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Previous Challenge Entry (Level 1 – Beginner)
Topic: Red (10/01/09)
Though thick, still it fell to the ground. Though moist, not all of the dry earth could take it in. Freely it flowed, but costly was the giving.

Dark was the hour, but colorful the passion that encircled the subject of the weeping, the jeers, the taunts, the wails. Fists rose in anger, a few clenched in crumpling despair, and yet others pounded the air in a chant of victory. All this at the sight of one man, covered in layers of blood that would not dry until either the wounds healed or the heart stopped.

From the hands and feet, the life flowed out—from the gash in his side, from the stripes across his flesh, and from the wreath piercing his brow. That burdened brow, shadowed by an accusing sign that sought to justify every drop of blood shed. “The King of the Jews.” Thus was the charge, and thus was the truth.

The injustice! How blood stained the epitome of purity and innocence! The irrationality! How physical life drained that eternal life be gained.

One that should have been cloaked in robes of purple took up rags of scarlet. Not a crown of lush, green leaves, but a crown of dead thorns. Not a scepter of gold but a cross of wood. Not a life of privilege but a death of disgrace.

And there, towering above the earth and lingering between life and death, he saw those gathered under the shadow of his cross. For a moment, he was able to blink back the sweat and blood that trickled down his face like rain. And he saw them and knew them, whether they claimed him or not.

All his strength gone, all his life spent, still he had more to give. It wasn’t finished until every drop of life had been poured out.

And all those with eyes to see saw that red was indeed the color of his love.
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Member Comments
Member
Date
Jan Ackerson
10/11/09
Lovely use of language; it's reminiscent of an earlier time.