Three days have passed. The sun is just breaking the skyline. Her face is puffy. Shes been crying since they arrested Him. The ache in her gut is worsening by the day. She is broken- hearted. Shattered. Tears dripping off her nose, arms crossed, she walks out of the house. A while later, she finds herself walking toward the tomb. Drawn. As she gets closer, she squints. Something isnt right. The soldiers are gone and the massive rock has been moved. The hole -- where they laid the body -- is dark. Feeling her way, she steps in. In the shadows, a pile of bloody linen at her feet. The place where they had lain Him is nothing but a stone shelf. Vacant. She clenches her fists and her anger flashes. Somebody stole his body. The tears return. Back at the house, he couldnt sleep either. The memory of his first, second and third rejection haunts him. His own words echo in his ear. He is consumed with shame. Belted at his side, his sword is still caked with the blood from the ear of the servant of the high priest. He is making plans to use it again... If you want to read the rest, click below. charlesmartinbooks/blog/entry/standing_on_this_side_of_the_cross
Posted on: Sun, 20 Apr 2014 14:27:38 +0000
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