I swear...

My wonderful city had fallen to the prey of hunters of the demons. I lived down the road from the countryside. My mayor was voted for by the majority of the city. Anyone who did not vote for her was a loser. She was born and raised in our town and we are better for it. Along the east side of the city is the tourist center with rows of offices showcasing many examples of products that are manufactured in our town. On the north side is just the river that winds up and down the street which is supported by bridges made out of steel. Homes are hidden and covered with forever growing trees from centuries ago. These trees if they could talk, would mention how it all started that is how old they are.

The families of those who live in town are young and old. There is evidence of city life only if you look for it. Otherwise day or night, doors are closed and gardens tended. There is a lot of ceremonial activities depending on the time of day. Not very many are out of control, everything and everyone is measured. The locals almost all look alike, walk alike. They are living in the same circumstance and if an outsider peeps in, one can tell.

It was so serene that morning when I felt the need to reveal what I had seen, to represent so to speak. I had decided to walk to the river to take a swim at nightfall just to be different. My family qualms had taken me aback and I needed a break. There I was swimming with the ducks and not caring in the world where I was and what time it was. Suddenly I heard steps, no I suddenly decided to emerge from the river and dry myself only to be face to face with fresh foot prints which were not there when I entered the river. I dressed up quickly and rushed to follow the foot prints. It was like running downhill on a grassy veld because my energy was heightened as if something was beackoning me to some secret which I was going to exeperience on my own.

I descended down the hill to the veld and there it was, a group of angry looking men whispering chants among themselves. Women in shawls stood side by side wimpering. A tall strong looking soldier with steel swords on both hands wearing an army uniform stood stoically as if to pass judgement. I was frightened and shaking like a leaf in a forest not wanting to be seen, yet wanting to see what was up. What was going on? What was the matter? Who were these people? I had never seen them before nor ever heard of this place. Something told me that if I got caught I would live to regret it.

And then I saw him lying on a cross made of heavy wood. A tall large cross made of wood from the nearby tress in the forest, with a man wearing a crown of thorns being nailed on it. He looked up at me, I raised my hand in receiving his glare. He looked down. They hoisted the cross. There he was with his bleeding hands and arms laid flat on the cross. He looked like a scorned lover. As if he lost a war which he needed desperately to win. I looked at him he looked up above me. I was important to him because I was the only witness who was there not to judge him but to witness him. He looked down and blood poured down his hairline. His face was sweating and bleeding. I am unsure if he had already been beaten prior to being prompted to the cross. He must have been, otherwise where did that sweat and blood and tears come from. I didn't know what he had done.

Once the cross was erected in the ground, the soldier ordered his helpers to pour cement to ensure it's steadfastness. I shook my head in sorrow realizing that there was nothing that I could do. There was no way that I could find someone to help him or bring him down from the cross after they all left. They all stood looking up and whispering as though they knew that their deed was done and noone was supposed to find out what they did, yet they were happy to have done the deed! He looked down at them and mouthed something. The soldier made a motion with his hand to dimiss him. The women stood around wimpering or pretending to cry, until the soldier ordered all of them to leave.

"Leave! Leave or we will be caught, let that bastard rot in hell, I say."he said.

They all walked away. I was left alone with the sight unseen in disbelief. He looked at me and again mouthed something. I looked back at him and wondered if someone would just do him a favor and end it there and then. It was like I was the commander because there and then I sensed his soul leaving his body and he hung his head in shame, as I believe he died.

Knowing what I knew, I ran home and went to bed frightened of what I had witnessed. I lay in bed with my covers over my head fearing any sort of sound or movement. I woke up and talked to my mother who looked at me like I had lost my marbles. I continued to describe to my mother what I had seen and heard. She threatened to call the police. I wept and became desperate, she was unconvinced that I would let it go. I knew that it was important that someone else also witnessed what I had seen. My mothe, tired of me nagging her, offered to go with me back to where I thought I saw someone die on the cross. We drove back to the river and straight to where I saw my murder scene. There was noone! There was no evidence of any cross or foot prints. There was no sound of wailing or any evidence that anyone had been there.

Who could tell my mother that there had been a scene of death on that very same site? My mother looked at me with pain in her eyes. I could tell that she was going to weep later. She grabbed my arm and directed me back to her car. She drove to the church silently and ordered me to pray, which I did. She lit a candle and we left and drove home in silence. When we arrived at home she packed my small bag and gave me a sandwich to eat. While I sat on the table eating my sandwich, she called our family physician and asked him to admit me in order to have me diagnosed. It is ten years later I am still in a lunny house where my mother left me ten years ago because I saw a man killed on the cross!