Fateful Night

© Short story mghenry
He couldn’t remember exactly when these thoughts and feelings began to formulate in his mind. He really couldn’t put his finger on it if he’d been asked to pinpoint it. What event, what action, what experience had pushed the impulse? He only more recently realized that these thoughts and imaginations seemed to have gained momentum in the last few days…maybe hours… and seemed to mount garrison over his thinking and spur him on to fulfill what he had held in check until just these last few hours of the holidays .
They had started innocently enough, he reasoned. He had looked to this particular leader for guidance, for some sign, for some clue that what his nation had hoped for, for so long, had been promised, for so long; had waited for, for so long…that there would be some evidence that it would come to pass in his lifetime. But, no….it seemed hopeless as far as this guy was concerned, now. There was no bravura, no bravado of a great leader, no pomp and circumstance which would inspire the national pride once more; which would bring the overthrow of the tyrants whose boot heels were on their necks day and night.
And who was this guy, anyway? All big talk about his kingdom, this….his kingdom that….but no earthly evidence at all of any palace or castle or governing body or military vehicle of any sort. He had waited to see some manifestation of it , but to no avail. It seemed all talk and no action concerning any Kingdom or national leadership or military prowess….just talk of “the kingdom”, this guy’s father and something about angels, which he never saw.
They, the local leaders, had not come to him. So, he felt he had to do something. He began to feel it was his national duty to go to the officials and offer his help in bringing this to some culmination. In fact, lately, he’d felt driven to do something; to take matters into his own hands since this “leader” seemed to fade more and more from the mission he thought this guy had come to accomplish…at least that’s what he had understood whenever the man spoke.
At first he had been intrigued with him. The man seemed to have a lot of wisdom, intelligence, understanding, etc. He was kind and did some astounding things. People flocked to him, just he had done. But eventually, the writing was on the wall. This man didn’t seem like he was going to do anything to save their nation…he was too humble, too submissive, too preoccupied with…yes, good deeds and not with power strokes that would shake and break the status quo and bring victory to the nation. My God! He had waited to see the overthrow; he had waited for the moment when the man would strike their captors and break the chains of oppression over them. But, alas! It wasn’t going to happen and so he had to do something….and something valuable…not only an act of valor, he thought but something worth some coin!
So it was late evening…that fateful night. He knew where the guy hung out with his buddies. He had been there before with them, many times. In a way he hated to do it but actually the thought of it was titillating and intriguing. Would he, himself, be a hero? Maybe! He had seen himself being carried up on the shoulders of his countrymen as ‘the one’ who would save them from this guy’s rhetoric, this street-preacher sort of guy; How he had been deceived!! He was doing this as an act of duty; an act of justice for his nation; for his church leaders and for himself.
As he led the officials into the place where ‘he” was, he had told them earlier what code he would use to identify the one, the guy, who would be the object of their custody. Yes! He was there. It was a little scary….almost like the guy was waiting for him. That took him aback for a moment but then….the old obsession with its drive came over him…over his mind as he approached the man.
“Master! He declared as he kissed the man on the cheek. “Master!”
Mg Henry <mgsingsong@aol.com>