Short Stories

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Tears coursed down my cheeks. How could they have done this to him?
My eyes were continually drawn to his frame hung upon that cross.
The pain and suffering I knew he must be going through.
The way those soldiers had gambled over his clothes as if he were a common criminal. The cruel taunts from those near him even at this late stage.
I felt as if I too had died that day. All that was good seemed to have left my world.
I felt abandoned, alone and frightened.

Early next morning before the day had begun I scrambled out of bed and set upon my sad task.
I gathered together all the things I would need to attend to his final need.
It was cold and the air stung my cheeks as I hurried along the path toward the burial tombs.
I knew that he had been given an expensive tomb. Someone who had loved him had seen to that. This would be the last task I could preform for him and I wanted to have plenty of time for it.
I was prepared to stand my ground if need be, with the soldiers who even now guarded his tomb.
So afraid of him even in death were those who had done this terrible deed.

As I walked up the hill towards the place where he lay I could see the opening exposed. The rock that was surposed to cover the doorway was removed.
I had thought I would have to talk the guards into helping me roll it away, not so.
My heart experienced a strange heaviness.
Slowly I entered casting my eyes in many directions at once.
Where was he? Who had taken him? What had happened here?
I started to cry as all the pain of the last 24 hours welled up inside me.
Bad enough that they had killed him but now to have stolen his body.
As I left the darkened tomb my head hung low,eyes unseeing ,downcast.
Suddenly I came upon a stranger.
I did not recognise this person.
Maybe he knew where they had taken him.
Maybe he had seen them or even done it himself.
“Woman,” he said “Why are you crying? Who is it you are looing for?”
I thought maybe he was the gardener and said to him
“Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you have put him, and I will go and get him.”
Then he spoke to me in that familiar voice.
“Mary” he said. I turned to look at him my heart hammering in my chest.
“Rabboni” I cried. I wanted to fling myself at him so great was my joy and amazement.
Then he spoke again. “Do not hold on to me, for I have not yet returned to the father. Go instead to my brothers and tell them, I am returning to my father and your father, to my god and your god.”
And so I returned to the meeting place where all his disciples gathered
“I have seen the lord.” I cried to one and all.
They asked many questions and in a daze of sorts I recounted all that my lord had said.
Who would have thought on such a day that I could have had my tears of sorrow replaced with joy with three simple words “HE IS ALIVE”.

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