“Please… Mister… call an ambulance. Don’t let me die, please. I’m not who you want,” the prisoner managed to say, his eyes rolling blindly. The centurion stabbed his lance into the man’s side. He convulsed, and died. More blood flowed out of the wound. Just blood, not blood and holy water, as it should have been.
“You are not the one I wanted.” Disappointment was thick in the centurion’s voice, and he cast his eyes down. This one had felt right, so much more than the others. The look of him, his peaceful manner. A man of serenity. A lamb. But he was not right. Tears fell from the centurion’s eyes. He took off the heavy helmet and walked to his truck, heavy-hearted, to retrieve the gear to dismember and bury the corpse. His search was not over yet. But he knew he would find the savior eventually. He had seen it in his dreams.
Comments (0)
See all