Stories by Crassuswild

[crassuswild]

New cartoon

 

[crassuswild]

New cartoon

 

[crassuswild]

Storm

 

[crassuswild]

Storm

 

[crassuswild]

New cartoon

 

[crassuswild]

Cartoons for a friend’s story that ended in crucifixion

 

[crassuswild]

Cartoons for a friend’s story that ended in crucifixion

 

[hb21]

A story? can you post it here? please.

 

[crassuswild]

A story? can you post it here? please.

Will ask him

 

[crassuswild]

A story? can you post it here? please.

friend wont let me post so will post one of my own

 

[crassuswild]

Man of Son- part 1

1

The working day was almost done, the carpenter started to put his tools away while his adopted son swept the sawdust from the floor, it had been another hot day and they were both disappointed that the night did not promise any release from the humidity that caused them both to sweat from their labours. The heat did not help the fevered atmosphere, the hotheads had been causing trouble again and it was always the ordinary folk that ended up suffering , The Carpenter looked at the table he had been constructing with the Boy, it was good work, the lad had talent he hoped it would not be wasted in the struggles with the invaders.

Suddenly they both jumped as there was a loud bagging at the thick wooden door, the Boy looked up in alarm as the noise exploded through the workshop, sounds of muffled voices and scuffling echoed from outside. The Carpenter put his fingers to his lips indicating silence hoping that whoever it was would think the workshop deserted.

“open up in the name of Rome” comes the stark command from behind the door “we are on the emperors business, open the door or face the consequences”

The burly Carpenter sighed and whispered to the Boy “keep back” before unbolting the door, he eased it open a crack. A Roman officer stood “we have work for you carpenter, let us in” commands the soldier in a measured voice.

“It is late sir, if you have business maybe we can discuss it in the morning, I have to get my son back for his supper”

“This business cannot be delayed carpenter” states the Officer sharply and pushes the door open forcing his way in. A number of soldiers stand behind the officer, dirty and angry, the Carpenter can almost sense the pent-up fury radiating from them and fears how the slightest perceived provocation will explode into violence, he fears for his stepson and in all honesty himself. The invaders are tired and unpredictable, their reactions are always disproportionate and savage right now. He can still hear the sounds of shouted anger in the gathering humid gloom beyond his workshop door.

The Carpenter swallows hard and forces his voice to sound friendly and reasonable, he makes a smile crack across his tight bearded face “how can I be of help sir?”

The sounds of rage get closer and manifest as two sweating soldiers drag a chained man to the door.

The Officer points at their Prisoner “build a cross for that”



2

The Boy stood silent and shaking as he watched events unfold. Awed he watched as the peace of an ordinary, rather boring day had suddenly shattered and become terrifying. The boss soldier was arguing with his stepfather, his stepfather was a powerful man, respected in the community as much for his physical strength from years of manual labour as he was for his skill as a carpenter. To see his stepfather so intimidated made the Boy understand the danger they were in even if he did not really understand all that was happening. The Soldiers, huge brutish men, wanted his stepfather to build them something, a cross, he knew that was a bad thing, it was the sort of things adults would discuss in whispers and would think children could not hear, he also knew it was bad because his stepfather was desperate not to make it.

“Please sir you cannot ask that of me, you cannot ask me to be responsible for the death of this man, i would have blood on my hands…”

The boss soldier was getting more and more angry, one of those really dangerous men who get more quiet when then are raging rather than full of bluster “he has been tried and convicted by my commanding officer and so by Rome and as such you have a duty to aid in the execution of justice… unless you too are a law breaker…” the threat hangs in the stifling air.

The two men continued to argue, all the time the Boy noted that his stepfathers troubled eyes never left the prisoner, it was almost as if the Carpenter was really addressing the chained man not the grim Roman before him. The Boy noticed that the doomed man was never named, instead he was just described “Zealot” “traitor”, “brigand” “bandit” “murderer” each time the boss soldier referred to him the crime got worse as if to get the Carpenter onside through a sense of moral outrage.

The Boy looked at the Prisoner.

The prisoner was a stocky, powerful looking man. It was hard to guess his age, his dark hairy skin was stretched over muscles, but sun and pain aged him. Filthy and sweaty, his limbs dark tanned from a life on the road and living in the hills a contrast to his naked chest pale from where his long worn clothes had be ripped to tattered ribbons around his waist, his curly beard unkept and his black hair matted hung over a high cheeked strong jawed face dried by the sun and lined with anguish. His skin was caked in dirt, and blood. The Prisoner hand chains about his wrists, ankles and neck which kept him stooped and weather from his arrest or later mistreatment he was covered in cuts and grazes, livid bruises were going slowly purple on his arms and face, his lips were swollen and bleeding. Red whip strips welted and bleed on his naked chest from where a whip that had ravaged his back had curled around. The Boy knew that prisoners were normally bad men who had done bad things and hurt people and yet the Boy felt pity for this man you stood cowed and bleeding, half naked and chained while the instrument of his terrible death were argued about, and he was forced to listen. The Boy could sense that this was a strong man, a proud man, and to now be captured and bound by his enemies as an agony more acute than his physical suffering.

