2
I've passed out shortly after being dragged out of the courtyard, only to wake up, tied down to a cross by the forearms.
Looking over to my left, and then my right, I see roman soldiers place nails at my wrists and raise their hammers.
Oh you motherfucking pricks…
The hammers come down hard, slamming the nails into me and I scream my lungs out in response.
Then I promptly pass out again.
I'm the fucking messiah! Why am I such a pussy?
The next time I come to, I'm hanging on the cross which is planted on some rocky hill overlooking the city, in front of a jeering crowd of spectators, and in between two ugly stinking fucks.
The two thieves. Things are progressing a little fast. Wasn't I supposed to carry the cross or something? Meet a cool guy called Simon?
No matter. I'll just have to deal with the situation as it is.
"Let's make this quick. So which one of you is the good guy, and which one is the bad guy?" I glance left, then right expectantly.
No response.
"Bad guy goes to hell. Good guy comes to me in heaven."
Now they start talking.
Stinky fucker on the left, which I should now call Lefty-Fucker, pipes up first, begging for forgiveness.
"Lord, remember me when you enter paradise and see your father."
"I'll remember you, but I'm not seeing my father anytime soon. He's a massive douche-canoe and he's sending me to hell first."
"Then…" Lefty-Fucker struggles to come up with the words, "will I still get into heaven?"
That's when the stinky fucker on the right – Righty-Fucker – pipes up too.
"You're the fucking messiah, technically God Himself, and you still need to hang here with us and bargain spots in heaven? What kind of useless messiah are you?"
"Maybe I like hanging with you guys."
Laughter from Righty-Fucker. Then coughing, and more laughter.
"Why don't you just fly off this cross and fix everything eh? Save yourself and us. That would be something I'd expect a messiah to be able to do."
The crowd hears that, and decides to chime in on the conversation too. My gaze sweeps the crowd as they all start screaming out some really shitty one-liners, all at once.
"Save yourself! Save yourself!"
"Going to destroy the temple in three days and can't even get off the cross!"
"Useless cunt!"
"Come on down from the cross!"
"Start flying!"
Awfully demanding crowd, this lot.
"I can't. It's all part of a plan."
Laughter starts up again from Righty-Fucker.
"What kind of a messiah needs a plan?! A fucking plan! Aren't you supposed to be all powerful and shit?"
"I…" I stammer, struggling to come up with a response.
He's got me there. Why the fuck do I need a plan? Shouldn't I be omnipotent, being technically God?
"It's just part of some fucking grand master plan! Don't think too much about it!" I yell out, before hanging my head in frustration.
It's so hard for humans to understand what a messiah must do.
I start to sink deep into thought.
How do I get you puny humans to understand?
Don't you know that daddy has a great master plan that he needs to carry out? Yes, I'm supposed to be omnipotent, but I have to not use my powers now for some reason, even though it could lead to better outcomes now…
…
Shit. Let me try again.
God has a plan and has to not use his powers – even though he could – for the greater good, even though said use of his powers can create another greater good, one that is undesirable for said grand master plan…
…
Double shit. I'm stuck again. Third time lucky?
Daddy and his messiah son have some God business to do in order to save all of humanity, which involves not using his all-powerful nature in some cases, in order to bring about circumstances necessary for the grand master plan which may cause huge amounts of human suffering in the process…
…
Fuck this thinking shit!
I look up again at Righty-Fucker.
"Don't think! Just do… things and everything will work out just fine!"
"Like you and that other guy hanging over there? How's that working out for you?"
I look over to Lefty-Fucker, and I can already see that he's reconsidering his decision to ask me for a free entry ticket to heaven.
"Jesus, if you're such a useless jackass, I don't think I want to be in your heaven." Lefty-Fucker's spat out, with a clear undertone of anger and frustration.
Oh no. I've lost a customer.
"Oh no, no, no. You're not going to bail on me just because of Righty-Fucker here right?"
"Wait, who you calling 'Righty-Fucker'?" Righty-Fucker yells indignantly, and I turn my gaze back to him.
Oh he's really pissed now.
"Oh, that… um. That's just the labels I've given you guys so I can keep track of you."
"You're the fucking messiah and you can't figure out our names?!"
Sigh. Stop asking me difficult questions!
"Stop asking me difficult questions! Don't think! Just do and it will work out, I promise!"
Of course, by now, it doesn't sound too convincing anymore.
I hang my head again, focusing on the rabble of the crowd instead, trying to distract myself and stop the crazy questions and emotions currently running through my mind.
God, I wish I could just die right now and go to hell.
...
Oh wait. I can.
I lift my head slightly and eyeball the various roman soldiers milling around below, just at the edge of the crowd. One of the soldiers is sitting on a rock, sticking a sponge onto the end of his spear and dipping it in vinegar.
If you've read the New Testament, you should know that this is the part where I'm supposed to say that I'm thirsty, and then the soldier gives me the vinegar to drink.
I think the timeline is a bit fucked up now, but whatever. Everything's a little fucked lately.
Now it's time to fuck up the timeline even more, by pressing the fast-forward button. Let's goad him a little.
"Hey douche-fuck with the vinegar sponge spear! Skip that and just stab me to death already."
He looks up with a pissed off look on his face. Before the others can stop him, he jumps to his feet, throws down the sponge, and marches over to my cross.
I glare at him. He glares at me.
Then he raises his spear and plunges it deep into my ribs.
I pass out again. For good this time.
