Gender: Male Age: Secret Location: After nine days I let the horse run free
Author's Note: There is NO sex in this story. It is NOT a sex story. It's a contest entry here at this website. The theme is unrequited love from the oldies tune "All I Have to Do is Dream". The story must also be written from a gender opposite point of view. This is written by a man from a woman's point of view. I hope it moves you.
In the Name of Love
I could hear the raised voices and I knew they were arguing, again. It had to be about me. It was always about me, lately.
"Leave her alone. She's with me now," he would say.
Jude always had a reply.
"She wastes money. She buys things for her use, or for you. You know we have better use for the little money we get."
I could see that he was getting a little hot at Jude.
"Who are you to criticize her? Are you perfect? Is your slate so clean to warrant this, this despisal of her? Leave. Her. Alone."
Jude saw me standing nearby now, shook his head, and left.
Supper was no better. There was squabbling, and there was another heated exchange, accusations, argument.
Later, I watched him go and lay down, the weight of the world seemingly on his shoulders. I could see it in his eyes, a coming sadness. As he closed them, I walked over and sat down right next to him. Reaching out, I stroked his hair, moving a length of it away from his face, his forehead hot from the exchange.
"Sleep, my love," I whispered so softly, wanting to soothe him, to calm him, not wanting him to hear.
As he drifted off to sleep, I once again re-examined my feelings for this man. Did I love him? If you would have asked me a few days ago, the answer may have been different, but today, after these past few days, yes, yes, I do love him. Oh, this is just so crazy! Who am I to love this man? He doesn't need this in his life, need me in his life. Not now. And me, what kind of fool am I to love a man. He's just a man, yes, just a man. How many men have I had in my life? He's but one more, so, why do I care so?
A slight disturbance in the distance distracted me. It was the others, drinking wine, carrying on some.
I guess I see this as somewhat funny. I mean, I'm always the one who has been in control, never a fool, and now look at me. Fawning over this man. He is just a man. And look at him, sleeping like an angel, despite the others making noise and drinking. They just don't understand.
"Hi Mags," said Peter, walking over from the ruckus.
"Hello Peter, how are you?" He told me to call him Pete, but I preferred the more formal, full name, despite him using a nickname for me. He looked a little rough.
"I'm fine, Mags," he replied with a warm smile, "just feeling a little sleepy. Must be the wine."
"Yes, well, I hope the rest of them don't get too much louder. I don't want them to wake him. Not now. Not tonight."
Peter looked at me, and nodded slowly. He knew. They probably all suspected, but he knew. I'm sure he saw it in my eyes, my actions.
"Mags," he said in a lower tone, "why don't you tell him?"
"What? You want me to scream and shout my feelings for him? Speak of love? Just let all of my crazy feelings out? I can't do that, Peter. I can't bring him down."
"Mags, what if he loves you too? Don't you want to know?"
I had been thinking about that for the past few days. That's pretty much all that I had been thinking about.
"No, Peter. I don't think I could cope. I don't, I don't want to know."
He again nodded, came over and gave me a hug, and then walked slowly away, back to the others, a kind of resignation in his gait.
A couple of hours passed. The rabble had quieted down. It was the wine. It was always the wine. And then he awoke.
"How do you feel?"
"I feel fine," he said, getting up. "I think I will go take a walk, then pray. I will not be long."
I watched him walk into the darkness, over to where Peter and the others were resting. I heard his voice, but couldn't make out the words, other than him calling out Peter's name and a couple of others. Then there was just the quiet.
I don't know why I was feeling nervous. I couldn't rest, wasn't ready to sleep. There was nothing to do except wait until he returned. I again returned to my feelings for him. I knew in my heart that I loved him, that I wanted him more than I've wanted any other man, but, still, it wasn't right. More than anything I felt he needed comfort, he needed me to take away the sadness that he felt. He had developed a forlorn look about him. It was tearing me apart. I knew that I could be a good woman for him, that I could help him through these troubled times.
It was the middle of the night when it began. I had fallen asleep under one of the large olive trees. I felt people passing by, and it was the sheer number of them that actually caused me to arise and look around. I saw Peter waking up, and Jude was back and looking around. He appeared agitated.
That's when I noticed the soldiers. I rushed to find him but saw that Jude was talking to him, and then leaned in and kissed him on the cheek, not so much an odd gesture, of course, but it seemed out of context due to their heated discussions from earlier. Perhaps it was part of an apology.
It wasn't. The soldiers immediately moved in past Jude and took hold of him. Others formed a protective arch between them and Peter and the others. John and James immediately drew their weapons, along with Peter, but he told them no.
"Please, put them away. I do not want to see more blood shed on my account. Do not fight them."
As the soldiers led him away and past me, he stopped briefly, took my head in his hands and looked me square in the eyes.
"Mary," his eyes so intense, "remember this: I will come back to you."
And then he was gone, and soon I was alone, in Gethsemane. I wept the tears of a thousand rainfalls.
The next day, I watched in horror as he was crucified. The mocking, the apparent joy that was felt as his agony increased. It was too much to bear. I again wept, and begged for mercy for him from God that would not be shown. I felt his pain, and could not comfort him. I ached to tell him that he was loved, that I vowed that I would never love another man again, but I could not find the words.
He died, on the cross, late in the afternoon.
Three days later, he kept his promise to me.
Thirty years later, I had kept my promise, my silent vow of chastity, to him.
"Mother? What promise?"
My daughter, as much as I could see of her through my fading eyes, was so beautiful.
"I promised him I would never love another man again. Never be with another man again."
"But Mother," she said in almost a mollifying tone, "how do you explain me?"
Remembering back thirty years, He appeared to me before all others, calling to me by name. I was so overcome with emotion that I rushed towards Him; He had stopped me, telling me I couldn't touch Him now. He looked at me as if He were making a decision, no, confirming one that he had already made, then reached out Himself and lay a hand on my abdomen. I felt the warm glow of life inside of me. I knew. I was with child.
"I have no explanation, Sarah."
As I closed my eyes for the final time in this lifetime, I did what I had been doing for nearly the past thirty years, thinking that to see Him, all I have to do, is dream.
Read 7155 times | Rated 76.2 (84 votes)
Vote list (Close) :
ahorsewithnoname : POSITIVE
JayneyRedd : POSITIVE
Fix'm : POSITIVE
pietbliksem : NEGATIVE
wantsomefun : POSITIVE
scotsmitch2001 : NEGATIVE
blueheatt : POSITIVE
JackassTales : POSITIVE
EvelinaChiang : NEGATIVE
Wimmers : POSITIVE
ejls : POSITIVE
Rutger5 : POSITIVE
ELaken-Palmer : POSITIVE
Ghostrider939 : POSITIVE
BSoD : POSITIVE
aesopstails : POSITIVE
Mbos14 : POSITIVE
Jenryu : POSITIVE
1BadDaddy : POSITIVE
canca14 : NEGATIVE
xoxoxo3922 : NEGATIVE
Please login to rate this story