The man was a stranger, unusual in a small town, the son of a son of a son who had come from around these parts which is why after his capture he was doomed to die at the gates of Nazareth as an incentive for the provincials to keep the peace. He was exhausted although he admired the moral stand the Carpenter was making, he knew it was only delaying his crucifixion. The fucking Romans wanted him dead and wanted him to die in the most excruciatingly humiliating death possible. He had been a patriot all his life, his dreams of following the messiah in his victory over the romans was over now, it would end on a cross by the road in a nowhere town. Part of him was glad of this interlude as the Carpenter tried to avoid social infamy by constructing the gallows for a fellow Jew, glad he had time to rest, glad he did not have to suffer the agony of the nails right now, glad he still had time to dream of rescue and escape. Part of him wished to get it over with, he knew he was doom and wanted his wretched life ended before his nerve broke, before he became a coward and started to beg and plead to the hated invaders. Even as they had beaten and whipped him as he stumbled along the road in his chains, even as he cried out in pain he had not begged for mercy, the only thing he had left was to remain stoic, to show Roman and Jew alike that he will suffer bravely for his beliefs and maybe inspire others to take courage from him and join the fight. The Prisoner looked at the Boy staring at him in horrified fascination. The Prisoner gave the boy a smile through painful lips and winked.

The Boy felt a thrill of emotions as the chained, ragged, bleeding, nearly naked man, gave him a friendly acknowledgement. He felt partly ashamed that his silent scrutiny had been noticed, this was not just an object before him but a suffering man facing a terrible future. He also felt oddly pleased that this strong looking man, bound but still full of vitality had focused on him and had tried to be kind, had tried to do something to reassure the fearful child. The Boy forced a smile back letting the Prisoner know his effort were not wasted.

The debate between the Officer and the Carpenter was getting angrier and more desperate.

“Take my wood, take it for nothing, have my tools, have anything, just do not involve me or my family in this thing” pleads the Carpenter wiping the sweat from his face.

The Officer was tired now, why did these people have to complicate everything, why did everything have to be so irritating. The Carpenters offer was not unreasonable but the Roman was not feeling reasonable any more, it had become a challenge now, this cowardly scum was going to build the cross now or suffer the consequences, the Officer was not going to back down and its time this filth knew it.

“if you do not obey a direct order from your masters, if you deliberately obstruct Roman justice, if you side with the justly tried and convicted criminal I will have you arrested as a traitor and an accomplice, and you know what that will mean for you… and your family” the Carpenters eyes widen at the direct threat, he is a strong man but he starts to shake slightly from the stress.

The Prisoner smiles again at the Boy who has too started to weep from the anxiety and fear. “Sir” says the Prisoner in Hebrew, his deep voice muffled by split swollen lips and smashed teeth “you have done me the honour of not wanting my blood on your hands, I will not, in turn have your blood, or that of your fine son on mine”

“Shut it pig” snarls a soldier punching the Prisoner hard in the face causing him to stagger back and slump against the wall. his chains clanking. The Prisoner groans in pain, a fresh cut bleeding over his eye. He gasps air into his lungs for a few seconds, his naked torso raising and falling he lets the pain subside.

The Boy stares horrified at the sudden violence and gives a cry of anguish, the Prisoner feels a sudden wave of fury, how can these bastards distress children, worse threaten children like this? But he is determined to remain stoic and swallows his rage, being brave now is all he has, recovered slightly he goes on “They will crucify me anyway, no reason for you to suffer as well”

“I said quiet you fuck” snarls the Soldier giving the prone Prisoner a savage kick. The Prisoner grunts with pain.

Sprawling on the sawdusted ground the Prisoner grunts “build my cross Carpenter, I forgive you, live to raise your boy” The Soldier kicks him again, hard, but the Prisoner has said all he has to, he has remained defiant and dignified and now he just has to keep his composure as he watches his cross being built.

The Carpenter gives the Prisoner a nod of relief and utter gratitude. “I will build a cross” he mutters

The Officer clenches his fists, he has got his way but not though his own intimidation, he glares at the Prisoner who smugly sneers back, “no matter” mutters the Officer “you will be nailed to your victory soon enough”

 

[crassuswild]

Man of Son - part 2

3

The Prisoner watches with haunted eyes as the Carpenter selects the wood that will become his cross, sawing it and wedging it. He tries to imagine himself trapped on it and feels sick, he sees the Carpenter looking in his direction at times, “measuring me up” he mutters resentfully. Seeing the reality of his cross take form gives the Prisoner a thrill of horror, he must be brave he tells himself, nothing else matters now. The Romans can do their worst to my body, but they won’t, must not break my spirt!

