Home Read What's New Join
My Account Login

Read Our Devotional             2016 Opportunities to be Published             Detailed Navigation

The HOME for Christian writers! The Home for Christian Writers!
The Official Writing Challenge



how it works
submission rules
guidelines for
choosing a level


submit your entry
read current entries
read past entries
challenge winners

Our Daily Devotional HERE
Place it on your site or
receive it daily by email.



how it works   Submit

Previous Challenge Entry (Level 3 – Advanced)
Topic: Sellout (05/26/11)

TITLE: My Last Kiss
By Theresa Santy


It is my hope that this story will be heard by at least one friend who is in danger of following the same cruel path which led me here. For if I believe at least one pathfinder can be spared the immediate cliff from which I fell, there will be enough meaning to conquer the darkness from which I now suffer.

I know not how I got to this place, this black weariness of soul, but if this chronicle is to be of any use I must confess that I am a thief. I have always had a gift for reading people, and for knowing their thoughts and wants and needs. I exploited this advantage. I gained trust and I stole it. I gained respect and I stole it. I gained love and I stole that too.

When the Teacher chose me and asked if I would give up my life to follow him I did not hesitate. I knew it would be a great opportunity, for me and the boundless riches I could attain. I was soon put in charge of the treasury. I was quick to abuse this power. I feigned concern for the well being of mankind. I boasted my work in helping those in need, while I stole from the purses of those very men.

There; I’ve made my confession. I am a thief. Still, I haven’t a clue how I made the leap from thief to the shell of a man whose soul has been bought by the devil. Perhaps it was because I had not known the difference between a thief and a sellout. I do now. While I was still a thief I was a tragic mess but there was still a chance I could change, a chance I could be saved, from the devil, and from myself. There was still hope.

I weep when I think of the many chances given to me by the Teacher. I passed on every chance, only to find the Teacher giving me another one. It is unfortunate that I would not see all those chances passed, until I saw my very last one, the one I sealed with a kiss. I’ll never forget those words spoken by the Teacher, “So this is how you betray me, with a kiss?” Oh, and that dreadful olive skinned brow the Teacher raised against me. He was not angry. He was not condemning or cruel. He was sad. His eyes which cried without tears haunt me this very moment, those eyes which asked in silence, “Do you still not know?”

The truth is I did not know. I never knew for I could never understand the Teacher’s mystical double-talk he called preaching. I thought it all gibberish. I did not know—until that fateful day. Three seconds after the kiss, I knew. The Teacher was who He said He was. He always had been and always will be. The Teacher is the Way, the Life, and the Truth. The Teacher is my Lord and Savior. It was so simple I don’t know how I could not grasp it before. Perhaps if I had stopped thinking of myself for one moment, I would have understood. By the time I finally got it, the guards were dragging the Lord away. It was too late. I froze to keep the thirty pieces of silver from jingling inside my pouch and exposing my shame. But my shame had already been revealed.

I tried to repurchase my soul. I returned the money and pleaded with the high priests, but they turned me away. My sin was on my own head they said. Indeed my head is heavy with sin. Whatever will happen to what remains of my soul I do not know, but I cannot bear the weight of my flesh pressing against this earth for another day. By sunrise I will be gone. I regret that my last kiss was one that was full of venom.

I have asked my Lord for forgiveness, though I deserve nothing. It may be that I have declined His grace one too many times. Regardless of His decision, the last sound leaving my lips will be praise for Him.

I pray the markings on this potshard will fall into the right hands, for it is my last and only true preaching of the gospel.

Judas Iscariot

The opinions expressed by authors may not necessarily reflect the opinion of FaithWriters.com.
Accept Jesus as Your Lord and Savior Right Now - CLICK HERE
JOIN US at FaithWriters for Free. Grow as a Writer and Spread the Gospel.

This article has been read 538 times
Member Comments
Member Date
Fiona Stevenson06/03/11
Perhaps. Perhaps there is a 'different' Judas for each person. Perhaps there is a little of Judas in each one of us. This is well thought out and well expressed. God bless you.
Noel Mitaxa 06/06/11
Opening up the mind of Judas is always a risky pathway between excuses, fatalism and guesswork. I think you have travelled the path well, though Acts leans towards more despair than hope. However, having spent time with people in their dying moments, I can sense something of what you are communicating here.
Cheryl von Drehle06/06/11
This is very powerful, and even if not accurately expressive of Judas (since of course we can never really know another's heart) it is a beautifully expressed metaphor for the treachery in all our hearts. Well done.
Shann Hall-LochmannVanBennekom 06/09/11
I really like this. I've often said if not for Judas, Jesus may not have died to save me. I like to think he did repent and Jesus died for all sinners, but rarely do I find someone who agrees with me. Great job of storytelling.
Shann Hall-LochmannVanBennekom 06/09/11
Congratulations for ranking 9th in level 3!
Kim Hamlin06/13/11
a true story of hope Theresa, great job! I enjoyed this immensely