The Fear Of Death

My feet are bare and covered in dirt. I do not remember how I came to be here. The grass is wiry under my feet. The wind blasts against me, twisting my ragged skirt around my legs. As I stare down at my feet, my hands and my dress, I feel afraid. My dress is dark brown, but it was not always that color. It is covered in stains of dirt and blood. My entire body is stained in filth. I am exhausted and hideous.

 Each movement I make is a reminder of the grime I am buried in. I look up and see that I am standing on top of a hill. I shiver, even though the wind is not cold. Surrounding the hill I stand on is a sea of white. It is completely still. My stomach drops as I realize this is not a sea. Human bones surround me.  Entire skeletons mix with shattered skulls and detached femurs. They are all covered in dirt and blood. The hillside seems to shrink, until there is barely room for my feet. Somehow I know that if I do not move, I will be buried with these bones. 

My skin prickles and the hair rises on the back of my neck. There is nowhere to run. As far as I can see, only empty eye sockets and fleshless grins turn back to greet me. I turn around, desperately searching for escape. In the distance I see two beams of wood nailed together. They are also surrounded by bones, but they stand much higher. If I reach it, I may be able to escape. I step out into the sea. I cringe as bones break beneath my feet, cutting into my skin. I take another step. Bones crackle and crunch beneath me and I sink into the bones. I jerk upwards and walk faster, ignoring the pain shooting up from my feet. Dry hardness clamps around my ankle and I crash into the mess of bones. I turn to see a hand has grabbed me. I yank my foot away, only to be grabbed again. 

In a wave of panic I burst upwards, tearing my skirt. I run as fast as I can. My lungs ache and my muscles burn as I fight to reach the only safety I have. For hours I struggle. No matter how many I shatter, more come. I can feel myself sinking as I am dragged downwards. I glance upward and continue to fight. I pull myself out and keep running. I'm almost there. The wood looms upwards in the sky. It has become my beacon of hope. I will be safe there. I will live if I can only reach it.

 I wade through the bones and catch hold of it. Splinters bury themselves beneath my skin as I pull myself upwards. The rough wood scrapes against my skin and digs through my clothes. I cry out, trembling and exhausted. Skeletons rise from this open grave and claw at me. My skirt shreds beneath their brittle touch, as does my skin. My hands turn sweaty and I slip. My hair clings to the back of my neck. I am losing my vision as sweat pours into my eyes and exhaustion darkens my sight. My palms burn from pain. Blood mixes with my sweat. I cling even tighter and pull myself up until I am directly under the second beam. I wrap my legs around the heavy beam. My cheek rests against the rough wood. 

Still, they come. There is no escape. Bitterness and despair well up inside me. I had thought I would be safe here. But it is not enough. Pain fills my body and pulses through my very soul. In my utmost desperation, I remember why this wood is here.

                "Help me!" The cry comes from deep within my soul. Tears streak down my cheeks as pain lances through my body. The bones that pull and cut my skin grow more frantic and I cry again.

                "Please, help me!" I hug the splintering wood with my last ounce of strength. My muscles are quivering with the effort. I am going to fall. I am going to die. I caused this. All of this is my fault, and now it is going to kill me. Horror fills my mind when I realize that I am the one who filled this field with skeletons. I have destroyed this land. I am a murderer. I will not deny the truth any longer. For what I have done, I deserve to die. The bitterness in me is overwhelmed by sorrow. I hold on to the wood for one last moment. I am so afraid. I don't want to die. A question holds me to the wood, a single thought that stops me from flinging myself into the grave. Will it be enough? I close my eyes and tighten my grip. No. I should die, but my death will never pay for what I have done. That is what this wood is for. It cannot save me. Someone else already died. I caused it. But He was not like the others. He did not join these skeletons. He didn't stay dead.

                "Please, help me." I moan. "I'm sorry." I cry. The rattling of bones stops. I do not feel their claws raking my body, and the entire valley is silent. I open my eyes. A hand is stretched out towards me. Dried blood stains the hole in the man's wrist. I stare at it, not daring to look into His eyes. My ears do not hear, but my heart understands what that wounded man says:

                "My love, I already forgave you." He reaches out and takes my hand, pulling me into his arms. I wrap my arms around His waist, and He carries me. My heart is light and I am at peace. He loves me. He forgave me. The valley fades away from my sight. The last thing I see is an empty cross. In His love I am free.