He see’s the Boy watching events. A child should not be seeing this, he thinks, then he thinks, no, he should see this, should see what fucking monsters the romans are, he has to learn what cunts the invaders are. He distracts himself from the constructing of the cross by looks at the Boy. His intelligent looking eyes are as round as plates, he is taking in all the details. Suddenly he sees the Boy pick up a jug and bring it over. It is full of water and before the soldiers focused on the cross maker can say anything the Boy holds it to his bloody lips, the Prisoner gulps it down, it is tepid but on this humid night it is the best thing the Prisoner has ever drunk. The Officer turns sharply his face flushes with anger then he seems to force it down “you should not aid the prisoner lad” he says in what he hopes sounds like a reasonable voice.

“he was thirsty” the boy says simply

“yes I do not doubt it” sighs the Officer “but he is a very bad man, a law breaker, he has hurt many people and done much harm, you should not be helping him”

The Prisoner continues to gulp down the water, sensing it will soon end he swallows as quickly as he can, water splashing down onto his dirty chest.

“Why?” asks the Boy taking the now empty jug away from the Prisoner who nods his thanks and tries to smile”

“People who help Rome’s enemies can be considered enemies of Rome themselves” explains the Officer, not unkindly. “He is an enemy of Rome and must be punished for that, you should not give mercy to those who are being given the just reward for their crimes, those that do should be punished” he says, looking at the Carpenter who looks back with worried eyes.

“Is it not stronger to show mercy to a defeated enemy?” asks the Boy

“No it is not!” snarls the Officer with sudden anger “Show weakness to the enemy and he can grow stronger and then defeat you instead. The Law brings peace, the lack of law brings suffering and those who break the law need to be made an example of so others can learn from their folly, those who aid law breakers in turn threaten the peace and should be punished child”

“The Boy did not mean anything…” stutters the Carpenter

“Shut up and get on with your work” snarls the officer cutting him off “if you cannot keep your son disciplined then I will” the Officer makes a fist.

“The Boy was aiding Rome, not me” says the Prisoner moving his chained whipped body between the Officer and the Boy.

“What do you mean?” snarls the Officer intrigued despite his anger.

“You said law breakers must be made an example of so others can learn from their example, in fact are you not going to make me into such a deterrent?”

“You know we are! So what?”

“you are going to… crucify me” says the Prisoner in a hollow voice.

“yes, we are” sneers the Officer cruelly.

“Tell the Boy why you crucify men” the Prisoner looks at the Carpenter who has returned to his cross making now that his stepson is in no immediate danger and swallows hard.

“Slaves and the low born have to know that they must obey the law, so any criminal scum who has threatened the peace we take to a public place, we strip them naked and we nail them to a cross in a position of total powerlessness and humiliation so they can see the futility and shame of challenging the Empire” the Officer enjoys saying these words in front of the Prisoner, who struggles to maintain his composer.

“And just how does the cross scare the slaves and low born?” growls the Prisoner with utter contempt.

“Because its such a slow and agonizing death that even the scum and the plebs will realize its better to obey the law than risk joining the crucified in their horrific death” says the Officer warming to the subject.

“so it can be said that the longer the crucified man is alive and suffering the better it is for Rome as more people can see his torment and learn from his example?” says the Prisoner trying to remain detached despite knowing these horrors will soon be inflicted on him.

“that’s right” smiles the Officer “some can hang from the spikes for days in excruciating agony. Hung up to be ridiculed, tormented by the knowledge that they have been totally beaten by Rome”

“so giving them water instead of being a mercy actually keeps them alive for longer as a living example of Rome’s power. You see the Boy was not helping me, he was helping you, it would be unjust to punish him” says the Prisoner with a hint of triumph in his voice. He winks at the Boy.

The officer glares “very clever, you must try and think of some ingenious remarks as we drive the nails through your wrists”

“I cant guarantee that” says the Prisoner quietly, a hint of fear in his voice.

The workshop has gone quiet.

“it’s finished “says the Carpenter regretfully indicating the cross.

“so it is” shivers the Prisoner



4

Using his chains the Prisoner was soon dragged to his feet.

He gives the boy a sad smile.

The Boy can see the terror behind his eyes.

“I will be brave” the Prisoner tells the Boy.

In his clanking chains the Prisoner hobbles over to the work bench where his cross waits, the soldiers jostle and shove him but he remains stoic. He comes face to face with the shame faced Carpenter.

“Thank you, god be with you” the Carpenter whisper. The Prisoner nods “I will be brave” he repeats it to himself. As the cross is lifted and placed on the Prisoners raw bare back The Boy joins his stepfather who puts a protective arm around him. The Prisoner despite his injuries is a strong man and he soon balances the cross, the soldiers admire his courage as he starts to advance towards the door to the workshop, towns folk wait outside with lit torches roused by all the recent noise.

The prisoner gives the Carpenter and his stepson a last look over his bloody shoulder before dragging the cross out of the workshop and into the streets beyond.

“I will be brave”

The soldiers leave and stepfather and stepson stand in silence.



5

The Boy could not sleep.

