25-May-2012, 9:01 PM
Okay, I'll start. Here is an excerpt from one of my novels (which are mostly unwritten at this point.)
He arrived at the cliff at dawn. His closest friends had already arrived: Thomas, Jilly, Andre. He could always count on them, even now.
He hadn't slept well. What do you dream about on your last night of life? Apparently nothing, from what he could remember. He didn't have to be here so early, but trying to sleep was pointless. He could arrive any time during daylight and had until midnight to complete the act.
Heretics had to die. And he certainly was a heretic, by the letter of the law. Stupid, foolish, self-protecting, vile law -- but the law nonetheless. And so, it had come to this, as he knew it would eventually.
There were other ways. He could have recanted; he could have run. He could have taken Jilly and started a new life far away where no one knew who they were. She would have gone with him, certainly. Perhaps now she understood why he resisted her advances; he had been trying to spare her. It was probably the hardest part of his life, not giving in, not giving up. Was it worth it? Should he have taken what pleasure he could with her while he lived? Shouldn't they have had children to carry on the fight for truth?
But now the point was moot. He had chosen this path and was not able to leave it now. At least she was here with him at the end. In time she would find a stable man, a man who could put her above his "destiny".
Heretics had to die, yes, but the law allowed the heretic to choose his own death. Many chose hanging or drowning, or even death by the sword. But this way, this self-sacrifice felt more controlled, more noble somehow. Perhaps they would tell his story and some future heretic would be inspired. Perhaps some day there would be tolerance for different views. But not this day.
By the rules of execution, he could walk off the cliff, jump off, even be thrown off by his friends, or enemies, if he so desired. The cliff was an ancient waterfall. According to legend, the Eton river, now ten miles away, had tumbled over these falls and displayed a rainbow in the ravine below whenever the sky was clear. Now there were just rocks and the bottom and a little seawater, depending on the tides. Walking off ensured you hit many rocks on your way down, while a running jump might let you hit water before you died against the rocks below. He had decided on maximum theatrics -- a swan dive, holding his staff in both hands.
He knew what his friends would say to him. Thomas would try to cheer him up, keep his mind off his fate. Jilly would put on a bold face, but the tears would come. And Andre, he would try to get him to run even now. Even when it was too late.
He spoke with them quietly, tenderly. This was awful for them, he imagined. It wasn't that he was empathetic -- far from it. But he could sympathize with their loss. He would miss them as well, if there was something beyond this life. He desperately hoped that there was. Something better. Something with no injustice of the kind he faced now.
The spectators began arriving around midday. In recent years executions were rare; an execution at the falls rarer still. The last one had been before he was born. It was a holiday to them -- they brought food and drink. And children. Who brings children to an execution?
As the day wore on, it seemed everyone was coming. The judges and lawyers and those who had sought his death. Those who had believed in his teaching and now saw their hopes dashed. Even some off-duty soldiers who had missed out on their chance to finish him. His death would be a spectacle indeed. Stories would be told about him. Good. Maybe the insanity of his life would have some meaning.
As darkness fell, some of the onlookers had thought to bring torches. Soon they were lined up all along both sides of the ravine. As the half-full moon rose, he rose to his feet. He pulled Thomas into a close embrace. The man started weeping; he had never seen Thomas weep before. Soon Andre was holding both of them. It was only a few minutes they hugged, but it seemed hours.
Finally they let go and there was only Jillian. She looked up at him through eyes red from crying, spoke to him in a hoarse, cracking voice. She forgave him, after all, for leaving her now. She couldn't understand his choices, but in the end she respected them. She kissed him full on the lips, then turned away and hid in the crowd.
He walked to the edge, determined not to look down. Holding his staff in both hands like a plow handle, he walked to the edge, leaned forward and dove. To his astonishment, he didn't fall straight down as planned. Instead, he was moving FORWARD faster than down, and his staff was lit up with a bright red glow as it never had been before. He continued to fly/fall for a long time, covering the three miles to the ocean before he was near the water. Suddenly he was in the water -- splashing, splattering, struggling to find the surface and breathe the air. Eventually he got his head above water and his legs kicking to keep him afloat. His arms were numb and mostly unusable. There was enough light from the moon that he could look around. There seemed to be some land directly ahead. Of course! There was an island just off the coast. How had he travelled so far?
He managed to reach the sand, stumbled up above the high tide line and collapsed. He thought as he lost consciousness that at least he had given them a great show.
