In the end, the cross became a stepping stone, as well as a rolling one.  As death became life, life became free.


When the stone was rolled from the tomb that Sunday after the execution exactly three days later, one could, if one looked in the right place, indeed find a snake, orange-yellow with black diamonds tattooed on its back, crushed by said stone.  Its tongue no longer flicked in and out of its poison mouth but was, instead, still and silent.


That is where she found it when she came to the place where death still ruled in her heart.

That is why she did not even see the man sitting in the tomb at first; and why, even when he registered, she recognized him, wrongly, as the caretaker.

When the scene, reflected on several times, finally hit home and made sense, a smile filled her face.  She put her hands on her hips and shifted her weight a couple of times.

She said, “You sonuvabitch!  You did it, didn’t you?”

The man in the tomb wore an enlightened and pained expression turned pleased.  He shrugged and looked away.


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