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His burden is almost over, the end is in sight. He looks up to the summit of the small hill to where the others are waiting for him, they are going nowhere soon, they can wait for him to reach them no matter how long it takes.

It has been a long journey, he thinks, to get to this stage and he smiles inwardly although outwardly his face is a grimace of pain. The cross he bears is the measure of his love for what he must do. The dusty streets before him reflect the heat of the day, there is no respite from the unbearable pain of the midday sun, but he would not have it any other way.

The steepness of the small hill suddenly levels out into a small plateau that bears fruit to his welcoming party, he stumbles slightly only to be helped back up to his feet by a member of the local populace, a small kiss is planted on his cheek and the whispered words " Be Strong" are a strength multiplier to him.

He hefts the weight once again, the sweat mixing with his blood as he once again moves forward to his destiny. The last few steps feel as if he is floating on air, he knows what pain must await him...he welcomes it.

The carpenters son greets the carpenter with a small nod, the three nails that are held up to him are greeted with a grimace that could almost be interpreted as a smile. This is what his life as been all about, the next few moments will define his people for a million years. he looks with compassion upon the youth and with the smallest of smiles says,
"Do it"

The cross is laid flat on the floor with the carpenters son straddled upon it, his arms are splayed and his feet are placed together, the tears in the young carpenters eyes are all too apparent as he continues his task and whispers
"Forgive me"

The muffled cries as the first nail is driven home turn to screams of raw pain and terror as the remaining iron rods are pressed into his flesh. Before he is raised to the heavens like the other so called heretics a rough Roman officer comes forward with a crown of thorns.
"Here you go oh Messiah, a crown for the king of the Jews, long may you reign"
This heathen walks away laughing without even looking back, the thorny crown he has forced upon the head of the young man has drawn blood, it is enough to attract the majority of the loacal fly poulation.

As the cross is raised up into the vertical position the son of the carpenter hears the buzzing of the insects around his head, feels the pain of the iron within his flesh, yet through it all He knows that what he must suffer now, he does so for the love and forgiveness of mankind.

He waits...

He mourns...

He loves...

He dies.

Learn more about this author, Ian Yates.
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