darkside99
Magistrate
I have been in this cell for days now, waiting, hoping against hope that I will be released - It does sometimes happen, sometimes the Emperor shows mercy.......
I have been convicted of counterfeiting roman coins along with old Mordechai, it was his idea, he had the furnace and the melting pot , the dies and the stamps , all I had done was sell the coins on to a few market traders at half their face value.
That's not a bad crime, not really, I never hurt anyone.
The Romans hate Christians though, so they probably won't want to let me go, sometimes they like to make an example of us, humilating us in front of the crowds of people, that's why they tear the clothes from our bodies and leave us exposed and helpless, to show the might of the Roman Empire.
I hope I will be pardoned soon , maybe someone will have gone to the Emperor to ask him to forgive me, such things can happen - I don't want to die....
Oh god, I can hear the key turning in the lock, two Roman Centurions are approaching, they look very serious - Come with us! they command, with an air of authority, I don't know what is going to happen, they are leading me by my hands into a nearby cell.
They push me roughly against the wall, smiling to themselves, one of them grabs at my white tunic and the sound of tearing cloth fills the air.
They cast the top half of my robe aside and then take my hands again, guiding me out to a prison yard, where I see a short upright post covered with a silken sheet.
The guards command me to kneel before it and roughly grab my hands tying my wrists to the post.
Then, still with the same twisted smiles on their faces the start to whip my bare back, every stroke cutting into my delicate skin.
I try to gasp for breath as the strokes rain down on my back, I am unable to scream as each time the pain surges through my body, the next lash lands upon my quivering body.
On and on it goes, I fall to my knees, desperate for the burning pain to end.
Eventually the flogging subsides and I begin to wonder if that will be my punishment, maybe they will take me back to my cell now, or release me.
Just at that moment one of the guards picks something up from the floor - I am too tired now to think what it is - But with a hollow laugh the guard forces a sharp ring of thorns over my head the agonising pain cuts through my forehead like a hot knife - I crown the Queen of the Counterfeiters, the guard declares, laughing again at his own joke.
I am helpless, I can only do as I am told - the guards point in the direction of a wooden cross and tell me to carry it.
I can't beleive how heavy it is, I can barely pick it up. I struggle to lift the cross and try to carry it - Faster bitch ! the guard says - and starts whipping me - I try as hard as I can, but I'm not strong enough to carry it - The cruel guard carries on flogging me and I drop to my knees, exhausted .
Not satisfied the Roman bastard continues to whip me, all I can do is flinch to avoid the sting of the cruel leather.
They seem to be guiding me with the cross - to the place of execution, oh god, I can't go on any more.
The soldiers sit me down while they position the cross, what will happen to me ? - I just wish I was dead .
Both the men approach me and each takes arm and forcibly drag me to the cross. I am too weak to fight and they expertly stretch out my arms upon the wooden beam.
I am about to be crucified.
I scream as the long nail is driven through my wrist - the searing, aching pain, shoots through my body, making my heart race.
Then within seconds, the second nail is driven home with the full force of the hammer - I grit my teeth, knowing that my feet will be next.
The brutal guards grab my legs an place one foot on top of the other, then pressing down, nail them both to the cross with a single nail - Arghhhhhhhhhh.
I am being crucified .
I am in a maelstrom of pain as the guards begin to raise the cross. I struggle for breath as my topless, half naked body begins to slide down the cross- The crown of thorns which these men so cruelly placed upon my head begins to slip down, causing the thorns to tear painfully into my eyes , blood running relentlessly , mixing with the sweat on my brow - stinging my eyes.
I realise I can't breathe and force myself upwards - pushing up, the nail in my feet is burning me. My ankles are on fire as I fight for breath.
I have been convicted of counterfeiting roman coins along with old Mordechai, it was his idea, he had the furnace and the melting pot , the dies and the stamps , all I had done was sell the coins on to a few market traders at half their face value.
That's not a bad crime, not really, I never hurt anyone.
The Romans hate Christians though, so they probably won't want to let me go, sometimes they like to make an example of us, humilating us in front of the crowds of people, that's why they tear the clothes from our bodies and leave us exposed and helpless, to show the might of the Roman Empire.
I hope I will be pardoned soon , maybe someone will have gone to the Emperor to ask him to forgive me, such things can happen - I don't want to die....
Oh god, I can hear the key turning in the lock, two Roman Centurions are approaching, they look very serious - Come with us! they command, with an air of authority, I don't know what is going to happen, they are leading me by my hands into a nearby cell.
They push me roughly against the wall, smiling to themselves, one of them grabs at my white tunic and the sound of tearing cloth fills the air.
They cast the top half of my robe aside and then take my hands again, guiding me out to a prison yard, where I see a short upright post covered with a silken sheet.
The guards command me to kneel before it and roughly grab my hands tying my wrists to the post.
Then, still with the same twisted smiles on their faces the start to whip my bare back, every stroke cutting into my delicate skin.
I try to gasp for breath as the strokes rain down on my back, I am unable to scream as each time the pain surges through my body, the next lash lands upon my quivering body.
On and on it goes, I fall to my knees, desperate for the burning pain to end.
Eventually the flogging subsides and I begin to wonder if that will be my punishment, maybe they will take me back to my cell now, or release me.
Just at that moment one of the guards picks something up from the floor - I am too tired now to think what it is - But with a hollow laugh the guard forces a sharp ring of thorns over my head the agonising pain cuts through my forehead like a hot knife - I crown the Queen of the Counterfeiters, the guard declares, laughing again at his own joke.
I am helpless, I can only do as I am told - the guards point in the direction of a wooden cross and tell me to carry it.
I can't beleive how heavy it is, I can barely pick it up. I struggle to lift the cross and try to carry it - Faster bitch ! the guard says - and starts whipping me - I try as hard as I can, but I'm not strong enough to carry it - The cruel guard carries on flogging me and I drop to my knees, exhausted .
Not satisfied the Roman bastard continues to whip me, all I can do is flinch to avoid the sting of the cruel leather.
They seem to be guiding me with the cross - to the place of execution, oh god, I can't go on any more.
The soldiers sit me down while they position the cross, what will happen to me ? - I just wish I was dead .
Both the men approach me and each takes arm and forcibly drag me to the cross. I am too weak to fight and they expertly stretch out my arms upon the wooden beam.
I am about to be crucified.
I scream as the long nail is driven through my wrist - the searing, aching pain, shoots through my body, making my heart race.
Then within seconds, the second nail is driven home with the full force of the hammer - I grit my teeth, knowing that my feet will be next.
The brutal guards grab my legs an place one foot on top of the other, then pressing down, nail them both to the cross with a single nail - Arghhhhhhhhhh.
I am being crucified .
I am in a maelstrom of pain as the guards begin to raise the cross. I struggle for breath as my topless, half naked body begins to slide down the cross- The crown of thorns which these men so cruelly placed upon my head begins to slip down, causing the thorns to tear painfully into my eyes , blood running relentlessly , mixing with the sweat on my brow - stinging my eyes.
I realise I can't breathe and force myself upwards - pushing up, the nail in my feet is burning me. My ankles are on fire as I fight for breath.
too much?
