It made me sad when I saw him there.

 

Beaten and bruised as he carried it. 

 

No one helped him.

 

No one cared. 

 

He hadn’t hurt anyone, yet they hated him.

 

He hadn’t stolen anything, yet they despised him.

 

All of this made no sense to me.

 

Why was a man who was faultless being punished?

 

Why was a man who healed and renewed life to people going to die?

 

The burden he carried began to drag, kicking up dust as it went.

 

“I want to to carry it with you”, I say.

 

He looked at me with sad eyes and a soft smile.

 

“Its going to be difficult….are you ready for that?”

 

I stagger a bit in doubt.

 

“I-i think so….”

 

Taking the end of it, I lift it.

 

The burden is heavy, not knowing why, but I begin to feel guilt.

 

As I continue the journey it begins to get lighter and I don’t feel as tired. 

 

Feeling confident and refreshed, I place it down at the top of the hill. 

 

As I look around I see people glaring at me and whispering. 

 

Afraid, I hide away and try to blend in.

 

He calls to me but I don’t answer. 

 

Taking up his burden, he dies there.

 

Ashamed, I throw myself down.

 

“I’m sorry I didn’t stand up for you.

 

Because of what I did, you died.”

 

Like a whisper, I hear a voice, 

“No. Because of what I did, you can live.”