Short Crux stories

[Eulalia]

I'm opening this new thread to post a little story I spotted on DeviantArt, and got permission to share here
it's by djetla, inspired by a fine crux manip by spookiie65:



Maybe others would like to post such imaginative responses to exciting crucifixion pics -
we've a vast collection of those to choose from, and a lot of wicked wordsmiths too!

 

[bobinder]

Inspired by DeviantArt member, lordhellkai, who predicts the perils facing a field researcher in four-dimensional archaeology from the twenty third century.

Renowned archaeologist Dexterity Helkai travels to first century BC Rome in order to recover physical evidence of Julius Caesar's aspirations to kingship, specifically the lost Crown of the Caesars. Destination timing is critical for such a mission, but time travel is not quite the precision technology which future scientists claim.

Arriving a few years ahead of Caesar's dictatorship, Dex is apprehended during her search of the general's Roman villa at the conclusion of the Third Servile War. Unable to identify herself as a citizen, she relies on a truthful explanation to account for her presence. But far from presenting credibility, her actions are interpreted as those of a rebel slave intent on stealing the trappings of high office and posing a serious threat to the Republic.

Facing public execution on capital charges, Dex is marched out to a field overlooking the Via Appia to join the defeated rebels experiencing Crassus' exemplary treatment. Here, she is formally sentenced for the crime of sedition, stripped naked and put to death by crucifixion. Hanging on the cross, her final thoughts reflect on the irony of her personal fate never being discovered by future historians.

 

[old slave]

"How many today?"
"Eight, including two specials."
"Specials? What, bigger cornus?"
"Nah, fatties, need heavier timber to hold 'em."
"Jove, they never think of us cutting all the trees, sweating our bollocks off. What's this lot done then?"
"No idea, and there's not one worth fucking."
"This job stinks. Sometimes I wonder what its all about."
"Know how you feel. Hey, I won a bet on how long the blonde would live last week. Fancy a jar after work?"

 

[connoisseurs]

View attachment 598387
"How many today?"
"Eight, including two specials."
"Specials? What, bigger cornus?"
"Nah, fatties, need heavier timber to hold 'em."
"Jove, they never think of us cutting all the trees, sweating our bollocks off. What's this lot done then?"
"No idea, and there's not one worth fucking."
"This job stinks. Sometimes I wonder what its all about."
"Know how you feel. Hey, I won a bet on how long the blonde would live last week. Fancy a jar after work?"

Two typical handyman grumble about a normal workday. Each drift from standard a reason to complain. I´m sure dialogs like that take place since human could speek.

 

[Barbaria1]

pic by Jastrow.

They say Roman justice is hard justice. I’d agree with that, but in my case it’s unfair justice. I don’t belong on this cross! The word “guilty” inscribed in my titulus is nothing but a naked lie!

I’m simply nothing more than a victim of Roman politics ... of the evil, backstabbing machinations that typify the never ending quest for imperial power.

I did nothing wrong. I committed no crime. I was simply the daughter of a Roman general ... barbarian by birth, but uplifted to prominence and Roman citizenship by his glorious service to the Empire ...and deemed a threat by his enemies in Rome who feared his growing popularity.

So they came in the night, invaded our villa, slew his bodyguards and arrested the entire household. I was taken from my bed and dragged off to a cell somewhere deep in the city, stripped of my clothing, abused unmercifully by my jailers, and hauled at dawn, along with the rest of my family and household, before a mock court. We were condemned without defense for trumped up treasonous acts, stripped of our Roman citizenship, and taken away to be publicly executed.

And so, here I hang at the side of the road just beyond the city gates ... naked and lewdly exposed to each and every passerby ...third in line after my father and mother, and followed in line by siblings, servants and slaves ... my titulus bearing the single word ... an outright lie ... “guilty”.

