The Writing on the Wall
He’d seen those scratchings before. He just couldn’t
remember when. Raising his hand he rested his fingers against the outline
before pushing his flesh into the grooves. An image came to him so hard that he
jumped back.
Down the
corridor echoed the sound of keys and chains and his eyes swivelled to the
door. Shivering he turned once more to the wall, found what his eyes had been
searching for. Scratched into the stone were his initials and a date seventy-five
years in the past.
The door
swung open and the guard stood grim faced. ‘It’s time son.’ Behind him a priest
hovered.
He let
go his breath, touched his fingers to the writing and smiled.
‘Would
you like me to pray with you?’ asked the Priest.
‘It’s too
late for that,’ he said. ‘Besides I already believe in the resurrection.’ He
held out his wrists and the guard secured them with handcuffs. Then he led his
prisoner out of the cell towards his fate.
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