Please note that the following contains graphic scenes
of violence for ADULT ONLY readership. If you are in
any way offended by such themes read no further.
Should you decide to continue, make certain that your
local community standards permit such material.
This is written for personal consumption. Do not use
this story elsewhere without the author’s express
permission.
Thank you.
Faibhar.
Closer this time, the two returned to the main road.
The taller of the two sentries nudged his colleague
alert. He recognized one as the eldest son of the
local magistrate, and with him appeared to be his
personal slave. The more observant of the guards was
not about to have critical remarks make it back to his
boss. Whispering an aside regarding who it was that
approached, he urged his fellow sentry to look smart.
The boys detoured off of the road and clambered up the
side of the hill. In sacks they carried grapes just
picked from the nearby vineyard. They also brought
Y-shaped branches; the Y’s connected with strips of
animal innards.
Once atop the rise, they looked up and appraised the
hanging nude. Ignoring his father’s minions, the
patrician’s son inserted a grape in the middle of the
strip and urged his slave to do like wise. Aiming the
ancient slingshot upward, he pulled back on the grape
and fired.
Fruit skin burst as it hit just below her left breast.
Juice from the grape glistened as it erupted, a flow
immediately beginning down over lashed ribs. Another
grape hit, this time atop a breast and rattled
dangling chains hooked to her nipples. More juice
flowed over drying flesh.
The guard who had to at first be reminded of the VIP
guest’s approach chuckled at this mischievous stunt.
His more stoic counterpart merely smirked. Any
activity prolonging the inevitable was fine with him.
Both silently stood by and watched this latest action
unfold. It was, after all, not in their job
descriptions to interfere. Besides, this latest
development provided a new distraction.
One of newcomers shot a grape close to her parched
lips. The crucified showed more alertness as her
tongue sought out the fresh juice frantically
attempting to lick it all. Another shot landed
squarely between her two lips. She lapped at the
welcome refreshment, gratefully wetting her parched
mouth with its moistness. She even hungrily ate the
broken grape skin splattered around her mouth.
The one in wearing the royal tunic grinned maliciously
and extended a brown arm around the more humbly
dressed slave, turning him around so that the two
showed their backs to the crucified. The two conspired
as behind them hung the no longer parched, but once
again glistening form. As they huddled she begged for
more juice, ignoring the attracted winged insects and
the curious trail of ants ascending up her right calf.
Whispering so as not to be heard, the patrician’s son
ordered the slave to dump the rest of his gathered
grapes. Molding dirt around a small pebble, so that it
was roughly the size of a grape, he handed the lump to
the slave to use instead of the juicy fruit. Taking a
similarly sized lump for him, they both turned back
around to face the crucified.
Both sentries cringed as they saw first one clod, then
the other smack. Quickly recovering from the initial
shock, chuckles consumed even the stoic one. Dirt
covered wetly shining lips. The crucified recoiled and
tried to turn her head away, but of course, she could
not. The soil dried then turned to mud. A rivulet of
blood sprang from where a lip had been split, flowing
like lava atop a miniature volcano.
The slingshot shooters bent to reload when one of the
sentries noted to the other that the afternoon had
gotten really late. Shadows had lengthened and evening
was almost upon them. Upper class privilege or no,
official decrees took priority. It was time for all to
go. Orders were to leave no condemned on the cross for
more than two days, and orders must be obeyed. One of
the sentries spoke and told the two shooters to head
back. Upset at having their fun interrupted, the two
complied with great petulance.
With bars they freed her and lifted her off of the
saddle’s prong. She lay face up on the ground, nails
still in her hands and feet. Placing a hobnail sole on
her breastbone for leverage, one of the men tugged
free the hooked chains. Scabs ruptured as they came
free. He handed the links with their bloody ends to
his partner, and then removing his foot from her chest
he kicked her so that she rolled closer to the far
edge of the hill. One final nudge with his boot and
they both watched as she rolled parallel down the
craggy hillside to crunch to a landing atop scattered
remains below. Satisfied that their job was at last
complete, the two guards turned back for the city.
She hit hard, facedown into a pile of bones. Gasping
in horror, she agonizingly turned over and stared up
at the darkening sky. A few evening stars began to
show. Her eyes closed for a night that would never
end.
