Topic Thirty-Two: What is your weapon of choice?
What is your weapon of choice?
Weapons.
Killing.
The Romans used to hunt us. The renegades, the lower ranks. They were bored by duty and so they would hunt through the streets. What they were looking for, I do not know. But they were monsters.
I have seen rivers run red with blood. Before I was a century old, I had seen my home burned to the ground, my people taken into exile never to return. I heard the wailing of mothers torn apart from their babies, heard the screams of those same babies having their brains dashed out over rocks. I have stood and watched garrisons march with captives between their ranks, dirty boys and girls for pleasure houses and death. I rained down at night like an avenging angel, killing all I could, but there were always more.
I have seen the destruction of Yerushalayim, the pearl of the desert, the place where Abraham saw peace. I have seen the glorious brought low to the ground, dead before death, for famine and pain. I remember the siege and the hunger that affected even me, for if my victims were famished then so was I.
I was not old enough yet that I had learned how to take the unwilling and take by force. The Romans did that, and I was never a Roman. So I starved and every night I died, every morning my lullabies were tears of children broken and weary, far too old for their years, who could not remember anything but pain.
And is that Your praise? The wailing of the young, the tears of the old, and all for nothing? That they destroyed Your temple, sacrificed upon Your alter, took Your people into slavery?
Yerushalayim, hills surround her, but she had no love or protection from her friends. Allies deserted her and debtors dogged her every step. She rips her clothing for the desolation, but there are no clothes, no comfort, for all is lost. She weeps in the night and tears at her hair, trying to find ways to feed her family, but the siege goes on, and one night the walls come down, and there is no more.
Who will mourn for the dead save for the deathless, the avenger who walks in the night and sees all. Too many did I kill with my hands and my teeth that I was gorged with blood, but there was still no comfort. Screams of children rang in my ears and I began to hate Him, that I had to watch the devastation and could do nothing. Powerless, too powerless.
Comfort, comfort, they said. It would be over. It had happened before, yes, and it had all be rebuilt. We had returned and we had conquered, but hope is no bread, and cannibalism became more than sin, it was a betrayal. Men killed for food instead of for honor, but there was no food.
They killed Akiva. And Tarfon. And everyone who had ever sat at the gates and judged the people. The streets were desolate for lack, and mourning overcame all joy. Prayers can do nothing. Shfoch chamoscha el hagoyim asher lo yidaucha, v'all mamlochos asher beshimcha lo korau.
Ki ochal as Yaakov v'es novaihu haishamu.
Pour out Your wrath upon the nations that do not know you and the kingdoms that do no call out in Your name, because they have consumed Jacob and destroyed his dwellings.
Titus Flavius Vespasianus. May his name be utterly erased. Look what your weapons have wrought. No peace, merely destruction and pain.
Character: Judas/Dracula
Word Count: 590
Mun Note: Quote is from Psalms, translation is my own. Tisha B'av was Monday-Night/Tuesday and it commemorates the destruction of the Temples, among other things. Drac's been straining at his leash to post this all week, but it took me a long time to find the words.
Weapons.
Killing.
The Romans used to hunt us. The renegades, the lower ranks. They were bored by duty and so they would hunt through the streets. What they were looking for, I do not know. But they were monsters.
I have seen rivers run red with blood. Before I was a century old, I had seen my home burned to the ground, my people taken into exile never to return. I heard the wailing of mothers torn apart from their babies, heard the screams of those same babies having their brains dashed out over rocks. I have stood and watched garrisons march with captives between their ranks, dirty boys and girls for pleasure houses and death. I rained down at night like an avenging angel, killing all I could, but there were always more.
I have seen the destruction of Yerushalayim, the pearl of the desert, the place where Abraham saw peace. I have seen the glorious brought low to the ground, dead before death, for famine and pain. I remember the siege and the hunger that affected even me, for if my victims were famished then so was I.
I was not old enough yet that I had learned how to take the unwilling and take by force. The Romans did that, and I was never a Roman. So I starved and every night I died, every morning my lullabies were tears of children broken and weary, far too old for their years, who could not remember anything but pain.
And is that Your praise? The wailing of the young, the tears of the old, and all for nothing? That they destroyed Your temple, sacrificed upon Your alter, took Your people into slavery?
Yerushalayim, hills surround her, but she had no love or protection from her friends. Allies deserted her and debtors dogged her every step. She rips her clothing for the desolation, but there are no clothes, no comfort, for all is lost. She weeps in the night and tears at her hair, trying to find ways to feed her family, but the siege goes on, and one night the walls come down, and there is no more.
Who will mourn for the dead save for the deathless, the avenger who walks in the night and sees all. Too many did I kill with my hands and my teeth that I was gorged with blood, but there was still no comfort. Screams of children rang in my ears and I began to hate Him, that I had to watch the devastation and could do nothing. Powerless, too powerless.
Comfort, comfort, they said. It would be over. It had happened before, yes, and it had all be rebuilt. We had returned and we had conquered, but hope is no bread, and cannibalism became more than sin, it was a betrayal. Men killed for food instead of for honor, but there was no food.
They killed Akiva. And Tarfon. And everyone who had ever sat at the gates and judged the people. The streets were desolate for lack, and mourning overcame all joy. Prayers can do nothing. Shfoch chamoscha el hagoyim asher lo yidaucha, v'all mamlochos asher beshimcha lo korau.
Ki ochal as Yaakov v'es novaihu haishamu.
Pour out Your wrath upon the nations that do not know you and the kingdoms that do no call out in Your name, because they have consumed Jacob and destroyed his dwellings.
Titus Flavius Vespasianus. May his name be utterly erased. Look what your weapons have wrought. No peace, merely destruction and pain.
Character: Judas/Dracula
Word Count: 590
Mun Note: Quote is from Psalms, translation is my own. Tisha B'av was Monday-Night/Tuesday and it commemorates the destruction of the Temples, among other things. Drac's been straining at his leash to post this all week, but it took me a long time to find the words.