huge black looming walls line the path to an unknown destination of darkness. those on the path are cloaked in black, mourning the loss of earthly lives. they march on so close together that it remains almost impossible to distinguish bodies from one another. all faces pointed to the seemingly inevitable destination. starkly, separately, stands the soldier. his face following the footsteps of his prisoners. only one soldier necessary to commit such acts, to facilitate such pain. his body as stiff as a starched white collared shirt rules over the hunched, crumpled mob. a gun slung over his left shoulder, he dictates the blurred movement. his right arm stretches out reaching his final victim—the only white figure—dragging him to this ultimate doom. a pair of haunting black-smudged eyes boar into you, deeper than any spear or bullet could go. for these eyes speak knowingly of his fate: suffering. his body is ripped off thecross where all mankind proudly displayed him. the nails remain jutting out from those forcibly hammered in holes. but the soldier faces forward, Jesus too must come and die once again.
(inspired by Moshe Hoffman’s Six Million and One)
