Flesh, Blood, Spirit
A Bible Ficlet, written in honour of Nisan 14th
(Yearly fanfic)
Kneeling amid the olive trees, Jesus prays so fervently – lips quivering as he says, "...not my will, but thine, be done..." – his sweat turns scarlet, almost black in the night, since his back is to the moon's glow.
They are drops of blood rather than mere perspiration.
These blood-droplets roll down from his brow along his face and land on the ground, narrowly missing the fringe of his garment.
Some gather in his beard.
Sudden white light reveals pure red where the blood previously looked so very near to black.
There is an angel before him, come to strengthen him in his hour of need. This angel reaches out a hand that radiates golden warmth, wiping clean Jesus' brow, only for it to bead afresh.
The angel's hand moves to his shoulder, squeezes it; he assures him he has God's approval.
When the angel is gone, his prayer resumes, and his lips yet tremble, for though comforted, he still abounds in misery at the notion of dying the death of a blasphemer.
And where are his companions, his apostles, while he is in agony, blood dripping down his face?
One is betraying him, and the other eleven – who know well they ought to be praying not to fall into temptation – are asleep by the garden gate, some little ways away from where their Lord kneels, exhausted by their grief.
A/N: Hello, if you have enjoyed this Bible-inspired ficlet, it is my sincere hope that you will participate in the commemoration of the anniversary of Jesus' death tonight.