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ajremixBecause I haven't been doing much (because i'm lazy) I've decided to get off my ass and put up all my old drabbles that I haven't placed in this journal. This one was inspired by the short story, also called "Dread", from Clive Barker's Books of Blood
Title: Dread
Series: Weiss Kreuz
Rating: Possible R border
Word Count: 1305
Character: Farfarello
Summary: Before he joined Shwartz. Speculation.
He wondered how it all came to be. The barbed wire dribbled the blood free around his wrist. Though he was too tired to see, he could feel the wires wrapped around his body crying the same thick red. He wondered how long he had been up there.
Eight days, maybe? How long could a human survive without food or water? He couldn’t remember. He couldn’t remember much at all.
We believe in one God, the Father, the Almighty, maker of heaven and earth, of all that is seen and unseen. We believe in one Lord, Jesus Christ, the only-begotten Son of the Father, God from God, Light from Light, true God from true God, begotten, not made, one in being with the Father, through him all things were made.
He wasn’t even praying but he could still hear it. He couldn’t even remember how to pray anymore.
He wondered- just as he already knew it wouldn’t happen –if that man would come back and release him. He wondered why no one had gone to look for him. The church was at his feet, at the end of the sprawl of the hill. He knew the striking silhouette he made against the light of the sky, born on the cross. Yet, why didn’t anyone come for him? Why was he alone in his wait for salvation?
For us and for our salvation he came down from heaven; by the power of the Holy Spirit he became incarnate from the virgin Mary, and was made man.
A test, he was told, of his faith. If he believed so strongly in the Lord and the Son, if he truly believed that his soul was saved, then he should have no fear of death because it should not touch him. Not if he were as righteous as he believed.
Eight days. And yet no one had appeared.
For our sake he was crucified under Pontius Pilate; he suffered, died, and was buried. He descended into Hell; on the third day he rose again in accordance with the Scriptures; he ascended into heaven and is seated at the right hand of the Father.
As a child, he was told the Stations of the Cross. He knew them by heart, knew the words of the crucifixion as if the Scripture were burned into his eyelids. He feared it. He feared the condemnation, the betrayal. He feared that he would be forsaken from those he held important just as the Son had been.
For all his faith and his belief, he feared that no one would come to save him.
He will come again in glory to judge the living and the dead, and his kingdom will have no end.
His body itched all over. The dried blood overlaid with fresh blood that dried under the sun, slowly oozing from under the nails on his wrist, the barbed wire that bound his body to the cross, the crown of steel thorns upon his brow. He shifted his legs, flakes of urine that had stopped after the first day floated passed his sun-burnt toes.
We believe in the Holy Spirit, the Lord, the giver of life, who proceeds from the Father and the Son. With the Father and the Son he is worshipped and glorified. He has spoken through the Prophets.
He broke after the third day. Having actually believed that someone would save him, that angel or man would take pity on him and free him, he believed and waited. But each day the fear grew and he knew he was condemned. The moment of the moon’s apex on that fated hour the third day passed to the fourth, he broke. One minute the world was peaceful and quiet and dark. The next there was screaming, crying, threats, pleads. He yelled until he was hoarse, he cried until his ashy cheeks redeemed its fleshy quality. He pulled at his bonds and he only bled more.
He cried and swore and repented. He hated and loved and wished. He broke and broke until every piece of his faith was nothing but fine grain sand.
And still no one came.
We believe in one holy catholic and apostolic Church. We acknowledge one Baptism for the forgiveness of sins.
The ultimate insult to God, he had heard, was to forsake the living heart He had given to man, to close it off to Him. To turn it into a dark, feelless stone, a void to all emotions. He could feel it wither inside of him, just like the rest of his body, just like his faith as he hung and waited and was similarly forsaken.
The emptiness in his heart sucked away all the emotions from his body. And, just as he could feel no joy, he could feel no pain.
We look for the resurrection of the dead, and the life of the world to come.
The only want he had now was release.
Amen
Title: Dread
Series: Weiss Kreuz
Rating: Possible R border
Word Count: 1305
Character: Farfarello
Summary: Before he joined Shwartz. Speculation.
He wondered how it all came to be. The barbed wire dribbled the blood free around his wrist. Though he was too tired to see, he could feel the wires wrapped around his body crying the same thick red. He wondered how long he had been up there.
Eight days, maybe? How long could a human survive without food or water? He couldn’t remember. He couldn’t remember much at all.
We believe in one God, the Father, the Almighty, maker of heaven and earth, of all that is seen and unseen. We believe in one Lord, Jesus Christ, the only-begotten Son of the Father, God from God, Light from Light, true God from true God, begotten, not made, one in being with the Father, through him all things were made.
He wasn’t even praying but he could still hear it. He couldn’t even remember how to pray anymore.
He wondered- just as he already knew it wouldn’t happen –if that man would come back and release him. He wondered why no one had gone to look for him. The church was at his feet, at the end of the sprawl of the hill. He knew the striking silhouette he made against the light of the sky, born on the cross. Yet, why didn’t anyone come for him? Why was he alone in his wait for salvation?
For us and for our salvation he came down from heaven; by the power of the Holy Spirit he became incarnate from the virgin Mary, and was made man.
A test, he was told, of his faith. If he believed so strongly in the Lord and the Son, if he truly believed that his soul was saved, then he should have no fear of death because it should not touch him. Not if he were as righteous as he believed.
Eight days. And yet no one had appeared.
For our sake he was crucified under Pontius Pilate; he suffered, died, and was buried. He descended into Hell; on the third day he rose again in accordance with the Scriptures; he ascended into heaven and is seated at the right hand of the Father.
As a child, he was told the Stations of the Cross. He knew them by heart, knew the words of the crucifixion as if the Scripture were burned into his eyelids. He feared it. He feared the condemnation, the betrayal. He feared that he would be forsaken from those he held important just as the Son had been.
For all his faith and his belief, he feared that no one would come to save him.
He will come again in glory to judge the living and the dead, and his kingdom will have no end.
His body itched all over. The dried blood overlaid with fresh blood that dried under the sun, slowly oozing from under the nails on his wrist, the barbed wire that bound his body to the cross, the crown of steel thorns upon his brow. He shifted his legs, flakes of urine that had stopped after the first day floated passed his sun-burnt toes.
We believe in the Holy Spirit, the Lord, the giver of life, who proceeds from the Father and the Son. With the Father and the Son he is worshipped and glorified. He has spoken through the Prophets.
He broke after the third day. Having actually believed that someone would save him, that angel or man would take pity on him and free him, he believed and waited. But each day the fear grew and he knew he was condemned. The moment of the moon’s apex on that fated hour the third day passed to the fourth, he broke. One minute the world was peaceful and quiet and dark. The next there was screaming, crying, threats, pleads. He yelled until he was hoarse, he cried until his ashy cheeks redeemed its fleshy quality. He pulled at his bonds and he only bled more.
He cried and swore and repented. He hated and loved and wished. He broke and broke until every piece of his faith was nothing but fine grain sand.
And still no one came.
We believe in one holy catholic and apostolic Church. We acknowledge one Baptism for the forgiveness of sins.
The ultimate insult to God, he had heard, was to forsake the living heart He had given to man, to close it off to Him. To turn it into a dark, feelless stone, a void to all emotions. He could feel it wither inside of him, just like the rest of his body, just like his faith as he hung and waited and was similarly forsaken.
The emptiness in his heart sucked away all the emotions from his body. And, just as he could feel no joy, he could feel no pain.
We look for the resurrection of the dead, and the life of the world to come.
The only want he had now was release.
Amen