The oppressive humidity, events of the evening and sounds of activity in the distance kept him awake. His mind raced over the events of the day again and again, the Prisoners stoic masculinity in the face of terrible death, the Officers reasoning, his own closeness to misfortune at the hands of the Romans had events played out differently robbed him of sleep. He thought about that chain and wounded man, he wondered how he would face such horrors, was that what really disturbed him that night, the thought of having to endure those terrible tortures.

“I will be brave” thought the boy taking inspiration from the doomed Prisoner.

He had not been allowed to follow the crowd, not been allowed to see the Prisoners crucifixion, part of him was pleased, part of him wanted to know, needed to know. He has said this, he was told that there were crucifixions aplenty because of Rome, no need to see one until it can’t be avoided His family slept on the roof, desperate for any air the sticky night could provide. He waited until he was sure they had fallen into a sleep deep enough not to disturb them.

He dressed silently and stepped over the sleeping figures. He clambered down the walls and into the streets silencing a dog with a look. It was not hard to know where to go, the sounds of horrible activity had been echoing through the air all night keeping him awake, he just moved towards the sounds and knew he was going in the right direction as they got louder.

He imagined carrying a cross down these streets like the Prisoner had. He was nervous at being spotted and dragged home to angry parents “I will be brave” he kept to the shadows and was not spotted as he slipped through the streets. He remembered the Prisoners strength and cleverness, his courage in the face of his death, he felt guilty at wanting to see him crucified but his curiosity was too great, he had to know.

The Boy saw the flaming torches and heard the shouts and knew he had arrived as he reached the road that led from the town. “turn back” he told himself “you do not need to know yet, once you see this you cannot unsee it, you will know and you can’t forget... “he stood for a moment then said “I have to know, I will be brave”

So the Boy went to the crucifixion site.

The cross had been erected at the side of the road so all traffic in and out of the town will see Roman justice being literally executed. Flaming torches had been set up, encircling the cross so even late at night all could see the crucified prisoner displayed before them.

The Boy gaped. The flickering torches giving all the detail to him in horrific flickering shifting waves.

The Prisoner hung on the cross.

Crucified.

The Prisoner was naked, they had ripped away his remaining tattered filthy rags and now displayed him completely naked, his circumcised cock bobbing as he writhed. The Boy was shocked to be completely naked in public was a massive humiliation for their people. He had never studied a naked man so closely before in his life he shuddered at the thought of being so degraded. The Prisoners legs and been positioned in a way that it was impossible for the crucified man to hide his shame. He saw the thick metal nails that had been pushed through wooden washers before being driven through his ankles and wrists, thick streams of blood leaked from these excruciating wounds, he could see that the Prisoner was in unbearable agony as his bulky body was affixed to the cross by the piercing spikes, metal grinding on shattered bone and severed nerves, arms stretched to breaking point, muscles looking knotted with cramps. The Prisoner jerked and twisted in a constant and futile attempt to ease his agonizing pain, sweat and blood dripping off him. Worse the Boy realized from the stench and dark stain on the wood that the Prisoner had defecated no doubt to the delighted mockery of the ghouls watching. The prisoner seemed to be having trouble breathing with his arms stretched out and so to gasp in lungful’s of air he hand to stretch his legs, standing on the nails that impaled his ankles to the cross, his face screwed up in abject misery as he tortured himself in an abysmal effort to breath, ribs moving under his filthy skin as he undulated and writhed in torment. A thick nail had been driven between his legs to act as a crude seat and stop him suffocating to quickly, his only support, but a rest that cut and crushed his balls, Rome slowly destroying him as a man.

Worse was the sounds, the Prisoners awful gurgling and groaning, the sounds of a man in appalling anguish. Worse were the words “ p p please take me down” “I cant s s s stand it” “I will do anything” “please, mercy I beg you” “p p p pity please, spare me” “god help me” “kill me, just kill me” “pleeeeeease get me down” “mamma mamma please” or just screamed and awful hopeless wail of desperation



The Boy listened to the desperate begging of the tortured man, he had so wanted to be brave but now in his torment he was completely broken and desperate to escape the cruelty inflicted on him.

The Boy was sad, the last thing the Prisoner had was his courage and even that had been taken from him.

The Boy stood a moment longer taking in the horror before fleeing into the night, back home.

Now he knew.

Now he knew of the reality of crucifixion, the terrible humiliating agony of crucifixion, now he knew, knew what had to be endured and he could never now forget.

 

[hb21]

thanks to post the story

 

[crassuswild]

Man of Son - part 2

3

The Prisoner watches with haunted eyes as the Carpenter selects the wood that will become his cross, sawing it and wedging it. He tries to imagine himself trapped on it and feels sick, he sees the Carpenter looking in his direction at times, “measuring me up” he mutters resentfully. Seeing the reality of his cross take form gives the Prisoner a thrill of horror, he must be brave he tells himself, nothing else matters now. The Romans can do their worst to my body, but they won’t, must not break my spirt!

