Inspired by Deborah777’s brilliant ‘Sorry is the hardest thing’ and Eul’s ‘girl with no name’, I enjoy others writing but Deborah’s was great and Eul’s translation of “Girl with no name” inspired me to write a short story packed with emotion and detail.
I hope I succeeded and also stayed true to Deborah’s principle that she is guilty but we don’t know of what crime… and we really don’t care- she must deserve this! Pleas enjoy…
I had seen many crucified. I know they all suffered horribly but I would take a perverse pleasure watch them- especially the women. Now I hang from my cross as a common slave or criminal that is devoid of a ‘titulus cruxis’. Why bother to identify me? I was a woman of privilege and thought I would get away with it. I did not get away with the crime and the only concession to my status was only my back was flogged and I was allowed a coarse burlap poncho with an equally rough rope cinched around my waist as I carried my cross up the hill. It hardly covered me and allowed provocative glimpses of my swaying breasts as I struggled to drag the cross past the people lining the path to the top of the hill.
Though I am crucified anonymously as disgraced criminal word had spread of my execution. The path had been lined with people interested in seeing a woman of privilege being crucified along with people who knew of me and those I had been friends with and even had dined and partied with. None offered sympathy or even distress what I faced. I was spat upon and hit with overripe fruits. I was called things that some I didn’t even know what they meant.
At the top of the hill a hole had been dug that the cross would be placed after I was nailed to it. The cross was taken from me and the burlap cloth was stripped from my body with the rough cloth tearing the scabbing wounds on my back opened again. I stood before the crowd wearing only a loincloth. Before I was nailed to the soldiers shoved a crown of thorns on my head. One had laughed and said “this bitch needs a tiara!”
I was laid on the cross. I don’t remember being nailed to it or even being raised. I was overwhelmed with pain. But now I hang from the cross as I will until I die. I look about and see hundreds of people looking at me. Many of the faces could be me at the crucifixions I had watched. The crowd is bigger than usual. It seems the whole city came to see me crucified. Everywhere I look there is no escaping the people who are enjoying my execution. The only way to avoid their gaze was to look down my body at the ground. It only reminded me of what my feet will never touch until I am long dead and reminded me that the loin cloth was wet with my pee and heavy with my excrement.
I look up at the ominous clouds and see the death patiently waiting to take me.
I am not telling you looking for sympathy. I deserve this more than the slaves that committed small infractions and their masters demanded their crucifixions. I no longer have to wonder what a sorry bitch hanging from a cross felt- I am she!
Every move I make to relieve a pain or cramp finds new agony. The loincloth had started cinched about my waist and it has slipped down about my hips. It would have fallen from my body by now but it is bunched in my bum. I slide up the stipe trying to free myself of the filthy rag. I have seen this dance before and had not understood it. I do now. I would rather be naked than have this last bastion of modest touching my skin. The crowd loudly approves of my efforts as I have done in the past.
It drops to my ankles to the sound of loud cheers. Juvenile boys rush to the cross to see who gets the soiled souvenir of my crucifixion bunch around my ankles. I hang naked before them, no longer Deborah just a condemned convict. The sun sets behind me and the crowd begin to leave.
Soon I will hang in the darkness of the night. I look down the hill at the city below me. I can see the house where my crime occurred and pray when dawn arrives I will not be here to see it. But I fear that is wishful thinking; the mercenaries that crucified me seemed to know what they were doing. No- morning will come and I will still be waiting for death’s call and few will take the long walk up the hill to see this criminal die…
Tree
I hope I succeeded and also stayed true to Deborah’s principle that she is guilty but we don’t know of what crime… and we really don’t care- she must deserve this! Pleas enjoy…
I had seen many crucified. I know they all suffered horribly but I would take a perverse pleasure watch them- especially the women. Now I hang from my cross as a common slave or criminal that is devoid of a ‘titulus cruxis’. Why bother to identify me? I was a woman of privilege and thought I would get away with it. I did not get away with the crime and the only concession to my status was only my back was flogged and I was allowed a coarse burlap poncho with an equally rough rope cinched around my waist as I carried my cross up the hill. It hardly covered me and allowed provocative glimpses of my swaying breasts as I struggled to drag the cross past the people lining the path to the top of the hill.
Though I am crucified anonymously as disgraced criminal word had spread of my execution. The path had been lined with people interested in seeing a woman of privilege being crucified along with people who knew of me and those I had been friends with and even had dined and partied with. None offered sympathy or even distress what I faced. I was spat upon and hit with overripe fruits. I was called things that some I didn’t even know what they meant.
At the top of the hill a hole had been dug that the cross would be placed after I was nailed to it. The cross was taken from me and the burlap cloth was stripped from my body with the rough cloth tearing the scabbing wounds on my back opened again. I stood before the crowd wearing only a loincloth. Before I was nailed to the soldiers shoved a crown of thorns on my head. One had laughed and said “this bitch needs a tiara!”
I was laid on the cross. I don’t remember being nailed to it or even being raised. I was overwhelmed with pain. But now I hang from the cross as I will until I die. I look about and see hundreds of people looking at me. Many of the faces could be me at the crucifixions I had watched. The crowd is bigger than usual. It seems the whole city came to see me crucified. Everywhere I look there is no escaping the people who are enjoying my execution. The only way to avoid their gaze was to look down my body at the ground. It only reminded me of what my feet will never touch until I am long dead and reminded me that the loin cloth was wet with my pee and heavy with my excrement.
I look up at the ominous clouds and see the death patiently waiting to take me.
I am not telling you looking for sympathy. I deserve this more than the slaves that committed small infractions and their masters demanded their crucifixions. I no longer have to wonder what a sorry bitch hanging from a cross felt- I am she!
Every move I make to relieve a pain or cramp finds new agony. The loincloth had started cinched about my waist and it has slipped down about my hips. It would have fallen from my body by now but it is bunched in my bum. I slide up the stipe trying to free myself of the filthy rag. I have seen this dance before and had not understood it. I do now. I would rather be naked than have this last bastion of modest touching my skin. The crowd loudly approves of my efforts as I have done in the past.
It drops to my ankles to the sound of loud cheers. Juvenile boys rush to the cross to see who gets the soiled souvenir of my crucifixion bunch around my ankles. I hang naked before them, no longer Deborah just a condemned convict. The sun sets behind me and the crowd begin to leave.
Soon I will hang in the darkness of the night. I look down the hill at the city below me. I can see the house where my crime occurred and pray when dawn arrives I will not be here to see it. But I fear that is wishful thinking; the mercenaries that crucified me seemed to know what they were doing. No- morning will come and I will still be waiting for death’s call and few will take the long walk up the hill to see this criminal die…
Tree
