He’d been on the earth since its early tumultuous creation.
He didn’t have a name.
There was no need anymore. He escaped to earth after the fall of Siiileni, a million miles and a thousands years away.
He’d seen the rise and fall of a his great civilization destroyed by its hunger for power. Greed. And foremost, a massive division among its residents that resulted in terrible civil wars, and ultimately the destruction of his entire race.
The hermit. That’s what he decided to call himself after a few hundred years on the earth. He watched apes morph into men. He walked with the dinosaurs, and once rode a giant saber-toothed tiger for kicks.
He watched the humans gather into larger groups around the planet. Their mud huts gave way to stone edifices dedicated to their gods. He went among the Babylonians, the Greeks, and the Egyptians, teaching their wise men astronomy.
He gave them the stars by explaining each glittering cluster and galaxy. Their history. Constellations. Things they could see with their eyes. How to interpret them. He always talked of how important peace was.
Then he went to a place of many trees, away from the humans, and he led the life of a hermit. Alone in his thoughts.
His hopes were high that mankind could live peacefully.
Bored, after a couple of decades of silence, other than the sound of animals, the wind, and the rain, he went back out among men into a place called Jerusalem. It was a bad time to be there. The locals had been invaded by another nation. Rome.
The people lived under the yoke of conquerors. As he stood in a narrow street he heard a group of men arguing loudly. A crowd was gathering just ahead of him, in a large plaza area. Anger was in the air. He drew nearer.
Two men were facing off shouting and waving their arms at each other. Suddenly one of them stopped and pointed at the Hermit. He was in his earthly guise. A middle-aged man with long scraggly hair, beard, and olive-hued complexion.
They were making accusations against him. A cacophony of voices called for his death while others pleaded for mercy. He was carried away by a mass of humanity hungry for his blood.
Soldiers drug him along in chains up a steep hill. Beaten along the way with whips. Stones striking his body with painful thuds.
The Hermit realized his time had finally come. The release. He was going into a new unknown. Maybe the loneliness would stop now, he thought as they nailed him to a cross.
As It Stands, no blasphemy intended. This tale is merely a quick glance and an alternative to the greatest story ever told.
The Creative Chronicles of Dave Stancliff 