He see’s the Boy watching events. A child should not be seeing this, he thinks, then he thinks, no, he should see this, should see what fucking monsters the romans are, he has to learn what cunts the invaders are. He distracts himself from the constructing of the cross by looks at the Boy. His intelligent looking eyes are as round as plates, he is taking in all the details. Suddenly he sees the Boy pick up a jug and bring it over. It is full of water and before the soldiers focused on the cross maker can say anything the Boy holds it to his bloody lips, the Prisoner gulps it down, it is tepid but on this humid night it is the best thing the Prisoner has ever drunk. The Officer turns sharply his face flushes with anger then he seems to force it down “you should not aid the prisoner lad” he says in what he hopes sounds like a reasonable voice.

“he was thirsty” the boy says simply

“yes I do not doubt it” sighs the Officer “but he is a very bad man, a law breaker, he has hurt many people and done much harm, you should not be helping him”

The Prisoner continues to gulp down the water, sensing it will soon end he swallows as quickly as he can, water splashing down onto his dirty chest.

“Why?” asks the Boy taking the now empty jug away from the Prisoner who nods his thanks and tries to smile”

“People who help Rome’s enemies can be considered enemies of Rome themselves” explains the Officer, not unkindly. “He is an enemy of Rome and must be punished for that, you should not give mercy to those who are being given the just reward for their crimes, those that do should be punished” he says, looking at the Carpenter who looks back with worried eyes.

“Is it not stronger to show mercy to a defeated enemy?” asks the Boy

“No it is not!” snarls the Officer with sudden anger “Show weakness to the enemy and he can grow stronger and then defeat you instead. The Law brings peace, the lack of law brings suffering and those who break the law need to be made an example of so others can learn from their folly, those who aid law breakers in turn threaten the peace and should be punished child”

“The Boy did not mean anything…” stutters the Carpenter

“Shut up and get on with your work” snarls the officer cutting him off “if you cannot keep your son disciplined then I will” the Officer makes a fist.

“The Boy was aiding Rome, not me” says the Prisoner moving his chained whipped body between the Officer and the Boy.

“What do you mean?” snarls the Officer intrigued despite his anger.

“You said law breakers must be made an example of so others can learn from their example, in fact are you not going to make me into such a deterrent?”

“You know we are! So what?”

“you are going to… crucify me” says the Prisoner in a hollow voice.

“yes, we are” sneers the Officer cruelly.

“Tell the Boy why you crucify men” the Prisoner looks at the Carpenter who has returned to his cross making now that his stepson is in no immediate danger and swallows hard.

“Slaves and the low born have to know that they must obey the law, so any criminal scum who has threatened the peace we take to a public place, we strip them naked and we nail them to a cross in a position of total powerlessness and humiliation so they can see the futility and shame of challenging the Empire” the Officer enjoys saying these words in front of the Prisoner, who struggles to maintain his composer.

“And just how does the cross scare the slaves and low born?” growls the Prisoner with utter contempt.

“Because its such a slow and agonizing death that even the scum and the plebs will realize its better to obey the law than risk joining the crucified in their horrific death” says the Officer warming to the subject.

“so it can be said that the longer the crucified man is alive and suffering the better it is for Rome as more people can see his torment and learn from his example?” says the Prisoner trying to remain detached despite knowing these horrors will soon be inflicted on him.

“that’s right” smiles the Officer “some can hang from the spikes for days in excruciating agony. Hung up to be ridiculed, tormented by the knowledge that they have been totally beaten by Rome”

“so giving them water instead of being a mercy actually keeps them alive for longer as a living example of Rome’s power. You see the Boy was not helping me, he was helping you, it would be unjust to punish him” says the Prisoner with a hint of triumph in his voice. He winks at the Boy.

The officer glares “very clever, you must try and think of some ingenious remarks as we drive the nails through your wrists”

“I cant guarantee that” says the Prisoner quietly, a hint of fear in his voice.

The workshop has gone quiet.

“it’s finished “says the Carpenter regretfully indicating the cross.

“so it is” shivers the Prisoner



4

Using his chains the Prisoner was soon dragged to his feet.

He gives the boy a sad smile.

The Boy can see the terror behind his eyes.

“I will be brave” the Prisoner tells the Boy.

In his clanking chains the Prisoner hobbles over to the work bench where his cross waits, the soldiers jostle and shove him but he remains stoic. He comes face to face with the shame faced Carpenter.

“Thank you, god be with you” the Carpenter whisper. The Prisoner nods “I will be brave” he repeats it to himself. As the cross is lifted and placed on the Prisoners raw bare back The Boy joins his stepfather who puts a protective arm around him. The Prisoner despite his injuries is a strong man and he soon balances the cross, the soldiers admire his courage as he starts to advance towards the door to the workshop, towns folk wait outside with lit torches roused by all the recent noise.

The prisoner gives the Carpenter and his stepson a last look over his bloody shoulder before dragging the cross out of the workshop and into the streets beyond.

