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The city has finally began to settle a bit. It is still as the grave, if you’ll pardon the pun.

Even after a couple days, the brothers remain stunned into silence. The sisters are still in a state of grief and shock. We all volley from tears to anger to fear to laughing about some memory or another. I know he was a threat to the powers that be, yet this was but a tiny part of who he was.

Many didn’t see the man’s humor. Goodness, he could have us laughing until our sides hurt. He kept most of that part of himself hidden, although nearly everyone knew of his joy.

Yes, joy radiated from him, like heat from the sun.

He was the pure embodiment of love and compassion, yet some chose to only see his upsetting of their precious apple cart.

“He will start a revolution!” they would scowl. “He is a demon, not to be trusted!”

He was God in the flesh, yet fully MAN (yeah, can’t really explain that one), but all they saw was the fact that he might take over one day. They were terrified he would change everything, possibly even usurp their authority and power.

So they killed him for it.

I was there. I watched them beat him like an animal. I saw them whip him until the flesh hung like ribbons from his bones. I cried and winced while they drove the nails into his wrists, and then slowly, arduously, through both ankles. I still close my eyes and grimace when I think of it.

And I DO think of it, all day, all night.

Each one of us cower in the day, not making a sound, feeling a bit more freedom to move around in the shadows of the night. Terrified, grief-stricken, angry and in shock. I dare say we still know not what to think or feel about it.

He was supposed to change everything. He wasn’t supposed to die!!

Why did he have to die??!!!

I just…I can’t believe he’s gone.

We all witnessed so many miracles, and were even part of a few. And the children…my how the children loved him!

Tickling children, making them giggle one minute, taking on all of Hell when casting out demons the next. Yes, that was our teacher, our friend, our brother, our leader…our Lord.

And now he’s gone. They murdered our Lord, and now…

Now what?

Where do we go from here? Is it time to creep back to our homes, our villages and remain in hiding? If so, what of the message? What of the following, the so-called “rebellion?”

Even so, I can’t get the images out of my head.

God help me, I see his face, the torture, the blood, the murder; all day, all night. I try and close my eyes but the images are still there.

I know there has to be some “greater meaning” in all of this, but God help me, I can’t see it. I’m so angry! I’m so scared.

What if they come after us next? Our families? They killed our LEADER; what’s to stop them from killing us all?

I cannot think on these things anymore, I MUST try and get some sleep (that great thing which has alluded me since this all went down).

Tomorrow is Sunday.

We’ll see what happens…

This entry was posted in Pain.

2 comments on “Saturday Night in Jerusalem (short fiction)

  1. Michael Murray says:

    This is an awesome story!


    1. Rob Weddle says:

      Thanks so much, bro. The story has been bouncing around my head for a week but I had to let it ruminate, so I could flesh it out a bit.


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