(no subject)
Who: Judas Iscariot, Edward Sexby, CLOSED
When: Good Friday (4/2/10) in the afternoon around 3pm
Where: The CES in the English countryside, far from Gabe/Irene and the rest of the camping party
What: Judas feels the need to mourn. In the rain. In song.
Warnings: I think this should be a given now but, mentions of religion/Jesus/death, and Judas's angsting through song.
Despite the heavy rain that had poured down upon the Apostle for most of the day, he remained where he was kneeling in beneath a tree that barely sheltered him, his muddy hands covering his face. He'd cycled between quiet contemplation, angry shouting toward the heavens, and this his current state, mourning and regretting ever meeting Jesus, for ever having the thought of betraying Him to the chief priests. The Apostle now knew, because of his most recent return to Jerusalem, just how much pain he'd caused his close friend and leader, had seen this pain first-hand. As Judas knelt there in the rain, with mud caked around his knees and now soiling his unshaven face, his guilt found words, his tone little more than a half-hearted, sorrowful whisper, ("Judas's Death" by Sir Andrew Lloyd Webber)
"Christ!
I know you can't hear me
But I only did what you wanted me to.
Christ!
I'd sell out the nation,
For I have been saddled
With the murder of you.
I have been spattered
With innocent blood;
I should be dragged
Through the slime and the mud.
I have been spattered
With innocent blood;
I should be dragged
Through the slime and the slime and the slime and the mud.
"I don't know how to love Him,
I don't know why He moves me.
He's a man.
He's just a man.
He's not a king.
He's just the same
As anyone I know.
He scares me so!
Now, that He's cold and dead
He won't let me be!
Does He love me too?
Does He care for meeee?"
The Apostle pressed his mouth shut into a frown, he knew what part came next, what the libretto had said, how it had documented his suicide. And that was where his story had ended. He had not given himself a chance to change that reputation that had branded him, to explain to those who he'd called friends for three years and who had attacked him in the Garden when he gave up Jesus. But here on the Barge, he'd been given that chance, as much as he tried to ignore it. But he didn't want to put forth that effort, he wanted to run, wanted to hide his identity from those around him. He supposed, though, that he'd been given this day for privacy, as he'd yet to see his warden or Adam or Donny since he left the campsite early in the morning before sunrise.
When: Good Friday (4/2/10) in the afternoon around 3pm
Where: The CES in the English countryside, far from Gabe/Irene and the rest of the camping party
What: Judas feels the need to mourn. In the rain. In song.
Warnings: I think this should be a given now but, mentions of religion/Jesus/death, and Judas's angsting through song.
Despite the heavy rain that had poured down upon the Apostle for most of the day, he remained where he was kneeling in beneath a tree that barely sheltered him, his muddy hands covering his face. He'd cycled between quiet contemplation, angry shouting toward the heavens, and this his current state, mourning and regretting ever meeting Jesus, for ever having the thought of betraying Him to the chief priests. The Apostle now knew, because of his most recent return to Jerusalem, just how much pain he'd caused his close friend and leader, had seen this pain first-hand. As Judas knelt there in the rain, with mud caked around his knees and now soiling his unshaven face, his guilt found words, his tone little more than a half-hearted, sorrowful whisper, ("Judas's Death" by Sir Andrew Lloyd Webber)
"Christ!
I know you can't hear me
But I only did what you wanted me to.
Christ!
I'd sell out the nation,
For I have been saddled
With the murder of you.
I have been spattered
With innocent blood;
I should be dragged
Through the slime and the mud.
I have been spattered
With innocent blood;
I should be dragged
Through the slime and the slime and the slime and the mud.
"I don't know how to love Him,
I don't know why He moves me.
He's a man.
He's just a man.
He's not a king.
He's just the same
As anyone I know.
He scares me so!
Now, that He's cold and dead
He won't let me be!
Does He love me too?
Does He care for meeee?"
The Apostle pressed his mouth shut into a frown, he knew what part came next, what the libretto had said, how it had documented his suicide. And that was where his story had ended. He had not given himself a chance to change that reputation that had branded him, to explain to those who he'd called friends for three years and who had attacked him in the Garden when he gave up Jesus. But here on the Barge, he'd been given that chance, as much as he tried to ignore it. But he didn't want to put forth that effort, he wanted to run, wanted to hide his identity from those around him. He supposed, though, that he'd been given this day for privacy, as he'd yet to see his warden or Adam or Donny since he left the campsite early in the morning before sunrise.