The Story of the Other Thief on the Cross or Jesus was My Murderer

 

 

Things crashed. Money disappeared. Pain exploded. I was left with nothing. Everything crashed. Home was no more. For much time, I tried to do odd jobs to try to survive. In a society of religious people, honesty just didn’t pay. One morning, I woke up in the dirt. I could barely move. From that day forward, I decided to steal as long as I could. Bread. Water. Fruit. Vegetables. I stole whatever I needed to survive. Then, I met a homeless woman with children. I decided to steal for them too. How could I just let those little kids die? Things were going good until I stole from the wrong cat.

 

Sneaking up under his table, I grabbed a large piece of meat. The man yelled. The man chased. The man cried out. Before I knew it, the entire market was chasing me. I ran until I could run no more. Finally, I collapsed. Everyone jumped on top of me. As I lost consciousness, I was screaming out that I was just trying to eat. It didn’t matter. Money was more important than life. Before I knew it, I woke up in front of the authorities.

 

I could barely. I tried to explain. Before long, I realized that the man that I stole from was the brother of the man that I stood before to be judged. I hadn’t even stood there that long before he declared me guilty and told the guards to prepare me for my death. Blood was all that I knew. Humanity was dead. As death was almost upon me, I was given a cross. Every step was excruciating. Constantly, I wished that they would go ahead and kill me. Pain. Pain. Pain. Eternity passed with every step. I prayed…louder…louder…louder. I heard the voice of God. “Jesus will save you.” While I had no idea who he was talking about, I figured I better look for Jesus. Hope got me to the top of the hill. Nails put me up on that cross.

 

The agony was making me go in and out of consciousness. When I finally realized that it was Jesus who was next to me, I cried out for help. Immediately, he started spouting some bullshit about heaven. I begged him to stop and get me down from the cross. God told me that he could do it and I had faith. When he did nothing, I knew that he was responsible for what came next. In my final moments, I cried out to Jesus one more time. From his cross, he just watched me die. I can assure you that it was no paradise. All the shit you’ve heard is exaggerated at best and flat out lies at worse. Nobody has recounted like I have.

 

Murder is a premeditated act of killing. Jesus had a long time to think about the situation before he killed me by doing absolutely nothing. Accomplice or murderer? Who cares? The fact remains that he could have saved me and didn’t. Ultimately, I’d call it murder. Regardless, I’m dead.

 

Amen.

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