“I will be brave”

The soldiers leave and stepfather and stepson stand in silence.



5

The Boy could not sleep.

The oppressive humidity, events of the evening and sounds of activity in the distance kept him awake. His mind raced over the events of the day again and again, the Prisoners stoic masculinity in the face of terrible death, the Officers reasoning, his own closeness to misfortune at the hands of the Romans had events played out differently robbed him of sleep. He thought about that chain and wounded man, he wondered how he would face such horrors, was that what really disturbed him that night, the thought of having to endure those terrible tortures.

“I will be brave” thought the boy taking inspiration from the doomed Prisoner.

He had not been allowed to follow the crowd, not been allowed to see the Prisoners crucifixion, part of him was pleased, part of him wanted to know, needed to know. He has said this, he was told that there were crucifixions aplenty because of Rome, no need to see one until it can’t be avoided His family slept on the roof, desperate for any air the sticky night could provide. He waited until he was sure they had fallen into a sleep deep enough not to disturb them.

He dressed silently and stepped over the sleeping figures. He clambered down the walls and into the streets silencing a dog with a look. It was not hard to know where to go, the sounds of horrible activity had been echoing through the air all night keeping him awake, he just moved towards the sounds and knew he was going in the right direction as they got louder.

He imagined carrying a cross down these streets like the Prisoner had. He was nervous at being spotted and dragged home to angry parents “I will be brave” he kept to the shadows and was not spotted as he slipped through the streets. He remembered the Prisoners strength and cleverness, his courage in the face of his death, he felt guilty at wanting to see him crucified but his curiosity was too great, he had to know.

The Boy saw the flaming torches and heard the shouts and knew he had arrived as he reached the road that led from the town. “turn back” he told himself “you do not need to know yet, once you see this you cannot unsee it, you will know and you can’t forget... “he stood for a moment then said “I have to know, I will be brave”

So the Boy went to the crucifixion site.

The cross had been erected at the side of the road so all traffic in and out of the town will see Roman justice being literally executed. Flaming torches had been set up, encircling the cross so even late at night all could see the crucified prisoner displayed before them.

The Boy gaped. The flickering torches giving all the detail to him in horrific flickering shifting waves.

The Prisoner hung on the cross.

Crucified.

The Prisoner was naked, they had ripped away his remaining tattered filthy rags and now displayed him completely naked, his circumcised cock bobbing as he writhed. The Boy was shocked to be completely naked in public was a massive humiliation for their people. He had never studied a naked man so closely before in his life he shuddered at the thought of being so degraded. The Prisoners legs and been positioned in a way that it was impossible for the crucified man to hide his shame. He saw the thick metal nails that had been pushed through wooden washers before being driven through his ankles and wrists, thick streams of blood leaked from these excruciating wounds, he could see that the Prisoner was in unbearable agony as his bulky body was affixed to the cross by the piercing spikes, metal grinding on shattered bone and severed nerves, arms stretched to breaking point, muscles looking knotted with cramps. The Prisoner jerked and twisted in a constant and futile attempt to ease his agonizing pain, sweat and blood dripping off him. Worse the Boy realized from the stench and dark stain on the wood that the Prisoner had defecated no doubt to the delighted mockery of the ghouls watching. The prisoner seemed to be having trouble breathing with his arms stretched out and so to gasp in lungful’s of air he hand to stretch his legs, standing on the nails that impaled his ankles to the cross, his face screwed up in abject misery as he tortured himself in an abysmal effort to breath, ribs moving under his filthy skin as he undulated and writhed in torment. A thick nail had been driven between his legs to act as a crude seat and stop him suffocating to quickly, his only support, but a rest that cut and crushed his balls, Rome slowly destroying him as a man.

Worse was the sounds, the Prisoners awful gurgling and groaning, the sounds of a man in appalling anguish. Worse were the words “ p p please take me down” “I cant s s s stand it” “I will do anything” “please, mercy I beg you” “p p p pity please, spare me” “god help me” “kill me, just kill me” “pleeeeeease get me down” “mamma mamma please” or just screamed and awful hopeless wail of desperation



The Boy listened to the desperate begging of the tortured man, he had so wanted to be brave but now in his torment he was completely broken and desperate to escape the cruelty inflicted on him.

The Boy was sad, the last thing the Prisoner had was his courage and even that had been taken from him.

The Boy stood a moment longer taking in the horror before fleeing into the night, back home.

Now he knew.

Now he knew of the reality of crucifixion, the terrible humiliating agony of crucifixion, now he knew, knew what had to be endured and he could never now forget.

