Jane Jago’s Good Friday Drabble

They struggled and stumbled through the baying catcalling crowd, each dragging the instrument of his own execution behind him. Three men, who breathed and bled and defecated like we all do.

One convicted murderer.

One convicted child trafficker.

One son of god.

They reached the brow of the hill and those whose business it was bound them to the wooden crosses before setting each in the hole in the ground which awaited it.

The sun beat down and slowly bones dislocated and organs collapsed.

Three men died in slow agony.

Was one the son of god? Only faith can decide…

©jj 2019

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