Crucified

                I sat silently in the cold, dark cell; waiting for what I knew was coming and hoping that it was all a dream.  I started as I heard the clanking of armor coming down the hall.  The guards approached my door, unlocked it, and swung it open.

                “Get out here.” One of the guards grunted.  I didn’t move; I was frozen in place.  The fear of pain that rushed through my veins immobilized me and prevented me from obeying the orders of the prison guards.  The guard who had spoken sighed in frustration and entered the cell.  He wrinkled his nose in distaste at the filthy floor.  When he reached me, he roughly grabbed my arm and dragged me out of my cell.  He dragged me outside to the streets and threw me down before a wooden cross.  Another soldier raised a whip and brought it down hard on my exposed back.  The shards of stone, metal, and pottery cut into my back as he dragged the whip out of the trench it had created in my back.

“Carry it!”  He shouted pointing with his free hand at the cross.  I stumbled to my feet and tried to ignore the pain that shot through my body as I lifted the heavy wood.  I understood that this pain would be nothing compared to what I was about to experience.  I set the cross on my shoulder and staggered forwards, dragging my instrument of death behind me.  We walked through the crowd of people yelling curses and spitting on us, they had gathered to witness our walk to death.  I was one of three carrying a cross that day, the two other condemned men walked ahead of me with the guards who called to the crowds to make way for us.  The man in front of me tripped and fell, dropping his cross into the hard-packed dirt that made up the road.  There was more yelling from the guards as our procession halted.  They kicked the man, trying to get him to pick up his cross again.  He tried and failed several times to lift the heavy wood.  His back was covered with gruesome wounds oozing out crimson blood.  They were all clearly more than skin deep and through some I could see bone.  The man was bruised and beaten, it was clear that he was no longer capable of carrying his heavy burden.  Seeing this, a soldier grabbed an able-bodied man from the crowd and forced him to bear the burden of the beaten man. 

We continued unhindered for the rest of the way up the steep incline.  Upon reaching the top the guards grabbed me and threw me down on the cross I had carried.  I cried in pain as the rough wood pressed against my aching, wounded back.  They pressed my arms against the horizontal beam and tied them there with thick rope.  They next signaled for another one of their fellows to join them.  This one came brandishing a heavy hammer and three wicked-looking spikes.  I struggled against my bonds as he approached, but it was useless.  He placed the long nail on the soft flesh of my wrist, directly between the two bones that comprised my arm.  Raising the hammer high and bringing it down with great force he drove the iron peg through my wrist.  Once he missed and struck my thumb, there was a sickening crack as it broke.  I screamed in pain throughout the ordeal and the soldiers laughed at my pain, jeering at me and tormenting me.  The hammer-wielder moved to my other arm and repeated the painful process again.  He missed again and shattered my knuckle bones.  By now my throat was hoarse from screaming and only hot tears running down my face portrayed my hurting.  Moving on to my feet, he pushed them into a position where my thigh muscles began to cramp and drove the longest nail he carried into my ankles.  It shattered my ankle bone and the times he missed broke the bones in my feet.  By now the pain had numbed my mind and I had lost consciousness several times.  I blacked out once again only to be awakened by a fresh wave of pain as they set the cross upright into its stand.  I hung on my arms for a few minutes, but then I found I could not breathe.  In my panic I pressed up with my legs, relieving my arms of my body’s weight.  The pressure on my legs caused my broken ankle bones to burn with pain.  Crying out, I took quick gulps of air and then returned to hanging from my arms.  I was forced to repeat this process more times than I could count as my body sought air.  But slowly, ever so slowly, I lost strength, the blood loss and pain and constant struggle for breath weakened me and I was not able to pull up to get air as often or for as long.  The world began to fade; I became numb to the pain, and gradually I became entirely removed from the world.  My lungs screamed for precious air, but I did not have the strength to get it.  I felt light headed, my vision began to blacken; my lungs were only filled with used air that was now no good to me.  I exhaled that air, and died.