 

[crassuswild]

Treed

 

[crassuswild]

The long wait

 

[crassuswild]

The long wait

Forum won’t let me post any more cartoons (much to your relief probably )

 

[crassuswild]

Extract from something else i wrote- crucifixion scene - death of Josh

The sun was grey and milky on the pallid landscape; the bare trees were covered in bloody faced crows that shattered the air with their calls their harsh sound mixing with the groans and wails of dying prisoners. After the soldiers had finally entrapped the rebellion the traitors were swiftly dragged half-conscious to the cells, not the slaves though they were considered too unimportant to be questioned or have a show trial and were simply condemned to be executed. The slaves sentence for males was always crucifixion and so the road to Valldrea was now lined with short wooden crosses from which a prisoner was being crucified. Josh writhed in pain and groaned, he was, like all his crucifixion comrades fastened to the wood by thick iron spikes through his wrists and ankles, his body weight hanging from the nails that ground his shattered bones and nerves. He had been separated from the main rebel group with the other slaves and quickly stripped naked and chained. They had been brutally paraded through the streets under the lash before being savagely nailed onto the crosses, that had been the day before and as dawn crawled up he was still alive as were most of the crucified. Josh forced his eyes to open, making the dust matted lashed part, he could see Mench on the next cross, his vast hairy body twisting on the nails that held his bulk to the wood. Anger flooded through Josh, the slaves had battled just as hard as the other rebels, their contribution had been just as great but they were deemed unimportant, did the other freedom fighters do anything to prevent this terrible death being inflicted on the slaves? Josh doubted it. He somehow knew that their story would go on, they would be clever and cunning and live to fight another day, while Josh and his fellow slaves would just die in humiliating torment, stark naked and vulnerable, nailed to a cross, soon to be forgotten. The calls of the crows were mixed with the groans of the dying.

 

[crassuswild]

I walk down the road , it is a hot day , I stick to the shade of the trees the best I can, in the distance I can see something, I get closer and can see what it is , some criminal is being crucified, he has obviously been on his cross some time as there is no crowd watching , just a few curious travellers, a single guard sits under the shade of a tree, bored . I get closer and can now see the man who is roasting in the savage afternoon sun . He looks like a Gaul, he has a strong body which has been obscenely stripped completely naked before he was nailed to the cross, he hangs displayed on the road, an example of Roman justice

I see that the criminal is still alive , he has a powerful looking chest and strong shoulders and his chest heaves up and down as he gasps for air . He has a beautiful smooth head which is now badly sunburned and many days of dark stubble on his chin , he had strong cheekbones and eyes that are intelligent but now bloodshot from pain. He has an attractive dusting of hair on his chest . He has a good body and obviously went to the gymnasium or worked hard in life , now I mused his strong body would only keep him alive and suffering on his cross

I get closer and stand watching him, he is aware of me and he stares at me , his handsome face twisted with pain and despair, he has a large cock I cannot avoid staring at , I know a lot of men disliked being lusted after by their own sex and I wonder if my fascination with his big member distresses him? The sign over his head reads traitor , “it’s a bad day for you my handsome friend “ I say as I watch him struggle on the thick metal spikes that have been driven to though his living flesh and into the wood of the cross

Normally a beautiful man like this would be beyond me , but here he is defenceless. I look at the soldier who just shrugs , I stand close to the low cross and touch his sunburned chest, he flinched from my fingers but that only causes him pain, then I glide my hand down his flat belly to his thick cock , if he does not like another man touching his penis he is powerless to stop me

His cock is thick and sunburned , I feel the weight of it in my hand then squeeze it gently, the handsome Gaul says nothing but only gasps “oh what a waste “ I sigh “ I would loved to have sucked this and caressed that beautiful body

Then I let go and stand back , I want to go to the cool of the city , so I leave, leaving the handsome criminal to his slow , agonising death .

 

[crassuswild]

