The sun is high in the sky, casting blazing rays upon my old, tired body, as I trudge up the mountainside, hefting a massive bundle of sticks, which I balance precariously on my shoulders. It is a path I have trod these many years that my life has continued in order to reach the nearest town from my humble mountain retreat that I might sell them and procure the meager provisions I need.
My whole body is aching and on fire, as I climb up the steep pathway for a seeming eternity, until I finally make it to the top of the path, which cuts around the middle of the mountain and levels off. This is where my trek gets easier and the strain on my legs is not so great. My muscles rejoice in the ensuing elation and I celebrate on the inside as well.
My steps are slow and deliberate, which is why I'm so perplexed by the stone that seems to appear out of nowhere, which I strike my foot against and causes me to stumble forward. My body careens dangerously close to the edge of the cliff and I struggle to keep from falling, which includes jettisoning my burden, but it's all for naught. I fall forward, over the edge and down into the ravine below.
I hit the rocky floor full force and ruin my body to the point that only my head can move, but not without considerable pain. All I can do is wait for the end. The sun is till high in the sky and I find myself wishing that it was setting as a proper tribute to the ending of my miserable and ultimately, meaningless life.
That's when a shadow falls across me and I strain to identify it. My eyes open wide, I simply can't believe what I'm seeing. All around me is a small mass of people, whom I'd known before, but not for a long time. Those once counted as friends and estranged from my person for so long are who I behold all around my grave.
They stand over my person, looking down upon me, with accusing eyes. I sink inside myself, as I look for shelter, but it is no use, they know that I am weak and this is the long awaited hour to strike. They point directly at me, accompanied by an unwavering gaze. All of them silent, except one. He steps forward and I immediately recognize him, a man near and dear to me, from a lifetime ago.
"Who are you?!" he demands, a fire burning in his eyes and a finger pointed at me in accusation. "You were to be our one saving grace. Now look at you, decayed and decrepit. You are barely a shadow of the man you used to be." There is a long period of silence, but he won't let it last. "What have you to say for yourself?!"
"I am the man..." I respond, summoning what little strength is left to me. "I have always been."
"You lie!" he snaps back and shakes his finger. "To yourself, or to us, but still a lie!" He draws back. "You are not fit to share the same flesh. What happened to your promises? You were going to usher in a new era."
I stare directly at his unwavering gaze. "I did," I shoot back, coldly.
"You did?!" the speaker blurts as he reels slightly. "And what era is that? The greedy, self-deprecating pig of men era? For that is surely what you brought about. Is this what you are proud of? Can you truly claim this thing as your own beloved son?"
I take a deep breath. "My son was indeed born of my loins," I start in and take a swallow of air. "And I presented him to you so that all may enjoy him for what he is, but he was not what you wanted him to be. You thought to behold a divine miracle that would announce itself with the crumbling of mountains and clashing of the sky, but in your delusion you missed the true miracle." Another swallow to moisten my throat. "You were just as blind as your ancestors who nailed all of the wise men up and only later repented of their deed," I continue with a voice far stronger then I thought I possessed. "But I ask you, can not the repentance come before the deed? Must there always be blood before care is given?"
"Blood?! What blood?!" the speaker nearly spits and clutches their hand into a fist. "You shed no blood, though it was asked of you. Had you but remained steadfast and true, the people would have answered the call and risen up. Instead, you grew squeamish and left the sacrificial altar clean. I say to you, I despise such folly, openly. You are a coward and should be denounced openly as one."
"A coward was I?" I interject, as best as my ruined body will allow. "And did I alone suffer this title?"
He is silent, though his eyes remain on fire.
"Then answer me this," I carry on, trying to move my head forward. "When my neck shirked the headsman's ax why did yours not take it's place?"
"It was not my destiny," the speaker offers in rebuttal and takes a step back. "I wish it were, but it was not. It was left to a spineless coward such as yourself, but had it been different, had the lots fallen in a different succession, I would then have shown you bravery."
"Bravery is often found in those who sit in the back," I challenge before driving to the heart of the matter with steady eyes. "I was chosen? By whom?"
"By the people who were so fond of you," he fires back and finds the strength to take back the step given.
"So, my appointment was merely a popularity contest?" I inquire with all sincerity and cough up a bit of blood and sputum.
"In a manner of speaking," he admits as he starts back, as if wounded, but soon rallies. "My death would not have stirred such sympathy, as even a shedding of a single drop of your blood, but you were too stingy for that."
"And for good reason," I rebut simply while trying to keep my eyes from glazing over.
"What, pray tell, would that be?" my accuser levels at me with words that are far too cold to have come from the furnace of his mouth.
"A common played verse in the song of all men," I continue my lecture and fight against my stiffening body. "That this time it would be different. That unlike all other events that transpired this would change everything, but do you not see that it would have changed nothing. Power will never change the world, nor the sword. The only thing that can hope to change anything, is the desire of all men collected, but such a feat, even the gods have not wrought. We are all of us, the same in body," I carry on, without allowing even a moment for the opposition to strike back. "But our minds could be no more different than if they were cut from a different cloth. No two of us think alike, no matter how closely we may make it be. We will always be apart, but only because we wish it to be this way."
"You confuse the issue," he attacks my defense and casts his burning eyes upon me.
"Do I?" I return while trying to remain as sympathetic as my locking muscles will allow.
"You do," he insists and takes another step forward. "I did not ask for all men to beat their swords into plowshares. I simply desired a better lot for our kin, as it is our birthright."
"Our birthright?" the words fall from my lips which I have some difficulty with, but manage all the same. "The one placed down to us through the old words?"
"Do you mean to say that you have not only turned your back upon us, but upon your own gods?" he speaks incredulously and I see a look of shock overcome him. "Then you are worse than a coward, for even a coward has scruples."
There is now only silence for my ears have ceased functioning. But it matters not, for there are no words left. They have all been said.
I know then, what I had known all along, but had ignored all the same. There's no reasoning with the demons that haunt me. They're born of guilt, fear and hatred. Representatives of my own self and they would not be silent. I know what I set out to do and how far I came from accomplishing that goal and it seems that even to the grave I will question the reasoning for my failure.
Perhaps I feel it my burden to hear them even unto the dust. Though I must confess at least a slight desire to have them silent for even a moment and then a moment more. A respite from these accusations is what I long for. Is that not what I at least am owed for my conviction? I, who was at one time a would-be messiah.