The Crucifixion (6/11)

Stranger to brother

14 hours on end

Blameless and pure

Against the tree

Densely braided nylon

Raw against the wrist

A riculet of red

Velvety and viscous 

Metallic stench

From black batons

His profile

Tinged with a greenish-blue

Barely recognisable

Slowly seeping away

And like that

A stranger again

That could have been me pressed against that damp wood, standing in front of my death. What scared me most about dying wasn’t the actual death. I figured I could handle the pain. It wouldn’t be much worse than what I felt now. In fact, maybe at the moment of my death, I would be too weak to feel pain. Death would be a relief. 

What worried me the most was the thought of my family not knowing what happened to me, not knowing whether I was dead or alive. I hated the idea of my brothers and sisters living in false hope. For me, at least, it would be over. For my family, the pain would be constant.