied him and dragged him away. The short rain shower stoped while they where doing so. They put something on his head. It had thorns, that burried into his wet skin, and warm blood ran across his face.

He was thrown infront of a crowd. A man stood beside him, a short man in white robes, with his chin held up high. The man shouted something to the crowd and pointed at him. He could not hear what it was, his own screams still echoed in his ears. The crowd laughed.

As the man walked away, their eyes met. Then, he saw the man pittied him. There was a certain kindness in his eyes, but also a cruel determination. He did not want this, but he could do nothing. And thus, the man walked away.

The guards got him back on his feet, and the crowd still laughed. They mocked him, in every way possible.

Then, they threw it on his back, the instrument of his own doom. He had to carry it. He did not object, there was no use. Another two men behind him, that were to meet the same end as he will, did the same. And so, they b their burden. All the way to Calvary.

He walked the pathof shame, the path of suffering, void of all thoughts, of all feelings. His feet were heavy and weak, but he continued, knowing that if he does not, this will never end.

The ones folowing him cried. The crowd dispersed – they grew tired of his suffering, and went to feed on the suffering of someone else, untill they get bored of that as well. He pittied them, he despised them. He loved them.

The women around him cried,. But the men were silent, but there was some inexplicable sadness in their eyes. He wanted to tell them something, but his mouth was too dry for him to speak. Finaly he found the strenght to speak “Do not cry over my destiny. Cry over your own.” He did not believe they heard him – he barely heard himself. But atleast he said it.

His strenght was at its end. He stagered, and fell to the ground, not able to go on. The guard kicked him in the stomach, vicously, with sadistic pleasure. He stood upright again, and continued his marche towoards the hill in the distance, and the crows circling around it.

In the crowd, he saw his mother. She was not crying. She knew. He did not tell her, but somewhere inside she knew that this had to happen. That his father intended for all of this to happen. And she walked proudly, her head held up high. Still, a tear sliped from her eye.

He fell again – the stifness of his legs, the still open wounds on his back, the heavy burden on his shoulder. He could no bare it anymore, even though he knew he had to. This was the only way.

Before the guard got a chance to kick him, he gathered what remained of his strenght and stood up. The look in his eyes made the guard back off. There was rage and fearless determination in those eyes. All meant to hide what he realy fealt deep inside. But that was more than enough.

He moved his legs, the rocks on the path cutting his feet, which left a bloody trail in the dirt. It hurt more with each step, but he had no go on. There was no other way to reedem himself in the eyes of his father.

But, despite everything, his legs shoke, and he fell once again. Tears rolled down his dirty, bloody face, slowly and steadily, as he struggled to stand up. But he could not. The guard kicked him, over and over again, but he could not stand up.

Then, his mother grabed his left hand, and his most dearest friend took him by his right. He grabed on tight, and stood up, streanghtened by them. Only a few steps left, and by God, he will not give up now.

Finaly, the pitifull procession reached it destination. The hill of death was there, ready to take new victims, while the black birds patiently waited for to feast on death. They had time. The dead do not move.

The guards stripped him of the little pieces of cloth he had left on him. They took the thing he struggeled so hard to bring here, and placed him on it. He closed his eyes and waited. They tied his legs, and held his hands.

The sharp pain in his right wrist ensued, as a rusty nail passed through skin, meat and wood in sequence – it repeated on the left one as well. His hands twitched, as they drove the nails further down. The searing pain in his wrists, the burning sensation in his back with the tiny splinters burying deep into his meat, the numbness of his legs and feet that were suspended by the rope. It all culminated in one scream of pain and anguish. He wanted this to end. No more suffering, no more pain. He moved his mouth, trying to bite his own tongue.

He stopped in the last moment, when his gaze met the with the deep blue eyes of his mother. He held on. He will endure.

They put him between the two men that walked behind him on the pat of suffering. And left him there, for everyone to see his suffering and pain. It was meant as a lesson to others. Little did they know what they had actualy done. And they will never know.

For hours he hanged there, doing battle with himself, trying to stay alive untill the hour in which he is destined to die. But each second seemed like an eternity. He had to show Him that he is worthy.

The sun burned his skins, and flies swarmed around his wounds, while his blood dried. The pain eventualy disapeared, he did not feel it anymore, even though it was probably still there.

The sun was not in the sky anymore. Everything was dark. He noticed it just now. He looked up, and saw no trace of the flaming ball of light that was once there. When did it disapear, he did not know. For how long has it been gone, he did not know. He did not care.

He looked up to the heavens, and decided it was time.

"Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do." He spoke, silently, for the pain in his chest grew stronger with each word “And forgive me father, for I am one of them. And I am no better then they are.”

He shaked his head then. “You do not have to forgive me Father. But forgive them. Forgive them, if you cannot forgive me. Atleast grant this wish of mine, when you granted no other.”

The heavens remained silent. But he knew his father heard him. He heard everything, even though he listened to nothing. Even though he hated each and every one of his creations. Even though his own son is one of them.

Finaly, his anger and pain erupted. He could not be a saint anymore, he could not keep it inside. If he is to speak up to Him, it is now, or never again "E′li, E′li, la′ma sa‧bach‧tha′ni?!" he shouted towoards the heavens with all his might, choosing to speak with his own words, rather than the the words of the ones who enslaved his body.

He took his last breath. “It is finished.” He spoke. Finaly he was in peace. And unto His hands, he commited his spirit.

Disclaimers: I know I was not entirely correct, and that many things do not match with the cannon, but this is just a story. I am entitled to depict they way I see it.
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Atheist I Don't Believe In God, and proud if it.

Clockwork - you thought it was over? You were, oh so wrong....

Last edited by TheGunslinger on Mon Dec 21, 2012 0:00 am; edited 666 time in total

Last edited by TheGunslinger on Sun Aug 02, 2009 1:13 pm; edited 1 time in total