Jesus makes it all the way to the top of the hill without another pause. You don't know how. He stumbles, and even trips, though his pace stays steady and he remains on his feet. You can see his head raise, his eyes on the hill, where already one man is nailed to a cross, and you can hear the screams of another being raised as well. Three shall die today. Three.
The blooms of the shrubs along the road are deceptive, speaking of Spring on
this day of death. White and yellow flowers line the road, along with tall shrubs, tall
enough now for small birds to be landing in them, singing their mating
songs. Trees are nearer the wall, tall and short, many with pale purple
blossoms. 
The
sun shines bright, with some clouds appearing on the horizon. Maybe an hour remains until noon.
There was a light rain last night, making the plants and shrubs fill the air with their light, fresh scent. The ground is still wet, adding a heavy earthy aroma. You are thankful to get away from the city, though not thankful for the reason. A mournful cooing starts in one of the nearby trees. It continues as the group walks up the hill.
Simon is there already. You look up and see him toss off the crosspiece where the other officer indicates. He is free now. He did what they asked. Instead of leaving, however, he joins a silent group off to the side, blending in among others of his class. He disappears from your view.
Jesus walks off the path, pushed by a guard towards the south edge of the worn down hilltop. Some of the soldiers are lifting another beam onto its post, a man suspended from it, screaming. He is naked, and covered in dirt. No blood, however. This one they didn't beat. He must have really offended Rome.
You watch as they hold him against the post, hammering the nails through his feet. Blood spurts out. These soldiers are wearing dirtier clothes than the rest. It reminds you of the butcher, and then you think of the priests and Levites in their ritual linen clothes, made for Passover sacrifice duties.
The man cries and screams. The nail is driven through. He shrieks in pain. Then seems to faint. The man on the other cross looks on. Also naked, he doesn't seem to care anymore about anything. He has been there since morning, you see the dried blood along the cross, pouring out when he adjusts even a little bit, tearing open his wounds. His body is still trying to heal itself. These are wounds which will never heal. You look away, his seeming resignation more obscene than the other man's cries.
Now finished raising the second man, the executioners pause for a moment. A bucket of water is passed around. They drink, and laugh.
One of them asks, "What's this one done?" He points to Jesus.
A soldier replies, "Rebel. Oh, and apparently a prophet, though he didn't seem to predict any of this, eh? He’s also their King, so he says. Others… disagree."
They all laugh. The soldier tells them of the beating, the mocking.
"Well, I haven't killed a king yet, this'll be a first. Alright, get him ready."
Whatever concern the soldiers had before was now gone. Jesus is at the crucifix. Death could come at any time for all the Romans cared.
Two of them grab Jesus by the arms. Another rips off his robes, tearing open a mass of wounds, making the blood come down everywhere. The fabric sticks in some parts, the Roman pulls harder. People around make comments about the severity of the beating. You think you see white bone in the wounds around his chest, and side. Jesus stands there, no resistance, wincing with the pain of each tug.
"He's Jewish alright," one of the executioners says once Jesus is stripped.
You notice, seemingly for the first time, his physical presence. It has always been his eyes that caught you, the power and strength of his stare. Now they are looking down, and all you can see is his bloodied, ruined body. He was a man of strength. His physique tells of an active life, not the usual one for a scholar.
You didn't know what he did before his ministry started, though it must have been something active. He's short, shorter than most of the people around, and other than that completely average. Nothing stands out, except now his many cuts and gashes. You feel ashamed for thinking it, but the thought runs through your head that he never really was a good looking man. Nothing about him gives indication of his authority. Nothing but those strong, dark eyes. And his touch. And his words. And his power.
The
soldiers throw his dirty robes away. They were rags and now they are even
worse. Some women pick them up, hold them close, dirty and bloody as they
are.
A soldier yells, "All hail the King!"
The others yell in response, "Hail to the King of the Jews."
They laugh, some leaders walk forward, protesting the sign they now see. A soldier pushes them back, the officer orders the crowd to give some distance. For a moment it looks like the people will turn, finding themselves insulted by this process. The man they gave up is seen by the Romans as representing all the Jewish people.
Another executioner walks forward. In his hand is a large wooden mallet, and two long, evil looking spikes. You turn your head, and pray to God for deliverance. This can't go on any longer, it has gone on too long already, now is the time for the angels, and for Jesus to throw off his bonds.
Now is the time, you think, now is the time. You look at Jesus again, just standing there, naked and pitiful, his head down, his heart already gone, accepting all of this without another word. Women scream and cry. You look down, close your eyes, trying to find some sort of reason for this, something which would make sense. Nothing comes to mind. All you hear is the sound of tears, and now the order to begin the crucifixion. You look up.
The officer steps forward, a scroll in his hands, a look of authority in his face. You know there is not going to be any stopping this. The last bit of courage and hope disappears, you feel completely empty, dead inside.
"My Jesus, stripped of Your garments and drenched with gall, strip me of love for things which separate me from you, and make me loathe all that savors of the world and sin."
