The silence was deafening

*This post was inspired by Sherree Worrell's writing challenge. The topic is "The silence was deafening.” I decided to take up the challenge as well.*

The sun rose in the east. Day after day, week after week, month after month, year after year, decades after decades, millennium after millennium, it did what it naturally did. And yet, somehow, this time, it was different. The sun rose not only to announce that it was a new day; it rose to announce the end of a life. This morning, he was going to die.

He knew he had it coming. Well, everyone on this earth knows that but somehow still manage to think that it would never come. No, not him. He knew he was going to die. He even knew how. He was one of those people that knew his mortality. Accepting the fact that he was going to perish, it gave his life meaning and purpose. I guess that's how it works. We only know how to live well if we know how to die well.

I guess it wasn't a surprise. He was always telling the so-called good people the things they didn't want to hear. He was always telling the bad people that love is not some far-fetched dream. Standing up against the status quo can get you killed fast. It was only a matter of time before they were going to make a move against him.

In the middle of the night, they found him. Arrested him. Brought him to a kangaroo court where he was accused of crimes he didn't commit. Beat him. Tortured him. Amnesty International wasn't there to intervene against such cruel and inhumane practices foisted against his body. There will be no petitions for his release. The paparazzi couldn't make tabloid fodder over his fate. No one was there to console him. He was all alone. Even his so-called friends scampered away when they saw the law coming hard against him. When trouble came, they all fled.

And so, they subjected him to one of the most gruesome and humiliating walk of shame known to man. Stripped naked, they paraded him. They did it to make an example out of him. “Don't be like him,” mothers whispered to their kids. His mother crying a flood of tears as she sees the mangled flesh of her son. It was too much for her to bear.

Suddenly, the skies darkened. The very ground they stood on began to tremble. Pathetic fallacy perhaps? Maybe he was innocent after all? Perhaps. Only time will tell. And in the midst of all the rumblings in the sky, he cried out in a strange and foreign tongue. Eloi Eloi lama sabachthani. My God, my God, why have You forsaken me?

In what must seem like weeks, months, years, decades, and a millennium to a dying man, the answer finally came.

Silence.