The Forgotten Cross
A short story
Copyright 2017 Scott Barron
THE SUN SEEMED to have risen early that day, and the soldier sat on the crest of the hill and scratched at the grey stubble that had formed on his chin. Beads of sweat stung his eyes and he could feel trickles of it run down the back of his leather armour. He turned to watch the procession make its way through the narrow streets of the town far below the hill on which he stood. From up here he thought the people looked like ants trapped in a maze, trying to carry their dead, all scrambling on top of each other to get back to the dark comfort of their underground nest. He rested his spear against the wooden post that had been dug into the ground and reached for his water bladder. Tilting his head back to take a drink of lukewarm water he squinted his brown eyes as they followed the grain of the thick wooden post up towards the top of it. Looking down at him accusingly and with arms spread out wide the man nailed to the cross met the soldier’s stare and with an odd smile closed his eyes and died.
Visit: http://www.Shakespir.com/books/view/721335 to purchase this book to continue reading. Show the author you appreciate their work!