ext_144707 (![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png)
darklingdawns.livejournal.com) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
tamingthemuse2008-06-01 12:33 am
darklingdawns.livejournal.com) wrote in tamingthemuse2008-06-01 12:33 am
Entry tags:
Prompt #97 - Delirious - Another Side (Prologue) - Morgana - Original Work
Note to mods - I changed my journal settings to Hawaii for time zone, but it doesn't seem to be taking as far as the timestamp. Hope it's still acceptable.
Title: Another Side (Prologue)
Fandom: Original Work
Prompt: Delirious
Warnings: Deals with religious matter
Rating: PG-13
Summary: There's always another side to every story
Title: Another Side (Prologue)
Fandom: Original Work
Prompt: Delirious
Warnings: Deals with religious matter
Rating: PG-13
Summary: There's always another side to every story
Word of his teachings and presence had spread quickly. People gathered wherever he was, and today was no different. Those who could afford it had set up tents, while others sat on rocks and rolled themselves in coarse blankets or cloaks at night. All had spent days on the road in their journey to see the rabbi, the one that some were beginning to whisper might be the long-awaited Messiah. Had he truly come at last?
Certainly nothing about the man currently eating lunch on the hill seemed to suggest it. He was tall and broad-shouldered, muscled from years of work like so many others, dressed in a plain brown tunic, with sandals that looked like they should have fallen apart several weeks ago. Dark tangled hair fell around his shoulders, and while his smile had a touch of almost childish sweetness to it, he didn't appear any different from the men that surrounded him. They were with him constantly, three or more of them always nearby when he went to teach or pray, and it was rumored that they would be the generals that would free them, their names destined to be breathed in awed, hushed tones: Peter, John, Judas, Andrew, and James.
It was up close that people became aware that this was no ordinary man. A light burned in his eyes, a fire that animated him from within, like he was somehow more alive than most people. The dark depths glowed with a fever that belonged only to the visionaries, the ones who were somehow able to look beyond the veil of this world to what lay beyond it. He looked like the last person to spend his time contemplating such things, this burly carpenter who seemed far more suited to the fields than the temple. But in this unprepossessing person, the sacred and profane seemed to have found a sort of truce, and it radiated from him in waves of peace and protection. The work-roughened hands touched the sick with an undeniable gentleness that banished their fear and delirium, while the otherwise imposing and formidable frame offered all who sat with him a sense of comfort and complete safety. Certainly the children recognized a kindred spirit in him, for everywhere he went, they followed him. Underfoot, running around the hillsides that he liked to teach from, always begging for a piggyback ride or one more story, they seemed to be his particular favorites, for they almost always got the small treats they asked for.
Once lunch was finished and put away, he turned to look out over the people that were gathered, then looked back to his chosen men who sat on the ground at his feet. Clearing his throat, he began: "Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven."
The lesson continued for several hours, with both disciples and watching crowd sitting in rapt silence, drinking in every word as though it might be his last. When at last he finished, he smiled and touched each disciple's cheek gently, then stood and walked down towards the waiting people. After a few seconds of stunned quiet, the calls for healing and blessing began to ring out, each answered with a brush of the hand or a quiet word in the ear. And with each miraculous act, the certainty that this was more than just a mortal man grew...
But the real story began long before that.
Certainly nothing about the man currently eating lunch on the hill seemed to suggest it. He was tall and broad-shouldered, muscled from years of work like so many others, dressed in a plain brown tunic, with sandals that looked like they should have fallen apart several weeks ago. Dark tangled hair fell around his shoulders, and while his smile had a touch of almost childish sweetness to it, he didn't appear any different from the men that surrounded him. They were with him constantly, three or more of them always nearby when he went to teach or pray, and it was rumored that they would be the generals that would free them, their names destined to be breathed in awed, hushed tones: Peter, John, Judas, Andrew, and James.
It was up close that people became aware that this was no ordinary man. A light burned in his eyes, a fire that animated him from within, like he was somehow more alive than most people. The dark depths glowed with a fever that belonged only to the visionaries, the ones who were somehow able to look beyond the veil of this world to what lay beyond it. He looked like the last person to spend his time contemplating such things, this burly carpenter who seemed far more suited to the fields than the temple. But in this unprepossessing person, the sacred and profane seemed to have found a sort of truce, and it radiated from him in waves of peace and protection. The work-roughened hands touched the sick with an undeniable gentleness that banished their fear and delirium, while the otherwise imposing and formidable frame offered all who sat with him a sense of comfort and complete safety. Certainly the children recognized a kindred spirit in him, for everywhere he went, they followed him. Underfoot, running around the hillsides that he liked to teach from, always begging for a piggyback ride or one more story, they seemed to be his particular favorites, for they almost always got the small treats they asked for.
Once lunch was finished and put away, he turned to look out over the people that were gathered, then looked back to his chosen men who sat on the ground at his feet. Clearing his throat, he began: "Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven."
The lesson continued for several hours, with both disciples and watching crowd sitting in rapt silence, drinking in every word as though it might be his last. When at last he finished, he smiled and touched each disciple's cheek gently, then stood and walked down towards the waiting people. After a few seconds of stunned quiet, the calls for healing and blessing began to ring out, each answered with a brush of the hand or a quiet word in the ear. And with each miraculous act, the certainty that this was more than just a mortal man grew...
But the real story began long before that.