If he was a king, a priest or a rebel it did not matter. They still nailed him to the wood.
The people of the future represent crucifixion as such a reserved affair. On an unreal hill were people stand around calmly, shouting polite insults, while the clean and quiet crucified stand looking bored in there dignified loincloths and equally dignified expressions, Two thieves neatly roped to crosses, arms over the cross beam and resigned expressions on their faces while sad music plays in the background.
The truth was so very different. Our deaths were filthy and squalid; there was nothing romantic or dignified about them. The crowds that attended executions were always vile. The mobs became monsters fueled by bloodlust, the hatred for the preacher made them even worse. There was no calm calling out of well-constructed politely spoken jibes but a constant barrage of hate filled invective. It never ended, a constant stream of foul mouthed insults fueled from base desire to make the suffering of tortured men even worse. Stones and worse would be thrown and the soldiers would only intervene if they thought we risked being struck and knocked out into blessed insensibility. We crucified were all outsiders to the city in our various ways but we all recognized people looking at our torture, we all had enemies in that crowd, we were all displayed before that crowd, totally naked and totally defenseless. They mocked our shameful nakedness and we were powerless to prevent them from doing so. Nor could we escape their insults, you can close your eyes but you cannot close your ears. We were being humiliated before that mob and the mob fed off that humiliation. Each wail, each groan of pain fed their hatred. It was worse when one of us had to pass urine or fouled ourselves. The screams of abuse would intensify as would the mocking laughter. To a proud man like me the laughter was the worst. For a proud man being forced to do what nature intended in full view of others from a Roman cross was so degrading it was a torture in itself.
It was also total agony without any relief, the pain of the nails was constant and endless barrage of excruciating pain as our body weights pull down onto metal that ground on nerves and bone. It was impossible to be the calm, still and passive victims that art would insist we were. It was impossible to keep still; we jerked and twitched like landed fish on a river bank. The pain made our bodies try to escape the agony, the powerful instinct just to get away was all consuming, our arms constantly jerked as they involuntarily tried to escape the nails that caused us such pain. Our legs held in such a bent and unnatural position always wanted to stand and place our feet on the land so tantalizingly close to us. The desire just to stand like normal men was so strong and our pain confused minds sometimes forgot that we could not just put our feet on the earth and support our tortured bodies. Our muscles cramped causing new agonies, they gnawed at us, deep bites of pain that caused our impaled limbs to contract and pull on the grinding spikes, it was constant and without relief, the desire to rub and sooth cramped muscles remained and the inability to do so because we were pinned to Roman wood was a humiliating frustration. We were also three men crucified that day, men with the sensitivities of all men and the wooden supports between our legs crushed into our manhood’s and so we would shift and squirm despite all the other agonies to try and protect that which made us men. Despite the pain we knew we would cause ourselves we could not overcome the desire to be rid of the flies that buzzed and crawled on us, we would shake our heads from time to time and swarms of insects would rise up only to settle again. There was also the more insidious movement. We crucified soon found it was hard to breathe on the cross. It was easy to breathe in but for some reason hard to breathe out. The air would sit in our chests burning our lungs; we would all hang our heads back, mouths wide open panting hard trying to expel the lodged breaths, shaking uncontrollably as our bodies demanded fresh air. We each in turn learned the terrible secret that only by rising up and pushing forward could we breathe normally. So we would wait until the burning in our chest became unbearable and then we would have to get the courage to stand, to take the pressure from our chests, to breath. The agony was worse than anything anyone can endure as we force our muscles to work, force ourselves to stand on the metal spikes that have been driven into the wood, we stand on bone and nerves while at the same time we bend our arms with terrible effects on the nails that have been rammed through our wrists. We rise up from the sediles giving relief to our crushed gentiles, our whipped backs scrape on the rough wood of the stipe and then we have to thrust our bodies forward to defy the desire to sink right back down. Then we stand in utter agony as our chests rise and fall, sucking in the hot air, our legs starting to shake from effort, pain and cramp. If we have anything to say this is when we say it. The preacher makes his pronouncements, Dismas shouts for his daughter. I try to insult back those who insult me. That does not last long, as the hours grind by we don’t talk much, we just breath. Who would have thought breathing such a natural thing would become such a challenge? At the start of the crucifixion we would try and lower ourselves down when we tired, trying to prevent too much shock to our wrists and manhood’s as he sank down again and we made contact with the sedile and hung once again from our bloody arms. As we become more exhausted we just collapse down in agony until breathlessness forces us to repeat this grim dance. Sometimes I would try not to lift up, not to stand and cause myself more pain, just to die and escape the pain but the primitive desire to breathe becomes so strong that I soon find myself enduring the horrific see sawing yet again in the endless cycle of agony.
What was worse was that I had to endure all of this, I suffered all of this and I was not even the important one, the middle cross was the focus of the attention. The middle cross was what matters and I guess still does. Dismas and me suffered just as much. We hurt so bad but we no longer mattered. All the hatred, all the attention was focused on the middle cross. Even if it had been Barabbas crucified that day I doubt he would have commanded as much attention.
That’s why I did what I did.
I was a wretched, naked, dying, scared and yes jealous little man and that’s why I shouted what I did.
I was trying to breathe again. I knew the agony I would inflict onto myself but I had to do it, had to breathe again, so as I was standing, putting all of my weight on my impaled ankles, raising up off the filthy wood between my legs, rotating my wrists on the nails driven through them and being terrified that the only way I would escape this would be death. Despite my pain I was scared to die. That’s why men fight to live on the cross. They are scared of something worse and I was so very scared of death. As the excruciating agony exploded through me, as I forced myself up by flexing cramped and sunburned legs. As I was heaving in deep breaths of fly filled air. As I stood upon the thin spikes of iron and all of my weight rested on ground nerves and shattered bones and as I suffered all of these tortures I had the burning realization that the interloper next to me was the one the people really cared about I exploded with terror, frustration and resentment.
IF YOU’RE WHO THEY SAY YOU ARE? WHY DON’T YOU SAVE YOURSELF HUH? AND US?
Through the noise of the mocking crowd, through his own pain I did not really even know if he had heard me. Did Dismas rebuke me? I think so, it was hard to tell through my own wail of pain as my legs gave out and I slammed down on the nails.
With those words I became the Bad Thief.
Was it really that bad? I was not an icon, I was not a figure always on the edge of a painting. I was a real man suffering real pain, feeling real emotions and facing a real death.
The Bad Thief was a real man.