He arrived at the cliff at dawn. His closest friends had already arrived: Thomas, Jilly, Andre. He could always count on them, even now.
He hadn't slept well. What do you dream about on your last night of life? Apparently nothing, from what he could remember. He didn't have to be here so early, but trying to sleep was pointless. He could arrive any time during daylight and had until midnight to complete the act.
Heretics had to die. And he certainly was a heretic, by the letter of the law. Stupid, foolish, self-protecting, vile law -- but the law nonetheless. And so, it had come to this, as he knew it would eventually.
There were other ways. He could have recanted; he could have run. He could have taken Jilly and started a new life far away where no one knew who they were. She would have gone with him, certainly. Perhaps now she understood why he resisted her advances; he had been trying to spare her. It was probably the hardest part of his life, not giving in, not giving up. Was it worth it? Should he have taken what pleasure he could with her while he lived? Shouldn't they have had children to carry on the fight for truth?
But now the point was moot. He had chosen this path and was not able to leave it now. At least she was here with him at the end. In time she would find a stable man, a man who could put her above his "destiny".
Heretics had to die, yes, but the law allowed the heretic to choose his own death. Many chose hanging or drowning, or even death by the sword. But this way, this self-sacrifice felt more controlled, more noble somehow. Perhaps they would tell his story and some future heretic would be inspired. Perhaps some day there would be tolerance for different views. But not this day.
By the rules of execution, he could walk off the cliff, jump off, even be thrown off by his friends, or enemies, if he so desired. The cliff was an ancient waterfall. According to legend, the Eton river, now ten miles away, had tumbled over these falls and displayed a rainbow in the ravine below whenever the sky was clear. Now there were just rocks and the bottom and a little seawater, depending on the tides. Walking off ensured you hit many rocks on your way down, while a running jump might let you hit water before you died against the rocks below. He had decided on maximum theatrics -- a swan dive, holding his staff in both hands.
He knew what his friends would say to him. Thomas would try to cheer him up, keep his mind off his fate. Jilly would put on a bold face, but the tears would come. And Andre, he would try to get him to run even now. Even when it was too late.
He spoke with them quietly, tenderly. This was awful for them, he imagined. It wasn't that he was empathetic -- far from it. But he could sympathize with their loss. He would miss them as well, if there was something beyond this life. He desperately hoped that there was. Something better. Something with no injustice of the kind he faced now.
The spectators began arriving around midday. In recent years executions were rare; an execution at the falls rarer still. The last one had been before he was born. It was a holiday to them -- they brought food and drink. And children. Who brings children to an execution?
As the day wore on, it seemed everyone was coming. The judges and lawyers and those who had sought his death. Those who had believed in his teaching and now saw their hopes dashed. Even some off-duty soldiers who had missed out on their chance to finish him. His death would be a spectacle indeed. Stories would be told about him. Good. Maybe the insanity of his life would have some meaning.
As darkness fell, some of the onlookers had thought to bring torches. Soon they were lined up all along both sides of the ravine. As the half-full moon rose, he rose to his feet. He pulled Thomas into a close embrace. The man started weeping; he had never seen Thomas weep before. Soon Andre was holding both of them. It was only a few minutes they hugged, but it seemed hours.
Finally they let go and there was only Jillian. She looked up at him through eyes red from crying, spoke to him in a hoarse, cracking voice. She forgave him, after all, for leaving her now. She couldn't understand his choices, but in the end she respected them. She kissed him full on the lips, then turned away and hid in the crowd.
He walked to the edge, determined not to look down. Holding his staff in both hands like a plow handle, he walked to the edge, leaned forward and dove. To his astonishment, he didn't fall straight down as planned. Instead, he was moving FORWARD faster than down, and his staff was lit up with a bright red glow as it never had been before. He continued to fly/fall for a long time, covering the three miles to the ocean before he was near the water. Suddenly he was in the water -- splashing, splattering, struggling to find the surface and breathe the air. Eventually he got his head above water and his legs kicking to keep him afloat. His arms were numb and mostly unusable. There was enough light from the moon that he could look around. There seemed to be some land directly ahead. Of course! There was an island just off the coast. How had he travelled so far?
He managed to reach the sand, stumbled up above the high tide line and collapsed. He thought as he lost consciousness that at least he had given them a great show.
"Bad news, bad news came to me where I sleep / Turn turn turn again" - Bob Dylan