I twist and writhe in the fearsome heat of the summer day ... my skin sheened in sweat, filthy and marred by the whip ... my fingers flexing and clawing at air as the nails through my wrists grind painfully at nerves and bone ... my legs splayed to openly display my battered womanhood,

I do my best to close my ears to the taunts and ridicule. I shut my eyes and focus my mind elsewhere ... channel it into angry thoughts and imaginary acts of revenge.

There is no such thing, I know for certain, as Roman justice ...there is only Roman guile, jealousy, treachery and deception.

My titulus should more rightly read ‘innocent victim” rather than “guilty”.

 

[connoisseurs]

View attachment 598401pic by Jastrow.

They say Roman justice is hard justice. I’d agree with that, but in my case it’s unfair justice. I don’t belong on this cross! The word “guilty” inscribed in my titulus is nothing but a naked lie!

I’m simply nothing more than a victim of Roman politics ... of the evil, backstabbings machinations that typify the never ending quest for imperial power.

I did nothing wrong. I committed no crime. I was simply the daughter of a Roman general ... barbarian by birth, but uplifted to prominence and Roman citizenship by his glorious service to the Empire ...and deemed a threat by his enemies in Rome who feared his growing popularity.

So they came in the night, invaded our villa, slew his bodyguards and arrested the entire household. I was taken from my bed and dragged off to a cell somewhere deep in the city, stripped of my clothing and abused unmercifully by my jailers,and hauled at dawn, along with the rest of my family and household , before a mock court. We were condemned without defense for trumped up treasonous acts, stripped of our Roman citizenship, and taken away to be publicly executed.

And so, here I hang at the side of the road just beyond the city gates ... naked and lewdly exposed to each and every passerby ...third in line after my father and mother, and followed in line by siblings, servants and slaves ... my titulus bearing the single word ... an outright lie ... “guilty”.

I twist and writhe in the fearsome heat of the summer day ... my skin sheened in sweat, filthy and marred by the whip ... my fingers flexing and clawing at air as the nails through my wrists grind painfully at nerves and bone ... my legs splayed to openly display my battered womanhood,

I do my best to close my ears to the taunts and ridicule. I shut my eyes and focus my mind elsewhere ... channel it into angry thoughts and imaginary acts of revenge.

There is no such thing, I know for certain,as Roman justice ...there is only Roman guile, jealousy, treachery and deception.

My titulus should more rightly read ‘innocent victim” rather than “guilty”.

If there would be at least a rest of humaneness left in me I would feel pity for you. So I just indulge in this Story.
Wonderful written!

 

[Madiosi]

View attachment 598401pic by Jastrow.

They say Roman justice is hard justice. I’d agree with that, but in my case it’s unfair justice. I don’t belong on this cross! The word “guilty” inscribed in my titulus is nothing but a naked lie!

I’m simply nothing more than a victim of Roman politics ... of the evil, backstabbing machinations that typify the never ending quest for imperial power.

I did nothing wrong. I committed no crime. I was simply the daughter of a Roman general ... barbarian by birth, but uplifted to prominence and Roman citizenship by his glorious service to the Empire ...and deemed a threat by his enemies in Rome who feared his growing popularity.

So they came in the night, invaded our villa, slew his bodyguards and arrested the entire household. I was taken from my bed and dragged off to a cell somewhere deep in the city, stripped of my clothing, abused unmercifully by my jailers, and hauled at dawn, along with the rest of my family and household, before a mock court. We were condemned without defense for trumped up treasonous acts, stripped of our Roman citizenship, and taken away to be publicly executed.

And so, here I hang at the side of the road just beyond the city gates ... naked and lewdly exposed to each and every passerby ...third in line after my father and mother, and followed in line by siblings, servants and slaves ... my titulus bearing the single word ... an outright lie ... “guilty”.

I twist and writhe in the fearsome heat of the summer day ... my skin sheened in sweat, filthy and marred by the whip ... my fingers flexing and clawing at air as the nails through my wrists grind painfully at nerves and bone ... my legs splayed to openly display my battered womanhood,

I do my best to close my ears to the taunts and ridicule. I shut my eyes and focus my mind elsewhere ... channel it into angry thoughts and imaginary acts of revenge.

