You would think I would be happy to be free from the cross. I would be if I was free. But because this was the 50th anniversary of the spring festival crucifixions and I hung from the cross for twelve hours instead of the usual three there had been tremendous interest in my crucifixion. Mr. Rodent paid the university for the film rights (I got nothing) and with a thousand smartphone camera I became the darling of social media with my naked crucified available around the world on the web. I was even on the front page of the Crux Chronicle with a dozen page spread with pictures and a ‘play-by-play’ of my suffering. I don’t even remember how they took that picture.
The narrative was pretty good but I know was missing. No one knows my relationship with the cross.
I knew my notoriety would eventually pass. I thought as memories faded so would my feelings towards my cross. That is not the case.
I did not enjoy being crucified. I was painful, humiliating, and often monotonous. As much as I feared then I would not survive the twelve hours now I can’t get out of my head that the cross let me go! I gave it all of me. I surrendered my body, my pride, and my soul to it!
At first I tried to drown the memories and the emotions but that didn’t help.
Then I found there were clubs that I could be bound to a cross but it wasn’t the same. None of would crucify me longer than a few hours. What is the point of that; I was barely introduced to the wood when they took me down!
I even found someone who agreed to crucify me for twenty-four hours. It was horrible but still did not satisfy my needs.
I need to be on my cross until it consumes me. I need to be nailed to my cross and hang there until I give my life to the wood that takes mine.
Over time I had given up on the idea until Mr. Rodent showed up at my door. He asked me if I have a passport. I do. He hands me a pass for a one way flight on a charter jet and said “In one week your dreams… or nightmares… will come true.”
“Where? How?” I ask.
“If you are not there you will never see me again. Sign here.”
I do without reading a thing. “I’ll be there.”
Tree
...I told you he couldn't write a short story... -Ulrika
The narrative was pretty good but I know was missing. No one knows my relationship with the cross.
I knew my notoriety would eventually pass. I thought as memories faded so would my feelings towards my cross. That is not the case.
I did not enjoy being crucified. I was painful, humiliating, and often monotonous. As much as I feared then I would not survive the twelve hours now I can’t get out of my head that the cross let me go! I gave it all of me. I surrendered my body, my pride, and my soul to it!
At first I tried to drown the memories and the emotions but that didn’t help.
Then I found there were clubs that I could be bound to a cross but it wasn’t the same. None of would crucify me longer than a few hours. What is the point of that; I was barely introduced to the wood when they took me down!
I even found someone who agreed to crucify me for twenty-four hours. It was horrible but still did not satisfy my needs.
I need to be on my cross until it consumes me. I need to be nailed to my cross and hang there until I give my life to the wood that takes mine.
Over time I had given up on the idea until Mr. Rodent showed up at my door. He asked me if I have a passport. I do. He hands me a pass for a one way flight on a charter jet and said “In one week your dreams… or nightmares… will come true.”
“Where? How?” I ask.
“If you are not there you will never see me again. Sign here.”
I do without reading a thing. “I’ll be there.”
Tree
...I told you he couldn't write a short story... -Ulrika
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