Lazarus

“Lazarus, come out,” said Jesus, extending his arms toward the open tomb. The crowd, smelling of shit, stood there, waiting. 

Lazarus emerged, covered in burial cloths blackened with blood and streaks of pus. The crowd gasped in amazement and started to dance. Songs rang out with shouts of, “Messiah, messiah.”

“Why?” Lazarus wheezed, his voice barely audible through the burial cloths.

“Lazarus,” said Jesus. 

Something was wrong. Lazarus looked haggard. 

“Fuck,” Lazarus screamed as he ripped off some of the cloth from his arm. Blood fell like rain as a scab reopened.

Jesus remained calm but alert.

The crowd behind them began to disappear as they went into Bethany to spread the news of Jesus’ miracle.

“I’m sorry for your pain,” said Jesus.

“You’re sorry?” Lazarus asked. 

“Yes,” said Jesus.

Lazarus let out a psychotic laugh. “Why did you bring me back?” he asked. 

Jesus paused and looked at him, “My father requested it.”

“I was with Abraham in a place with no pain or suffering, and you brought me back against my will.” 

Jesus said nothing, which upset Lazarus more. Lazarus kicked his shoulder, “Does it make you happy to see me suffer?”

“Abraham and the prophets had their time, but surely you can see that someone risen from the dead would be more convincing than a story in a book. It is my father’s will that you find the lost souls. Help them see."

Lazarus laughed again. “Oh so you think I didn't suffer enough?”

“Lazarus, this is a gift,” said Jesus. 

Lazarus fumed, ripped off more burial cloths and tossed the bloody rags at Jesus, “The only gift you gave me was a second death,” he said. He brushed past both of them into town.

Jesus wept. 

“Find the sons of thunder,” said Jesus turning to Peter. “We need to make sure nothing is misinterpreted. My message is in its tender youth.”

Peter nodded and found James and John further down the beach tearing bits of charred fish off the bone with their teeth. They looked up as Peter approached, their muscly arms a baked-red color in the evening sun. 

“The master would like you to keep an eye on Lazarus,” said Peter. They got up and walked toward Lazarus without a word. Peter grabbed some fish and sat down by the fire, reflecting. 

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