Estelle and Robert: To Know Him

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Historical Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic

Chapter 29 (v.1) - Ripped Flesh

Submitted: July 30, 2019

Reads: 13

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Submitted: July 30, 2019

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Peter frowned deeply. You'd never know he was barely entering his thirties yet by the frown lines embedded into his leathery skin. Worry and sunshine had a way of prematurely aging him. Unlike the rest of the brethren, he was the only one married, having a wife at home to care for, and in some ways, it prodded him to daily go out in the boat. That was before Jesus called him into a new line of work. The work part had been minimal. Sure, there was a lot of walking, and the occasional hands-on, but it was largely teaching. He wasn't about to complain. Much like the majority of the brethren, he was unschooled. He'd often thought about it, but there was no time to sit. Now, he held onto each word. Who would have thought that he would be such a prize pupil? His eyes scanned the sky. He would have put out a bit of protest, he consoled himself, if there had been any chance of a storm arising. But this one had arisen out of nowhere. Each wave hoisted the vessel, causing it to crash down treacherously into the blackened, thrashing sea. It was taking it water fast, John and Bartholomew working at emptying it as fast as it took it in, but the threat remained much worse that one of the upheavals would split the ship right in half, barreling into the waves. It was getting worse by the second.

"Wake Him!" His voice sounded soft over the sound of the roaring waves. How in the world was Jesus sleeping through this?

How in the world was Jesus sleeping through this?

James didn't delay, not worrying about decorum. Jesus had said they were His friends. "Master!" His hands shook the heavily sleeping frame of Jesus, "Lord!"

Jesus opened His eyes wearily, water spraying over the sides of the boat. Panic and fear laced the eyes of His disciples, even as He sat up.

"Lord, save us! We perish!" Thomas cried out.

Jesus stood, "Why are ye fearful, O ye of little faith?" He gently reprimanded them, His voice alone, tender, yet able to be heard over the noise. "Peace!" His voice thundered. "Be still!"

There was a great calm.

James gaped at Peter, as the ship sailed gently as if it had only been a bad nightmare, into the country of the Gadarenes on the other side of the sea, "What manner of man is this that even the wind and the sea obey him!"

James gaped at Peter, as the ship sailed gently as if it had only been a bad nightmare, into the country of the Gadarenes on the other side of the sea, "What manner of man is this that even the wind and the sea obey him!"

Ubel shrieked the second Jesus' foot hit dry land causing an eerie chill that far exceeded the natural dampness that comes by being by the water. Philip shuddered, the skin on his forearms crawling. He'd heard the rumors. In all honesty, he would much rather have stayed in the ship awhile longer and ported at another location. It was little wonder only Jesus stepped off at first, willingly. The only reason John and James alighted off first was to drag the vessel to shore, it didn't take them long to get on the ship again, albeit sheepishly when Jesus turned to look at them.

A second shriek pierced the air. It wasn't so much the sound of someone in pain. Animalistic in nature. It was like no other sound. A telltale sign. A soul in the grips of the devil who moved stealthily amongst the tombstones, where Ubel abode.

Most people avoid cemeteries, others only enter for historical research, or to pay respect to their loved lost ones, no one in their right mind chose to reside among the stones. But that was the issue. Ubel had lost his natural mind. No one knew when. Or why. Much like his master, he slithered from behind the stones, disheveled hair, enough skin displayed to make a person blush and avert their eyes. Jesus was different. He didn't see the body, His eyes piercing asunder the heart and thoughts of men. His eyes saw the soul.

Philip, unabashedly looked at the outward appearance

Philip, unabashedly looked at the outward appearance. Dirt accumulated in globs where sweat ran down. His body ghastly pale despite being in the sun for God only knew how long. Long scars ran down in various places, his arms, his wrists, his chest, his face. Cut marks, jagged, some still raw and fresh, chunks of flesh missing, rotting, infected. No man could bind him even with the strongest chains. He plucked them apart as if they were nothing. Demons can't be tamed. Night and day he ran among the tombs, crying, cutting himself with stones.

Ubel ran hysterically over to Jesus, worshiping and crying loudly, "What have I to do with thee, Jesus, thou Son of the most high God? I adjure thee by God, that thou torment me not!"John, the more tender of Zebedee's sons, blanched.

"What is your name?" Jesus prodded.

"Legion," the man cackled, his voice changing, "For we are many!"

 


© Copyright 2019 Jessica Goyette. All rights reserved.

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