There is no such thing, I know for certain, as Roman justice ...there is only Roman guile, jealousy, treachery and deception.

My titulus should more rightly read ‘innocent victim” rather than “guilty”.

I missing your short stories a bit, Barb.

 

[old slave]

(picture from #5)

"Daddy never did get on with Edric. There was always some dispute over boundaries, beasts straying, he often said when we were kids that we went on his land to steal things.

Then when Edric wanted to marry me off with his idiot son Orvin, that was the last straw. Daddy got some of his men and they went over to Edric's hamlet to sort him out. Only they lost, and we don't know what happened to Daddy, they won't tell us, we guess he's dead.

They came to our farm in the night, dragged us out of bed and burnt the buildings down. They scared the farm-hands away, but took Mummy, me and my sister into the woods. They told Orvin to have sex with me, but he was useless: I was a virgin but knew what happens, living on a farm it's everywhere. He couldn't get it properly in me, and just got his seed all over my hair down there. Edric was doing the same with Mummy, and I was puzzled, because Mummy was making the same moaning and panting as when she and Daddy were in bed.

Edric then told his men that Guthrund the Dane was due round these parts soon, and would give good coin for three slaves. 'Presentation is everything when selling' he said, though I'm not sure what that means.

So he tied us to the trees like this. Told us to be 'respectful' when Guthrund comes.

I hope he comes soon. My arms, shoulders and back ache like hell, and I desperately want to get down. Orvin keeps saying that sis and me will be sex slaves; Mummy didn't seen too upset with her sex with Edric, she had a silly grin on her face and now she turns her head away so we can't see her expression. Sex slave doesn't sound too bad.

Hurry up Guthrund!"

 

[Barbaria1]

Nice one, OS! Shame on Mummy!

 

[connoisseurs]

Nice one, OS! Shame on Mummy!

Why shame on Mummy? If life only gives you lemmon, make lemonade

 

[Eulalia]

Hurry up Guthrund!"

He's a busy Viking, all that raping and pillaging -
he'll come and get you when he guths rund to it!

 

[DjEtla]

Thanks for posting this. It's nice to get a little bigger audience for this.

Here's another very short story that I added to a picture I like:

 

[Barbaria1]

Thanks for posting this. It's nice to get a little bigger audience for this.

Here's another very short story that I added to a picture I like:

Oh Shit! Another holiday ruined!

 

[Jollyrei]

I do my best to close my ears to the taunts and ridicule. I shut my eyes and focus my mind elsewhere ... channel it into angry thoughts and imaginary acts of revenge.

I missing your short stories a bit, Barb.

Yes. Barb does know how to set up a scene.

Here, she is formally sentenced for the crime of sedition, stripped naked and put to death by crucifixion. Hanging on the cross, her final thoughts reflect on the irony of her personal fate never being discovered by future historians.

Very fond of this time travel conundrum story as well. The dangers of time machines and the irony of having all this modern technology, and dying at the hand of iron age people with hammers.

 

[bobinder]

IVDAEA CAPTA IX

And so it came to pass that Titus did march on Qumran to smite the notorious tribe of Alicians that dwelt there. Since the reputation of the Roman army overfloweth not in action against guerilla bands, Titus rejoiceth in his victory. He surveyeth his prisoners and calleth out in a loud voice, "Which one of you is Alicia?"

"I'm Alicia!" answereth an attractive girl, in a voice of authority.

"No, I'm Alicia!" crieth a second girl.

"I'm Alicia!" insisteth a third.

"Venus and Mars!" saith Titus, "Why do they always do this?"

"It's a Jewish custom, sir," explaineth the Centurion.

Indeed, each girl looketh alike and Alician in appearance.

"Take ye them, Centurion, and crucify the first between the other two!" ordereth Titus.

