Disclaimer: I don't own Jesus or the general plot (duh!); I do own the soldier, his feelings, and everything else that's not in the Bible.
In The Eyes of a Soldier
I dragged Him out of the dark dungeon, cobwebs criss-crossed along the stone walls. Our footsteps echo through the tunnel sounding faint, as if it were only a dream. I opened the door, impelling him into the crisp morning air, the sign of a new day... or new death.
I blinked seeing the crowds of people who await this man. Some laugh, spit on His pale face, and call him names. To my surprise, he didn't even get angry. His eyes showed no malice or hatred, rather pity and sadness. A great amount of sadness.
He smiled sadly at those who mourned and called out his name lovingly, muttering words only they could hear. Who is this man who does not seek revenge? Who is he that does not struggle or curse when we whip him? What crime has he committed? I wonder...
Climbing the small hill, we finally reached our destination. I turned away, trying to block the sound of his grunts and gasps of excruciating pain as my fellow soldiers nailed his hands and feet onto the worn wood. Tilting my face up to his thin figure, I gave a gulp. Thunder rumbles, but I never heard it. Lightning flashes, but I never saw it. The cold wind cuts through my skin, but I never felt it. Minutes or hours passed by, I know not. I do know the throbbing of my hear, like the beating of the drums of doom. I know the figure before me, hanging from the bit of wood. I know the crime I have committed. Hysterically, I make a move to cry out to him, begging him to forgive my ignorance. But his beaten body does not move. His eyes are closed, his face pale. It is too late.
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