After that, he felt as though he was never to recover. He spent days and days alone in darkness, thinking about what had happened, living in a state of denial, insisting what had happened didn't happen.
He begged for his friend to have a grave, he fell on his knees and prayed, pleading relentlessly, even if nothing was there. He sobbed desperately, unable to grieve, holding onto the few memories he had. He was an emotional turmoil, wrapped up in his own mourning.
The townspeople saw how distressed he was, and granted his wish, as a onetime offer. It was a one off, but they were scared he was going to follow in his image if they didn't.
He spent every day at his fallen friend's grave, hours upon hours piled up sitting on the floor next to it, even if there was no body below. He talked to it, he cried on it, but he spent hours and hours praying beside it, just like they used to do. He prayed for many things; he prayed to live a long life, he prayed that Samuel was ok, but most of all he prayed for him to come back, though he knew it to be selfish and vain.
He felt empty and lost without him. He had never known a feeling like it, he had always been with him. There was never a time he was alone. Until now.
But the townspeople grew worried. They believed he was praying to him, praying to another one, as if Samuel were the devil himself, and Joshua had strayed from God. They worried for what to do and wondered if they had made the right choice.
YOU ARE READING
Impossible
Historia Corta'You know why people like to do these things? Why violence feels so good? They're searching for something. A response. To get a kick out of it, you need a reaction. Screams of fear, and pain. To fight back. To struggle and resist. Take that away and...