"Shall I write on each titulus, sir, that she is Alicia, or merely that she saith she is Alicia?" asketh the Centurion.

Titus was beset by confusion. Three adjacent tituli with the same name might appear indecisive.

"Don't bother - they shall die anonymous, stripped of identity (and much else besides)..."

 

[Jollyrei]

"I'm Alicia!" answereth an attractive girl, in a voice of authority.

"No, I'm Alicia!" crieth a second girl.

"I'm Alicia!" insisteth a third.

"Venus and Mars!" saith Titus, "Why do they always do this?"

As long as a suicide squad doesn't come by to rescue them.

 

[morten sigurdson]

Great stories, I like them allThe Roman and Barbarian themes are the best for Crux srories. Of course it"s nice with illustrations. Well done to all of you, writers

 

[Wragg]

IVDAEA CAPTA IX

And so it came to pass that Titus did march on Qumran to smite the notorious tribe of Alicians that dwelt there. Since the reputation of the Roman army overfloweth not in action against guerilla bands, Titus rejoiceth in his victory. He surveyeth his prisoners and calleth out in a loud voice, "Which one of you is Alicia?"

"I'm Alicia!" answereth an attractive girl, in a voice of authority.

"No, I'm Alicia!" crieth a second girl.

"I'm Alicia!" insisteth a third.

"Venus and Mars!" saith Titus, "Why do they always do this?"

"It's a Jewish custom, sir," explaineth the Centurion.

Indeed, each girl looketh alike and Alician in appearance.

"Take ye them, Centurion, and crucify the first between the other two!" ordereth Titus.

"Shall I write on each titulus, sir, that she is Alicia, or merely that she saith she is Alicia?" asketh the Centurion.

Titus was beset by confusion. Three adjacent tituli with the same name might appear indecisive.

"Don't bother - they shall die anonymous, stripped of identity (and much else besides)..."

Bob, that one is simply priceless!

 

[Wragg]

Bob has also reminded me of a story I wrote on Phlebas' Great Pictures thread some years ago.

With Bob's own Alicia pictures still buzzing in my head,



this one, by Gallows Girl Amy:



nearly caused what Apostate would call an overload of my limbic system!

The Final Kiss

It had been a long, hot day out in the fields. Adam was glad to have been the overseer, driving the slaves to gather in the harvest, rather than having to work through the field like the slaves, laborious yard by laborious yard, wielding a heavy sickle. Even so, he’d been on his feet all day under the blazing sun, never able to rest, for the instant his eyes were off them, the slaves would certainly coast to a standstill.

Now, as the sun was sliding down toward the horizon, the entire field had been harvested, the slaves had been returned to their quarters, and he could go back to his Alicia.

He smiled at the thought of her. Beautiful but highly spirited, you never knew what she might get up to next, and the gods knew she’d almost got him into several scrapes with the Roman authorities. She was always on at him to join the rebels, to get shot of these bloody Romans.

But why would he want to do that? He had good, steady employment, a master who he liked and respected; he wasn’t wealthy but his income covered his outgoings, even Alicia’s capricious tastes. He had a beautiful fiancé. Why risk all that? It scared him a bit, when she talked like that. He wished she’d just settle down, marry him, and have his babies. He decided to push her to a decision that very evening. He wanted her more than the whole world. She was his whole world.

He passed the brow of the hill and the city came into view, smoke from hundreds of fires drifting up into the still, evening sky. The familiarity of home.

He grunted as he saw that, yet again, he’d have to pass crosses on the road. They’d been empty when he went out this morning, so the crucified would no doubt still be alive, pleading with him to help him as he went by. He’d do what he always did, and gaze studiously at the ground, ignoring them. That was exactly where he’d end up if he did as Alicia had suggested – the Romans showed no mercy to rebels. Now there were at least six there. Poor devils.

