The Road (first story!)

I figured I'd start this new blog with something I know I'm good at: short prose.

I wrote this when I was 16 or 17. I wrote A LOT in high school. I found it very easy to write when I was emotionally distraught and I definitely made sure I was sufficiently distraught for those 4 years. I want to get back to writing like this, so here goes!!

by Kristen Schinsky

The whir in my mind finally went blank.

It all fell away and I stood facing Him, a distance away. Tears rolled down my cheeks and I hung my head, ashamed; I had hurt Him.
I took off running for Him, never stumbling, never averting my gaze. He opened His arms. I fell at his feet. I wrapped myself around Him, burying my face in His shoulder, and sobbed wildly.
Warm, strong hands suddenly cradled my face. His thumbs wiped away the stinging tears. All I could do was cough and sputter, poorly managing an apology. Over and over I said the words because it seemed as though no language that may be within me could tell Him how sorry I was. The cries came from a place so deep I had never felt it move before. But now it wept. It heaved and groaned and tried to purge itself with intent and energy that I had no idea I possessed.
Then He spoke.
He spoke to me as to an infant and held me in His arms as though I might break. He brushed my tear-soaked, tangled hair out of my face and spoke straight into my eyes. I could feel Him heal me from the inside out. As the pieces were slowly put back into place, I started to drift off, feeling full and whole. He spoke, I listened. His heartbeat was my steadylullaby.
And suddenly I was dropped onto the cold, hard ground.
Jolted awake, I looked around in confusion. Had He left me? Why would He just let go of me?
Then I saw.
Burly men with long swords had pulled Him away from me. I cried and ran after them, wanting my Comforter back. Through crowds of people, past homes, over hot streets, they led Him. People lined the roads, yelling and throwing things at Him. Every one of them cursed me for following Him. I could not get past His attendants, but I called and called to Him.
“You can stop them!” I shouted. “Make them stop!”
He made no attempts to halt His captors, but instead turned to me and sadly smiled. Such a smile I had never seen before and would never see again. This smile held oceans of compassion, waves of love. Subtle though it was, this smile could heal anyone sick or stop an enemy’s cavalry mid-charge. It was light, faith, assurance, and strength. It was joy, purity, peace, and hope.
They had reached their destination and an angry mob pulsed behind me. They jeered and mocked Him, and yet He remained silent. His guards felled Him violently and manacled Him to a stump.
The leather flew through the air, making sickening sounds upon meeting with His back, legs, and sides. Chunks of His skin and muscle tore away from His bones. Blood flew. A man in purple counted out loud, the numbers getting higher and higher, the whip singing its hollow song of irreverence at each new number.
They took the shackles off. No man, I thought, could have survived that. But He fell to the ground panting. His tear-filled eyes caught my own as he turned His head.
The depth and breadth of what His eyes said and meant could in no way be measured. I was too shocked to cry, but not too removed to empty the contents of my stomach onto the dirt in front of me.
When I had regained some semblance of composure and looked up, they were taking Him away again. The crowd continued to shriek behind me, obviously overjoyed at His impending mortality. I turned and yelled at them, screaming through my sobs, cursing their heartlessness. Not a single person acknowledged me.
Finally we were on a hill. The huge men threw Him onto a wooden plank. His back arched off the beam and He groaned in agony. This drove the crowd into a frenzy. One man at each weakened arm and his shoulders were promptly removed from their sockets. Blood trickled through the dirt next to me, and the front of my clothing was soaked through with my own tears and sweat. I had no voice left and still I yelled.
The men raised hammers, and spikes clinked and crunched and drove their way through His hands and feet. They stood Him up. The post He was on fell into a hole in the ground to keep it erect. It jolted Him and plainly racked His entire being with unbearable pain. His head lolled and He bled. From the ground they mocked Him, and the crowd behind me, though now lesser in number, continued to jeer.
I could hear His rocky, labored breathing and when He surrendered His spirit, it all became too much to bear. I lost consciousness.
A soft light woke me.
Clothed in gleaming, victorious white, He stood before me. He smiled again, assuaging fear, doubt, and unrest within me. We stood together on a long, narrow path. I looked all around me; I saw nothing but Him and the road—stretching itself out interminably in both directions.
He held out a pierced hand. He looked in my eyes, turned a moment to gaze up the road, and then returned his focus to me.
Wounded hand still outstretched He told me, “My beloved, come. Follow Me.”