Prompt 3 - Wooly - Wool-Gathering -
spikespetslayer - OC
Jul. 29th, 2006 08:14 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png)
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Title: Wool-Gathering
Author:
spikespetslayer
Rating: PG
Fandom: OC (although not mine--please read author's note at the end of the story.)
Wool-gathering
He shook his head, trying to disperse the wooly feelings the wine had given him. His mouth tasted of wool, his clothes smelled of wool, and there was wool in his head. Seemed like sheep and their by-products surrounded him, which was only right for the times. He was the lamb to be lead to the slaughter and the blood that would prevent the Angel of Death from their door even though they didn’t know it. Nobody knew it, not even those hangers-on that tagged his heels from town to town while he tried to get them ready for the coming crisis.
He knelt down in the grove; his hands folded in front of him and head bent in the proper position of obeisance. His inner voice was a cacophony of discord, however; run, leave, don’t do this because they aren’t worth it. There were so many mixed messages running through his head and his heart that it was making him hurt. This was what he was born to do but all he wanted was the safety of her arms and the quiet that slipped into his mind when they were sleeping together on the rough pallet in the clay house.
Around him the stars shattered with the big voice, the strong voice that ruled him with an iron fist but he blocked it out. Blocked out the demands for obedience and the manipulative word-pictures that drew on his guilt and the prescient knowledge of what was to come. He concentrated on each face of men that had started as followers and came to be friends, each face dear and loved in their own way, each line with a story of its own. He blocked it out with her face, soft in repose as she slept. He blocked it with the youthful face of his mother; it didn’t seem like she ever aged. She still looked like the woman who bore him and it bothered him. She still glowed like a woman in the throes of pregnancy and in truth had stayed pregnant for years after she gave birth to him, her firstborn. He wondered if she would always stay that way. No point, he wouldn’t be around to see the first wrinkle or smile line or laugh line that marred her perfection.
Why me? Why am I the one who gets to make the sacrifice? There are so many others who would gladly do this, who would lay their life on the line and be the one to save the world. There was always some fool that wanted to save the world. Why does it have to be me? I have a wife, a child on the way. I have followed all the ancient rituals, become the king and the leader in my house. I have paid my dues to my family and friends. I’ve paid my dues to you but you ask for so much more than just that.
He looked over at the three that went with him to keep him company, sleeping off the effects of the wine that they’d drank with the spartan dinner. He smiled sadly and wished that he had been allowed to come alone so he could rail at the unfairness of it all. Shout to the heavens about the madness of asking him for this sacrifice. Like a lamb. Like a lamb to the slaughter.
He heard the stutter of footsteps behind him long before he saw the torches. Sighing, he stood and brushed the dust from the wool of his cloak and turned to greet them in the torchlight. “Judas, my friend,” he said, accepting the traitor’s kiss.
A/N: I'm sorry if I offended anyone, but this is my own take and artistic license on the events in the garden of Gethsemane on that fateful night. Yes, I AM a believer, but I've also read the historical rituals of the house of David and used them as well as suggestions made by the DaVinci Code and other novels--not to mention my own beliefs that He was a man as well as God. Please forgive any offence--it was not intended.
Author:
![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
Rating: PG
Fandom: OC (although not mine--please read author's note at the end of the story.)
Wool-gathering
He shook his head, trying to disperse the wooly feelings the wine had given him. His mouth tasted of wool, his clothes smelled of wool, and there was wool in his head. Seemed like sheep and their by-products surrounded him, which was only right for the times. He was the lamb to be lead to the slaughter and the blood that would prevent the Angel of Death from their door even though they didn’t know it. Nobody knew it, not even those hangers-on that tagged his heels from town to town while he tried to get them ready for the coming crisis.
He knelt down in the grove; his hands folded in front of him and head bent in the proper position of obeisance. His inner voice was a cacophony of discord, however; run, leave, don’t do this because they aren’t worth it. There were so many mixed messages running through his head and his heart that it was making him hurt. This was what he was born to do but all he wanted was the safety of her arms and the quiet that slipped into his mind when they were sleeping together on the rough pallet in the clay house.
Around him the stars shattered with the big voice, the strong voice that ruled him with an iron fist but he blocked it out. Blocked out the demands for obedience and the manipulative word-pictures that drew on his guilt and the prescient knowledge of what was to come. He concentrated on each face of men that had started as followers and came to be friends, each face dear and loved in their own way, each line with a story of its own. He blocked it out with her face, soft in repose as she slept. He blocked it with the youthful face of his mother; it didn’t seem like she ever aged. She still looked like the woman who bore him and it bothered him. She still glowed like a woman in the throes of pregnancy and in truth had stayed pregnant for years after she gave birth to him, her firstborn. He wondered if she would always stay that way. No point, he wouldn’t be around to see the first wrinkle or smile line or laugh line that marred her perfection.
Why me? Why am I the one who gets to make the sacrifice? There are so many others who would gladly do this, who would lay their life on the line and be the one to save the world. There was always some fool that wanted to save the world. Why does it have to be me? I have a wife, a child on the way. I have followed all the ancient rituals, become the king and the leader in my house. I have paid my dues to my family and friends. I’ve paid my dues to you but you ask for so much more than just that.
He looked over at the three that went with him to keep him company, sleeping off the effects of the wine that they’d drank with the spartan dinner. He smiled sadly and wished that he had been allowed to come alone so he could rail at the unfairness of it all. Shout to the heavens about the madness of asking him for this sacrifice. Like a lamb. Like a lamb to the slaughter.
He heard the stutter of footsteps behind him long before he saw the torches. Sighing, he stood and brushed the dust from the wool of his cloak and turned to greet them in the torchlight. “Judas, my friend,” he said, accepting the traitor’s kiss.
A/N: I'm sorry if I offended anyone, but this is my own take and artistic license on the events in the garden of Gethsemane on that fateful night. Yes, I AM a believer, but I've also read the historical rituals of the house of David and used them as well as suggestions made by the DaVinci Code and other novels--not to mention my own beliefs that He was a man as well as God. Please forgive any offence--it was not intended.
no subject
Date: 2006-07-30 11:31 am (UTC)~Nebula
no subject
Date: 2006-07-30 02:05 pm (UTC)Glad that you are too...*grin* Thanks for the review--I'm glad that you liked it so much. I was worried about offending some, especially you, but I'm glad to see that wasn't the case...
*hugs*
Another Christian as well..
Date: 2006-07-30 11:56 pm (UTC)sr
no subject
Date: 2006-09-16 11:21 pm (UTC)