Not looking at them was as far as he dared go in terms of defying the Romans. He knew that the Romans scourged the rebels and nailed them, naked, to crosses precisely so that people like Adam should look at them. Look, and tremble.

So, as he drew close to the city gate, with crosses either side of him, he took a deep and philosophical interest in the little clouds of dust thrown up by his sandals as he trod.

“AAAAA-DAAAAAAAMMMMM!” Her agonised, tortured scream cut into his soul like a serrated sword, tearing at the very core of his being.

“Alicia? Alicia!!! NOOOOOOOO!”

She was barely recognisable. Her body was covered in deep, red-raw welts. Ugly iron spikes transfixed her hands and feet to a couple of wooden beams arranged in the classic Roman crux style. One of the Romans had evidently placed a circlet of thorns on her head, an extra torture reserved just for her, and now her face was as bloodstained as her body. A sign above her head proclaimed her to be a rebel.

“Fucking idiot!” A passing carter swore, forced to swerve as Adam raced across his path to Alicia’s cross.

“Oi! You! Get away from that cross!” roared a roman guard.

“She’s my fiancé, you must let me talk to her!”

“Got any weapons on you?” Adam stood, his own arms raised, as the guard searched him. “Only for a moment, then.” The guard stepped back a pace.

Alicia hung on fully outstretched arms, taking shallow breaths. The effort of calling his name had utterly exhausted her. She gazed at him, tears mingling with the blood on her face.

“Why? Alicia? Why?”

The bloodied body on the next cross stirred. She, too, was female.

“My……fault. She….tried….to….save…..me. She’s…..my……” there was a long pause, before the final word, “sister.”

Adam stared. “Anna? Are you Anna?”

Alicia and Anna both simply nodded.

Then Alicia spoke, barely a whisper. “No…choice…..sorry. Please….Adam?”

“Yes, my darling?”

“One….last…..kiss?”



As gently as he could, he took her battered body into his arms and kissed her. Her breath tasted foetid and foul, but he didn’t care. She returned his kiss, her dry tongue moistening as he caressed it. For long moments they remained like that, Anna and the Roman looking on, and then Alicia gasped, and her head rolled forward onto his shoulder.

“Alicia! Alicia!” He held her head up, but now the eyes that gazed back at him had no sight in them.

The soldier poked her experimentally with his spear. “Come on, mate. The bitch is dead. On your way.”

Something snapped inside Adam’s head, and he launched a furious assault upon the Roman. Adam heard the bone crack in the Roman’s neck, and Adam didn’t care as the Roman slumped to the ground.

He didn’t care when the other Romans seized him.

He didn't care when he was himself condemned to crucifixion.

He didn’t care when they stripped him naked.

He didn’t care when they stretched him out on a cross, he just passively lay there, awaiting his fate. And as the nails smashed into his flesh and bone, his agony was Alicia's agony.

He knew he had to suffer for long and terrible hours, but then he’d be with his Alicia again.

 

[connoisseurs]

Bob has also reminded me of a story I wrote on Phlebas' Great Pictures thread some years ago.

With Bob's own Alicia pictures still buzzing in my head,

View attachment 600298

this one, by Gallows Girl Amy

View attachment 600299

Nearly caused what Apostate would call an overload of my limbic system!

The Final Kiss

It had been a long, hot day out in the fields. Adam was glad to have been the overseer, driving the slaves to gather in the harvest, rather than having to work through the field like the slaves, laborious yard by laborious yard, wielding a heavy sickle. Even so, he’d been on his feet all day under the blazing sun, never able to rest, for the instant his eyes were off them, the slaves would certainly coast to a standstill.

Now, as the sun was sliding down toward the horizon, the entire field had been harvested, the slaves had been returned to their quarters, and he could go back to his Alicia.

He smiled at the thought of her. Beautiful but highly spirited, you never knew what she might get up to next, and the gods knew she’d almost got him into several scrapes with the Roman authorities. She was always on at him to join the rebels, to get shot of these bloody Romans.

But why would he want to do that? He had good, steady employment, a master who he liked and respected; he wasn’t wealthy but his income covered his outgoings, even Alicia’s capricious tastes. He had a beautiful fiancé. Why risk all that? It scared him a bit, when she talked like that. He wished she’d just settle down, marry him, and have his babies. He decided to push her to a decision that very evening. He wanted her more than the whole world. She was his whole world.

He passed the brow of the hill and the city came into view, smoke from hundreds of fires drifting up into the still, evening sky. The familiarity of home.

He grunted as he saw that, yet again, he’d have to pass crosses on the road. They’d been empty when he went out this morning, so the crucified would no doubt still be alive, pleading with him to help him as he went by. He’d do what he always did, and gaze studiously at the ground, ignoring them. That was exactly where he’d end up if he did as Alicia had suggested – the Romans showed no mercy to rebels. Now there were at least six there. Poor devils.

Not looking at them was as far as he dared go in terms of defying the Romans. He knew that the Romans scourged the rebels and nailed them, naked, to crosses precisely so that people like Adam should look at them. Look, and tremble.

So, as he drew close to the city gate, with crosses either side of him, he took a deep and philosophical interest in the little clouds of dust thrown up by his sandals as he trod.

“AAAAA-DAAAAAAAMMMMM!” Her agonised, tortured scream cut into his soul like a serrated sword, tearing at the very core of his being.

“Alicia? Alicia!!! NOOOOOOOO!”

She was barely recognisable. Her body was covered in deep, red-raw welts. Ugly iron spikes transfixed her hands and feet to a couple of wooden beams arranged in the classic Roman crux style. One of the Romans had evidently placed a circlet of thorns on her head, an extra torture reserved just for her, and now her face was as bloodstained as her body. A sign above her head proclaimed her to be a rebel.

“Fucking idiot!” A passing carter swore, forced to swerve as Adam raced across his path to Alicia’s cross.

“Oi! You! Get away from that cross!” roared a roman guard.

“She’s my fiancé, you must let me talk to her!”

“Got any weapons on you?” Adam stood, his own arms raised, as the guard searched him. “Only for a moment, then.” The guard stepped back a pace.

Alicia hung on fully outstretched arms, taking shallow breaths. The effort of calling his name had utterly exhausted her. She gazed at him, tears mingling with the blood on her face.

“Why? Alicia? Why?”

The bloodied body on the next cross stirred. She, too, was female.

“My……fault. She….tried….to….save…..me. She’s…..my……” there was a long pause, before the final word, “sister.”

Adam stared. “Anna? Are you Anna?”

Alicia and Anna both simply nodded.

Then Alicia spoke, barely a whisper. “No…choice…..sorry. Please….Adam?”

“Yes, my darling?”

“One….last…..kiss?”

View attachment 600299

As gently as he could, he took her battered body into his arms and kissed her. Her breath tasted foetid and foul, but he didn’t care. She returned his kiss, her dry tongue moistening as he caressed it. For long moments they remained like that, Anna and the Roman looking on, and then Alicia gasped, and her head rolled forward onto his shoulder.

“Alicia! Alicia!” He held her head up, but now the eyes that gazed back at him had no sight in them.

The soldier poked her experimentally with his spear. “Come on, mate. The bitch is dead. On your way.”

Something snapped inside Adam’s head, and he launched a furious assault upon the Roman. Adam heard the bone crack in the Roman’s neck, and Adam didn’t care as the Roman slumped to the ground.

He didn’t care when the other Romans seized him.

He didn't care when he was himself condemned to crucifixion.

He didn’t care when they stripped him naked.

He didn’t care when they stretched him out on a cross, he just passively lay there, awaiting his fate. And as the nails smashed into his flesh and bone, his agony was Alicia's agony.

He knew he had to suffer for long and terrible hours, but then he’d be with his Alicia again.

Show! Great story. So much told in so few sentences.