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dolevalanTitle: Gloria
Fandom: Original
Kind of...odd. Ah well.
You never really get the smell of sheep out of your clothes. Oh, I mean, you can try all sorts of things…my wife does, in fact. She’s come up with at least four dozen ways to remove the smell of sheep (none of these methods works, of course, but she does have them handy anyway).
It’s part of the reason why I like being out in the fields. My friends think I’m crazy. Maybe I am. But it’s peaceful, for the most part, and no one minds if you smell like sheep because, to be honest, most of those around you are sheep themselves.
I suspect I’m crazy anyway. My wife says it affectionately (or not entirely affectionately, depending on the situation), but it’s very possible. I’ve always liked being alone, out under the stars. Even with the cold or the wolves or whatever problem I have to deal with. I’m a good shepherd – I’ve been doing it for years. But I’m not good at much else, truth be told.
So, the odd thing, some twenty years ago, was not that the sky ripped in half. The odd thing was that everyone else saw it too.
There’s really no way I can explain to you what it was like. I don’t talk about it, with the others who were there. We’ve never spoken of it after that night. What is there to say, when everything you know, the whole world gets turned on its head and you don’t know where the foundations of your life are anymore?
“Peace.” That was what they said. “Peace.” If there’s one word I don’t associate with that memory, it’s the word “peace.” Peace is not tramping from the fields into town. Peace is not a screaming infant in a barn because the city is so full of people there’s not place to fit anyone else. And peace is certainly not having beings from another world burst in upon you unexpectedly and telling you to pass on their message.
I wonder what happened to the baby, sometimes. They said a savior. They said the Messiah. He’d be a man, now. But I haven’t heard of any new king. Last I checked, Caesar was still in Rome, and we were still occupied. Not that I’m a Zealot. I just tend my sheep. As I said, that’s what I’m good at.
They said peace. They said joy. All I have now are worries and the vague feeling that the whole world is just a skin on top of something much larger and more massive than I care to think about. That, and the occasional dream. But then…maybe I’m just crazy.
Fandom: Original
Kind of...odd. Ah well.
You never really get the smell of sheep out of your clothes. Oh, I mean, you can try all sorts of things…my wife does, in fact. She’s come up with at least four dozen ways to remove the smell of sheep (none of these methods works, of course, but she does have them handy anyway).
It’s part of the reason why I like being out in the fields. My friends think I’m crazy. Maybe I am. But it’s peaceful, for the most part, and no one minds if you smell like sheep because, to be honest, most of those around you are sheep themselves.
I suspect I’m crazy anyway. My wife says it affectionately (or not entirely affectionately, depending on the situation), but it’s very possible. I’ve always liked being alone, out under the stars. Even with the cold or the wolves or whatever problem I have to deal with. I’m a good shepherd – I’ve been doing it for years. But I’m not good at much else, truth be told.
So, the odd thing, some twenty years ago, was not that the sky ripped in half. The odd thing was that everyone else saw it too.
There’s really no way I can explain to you what it was like. I don’t talk about it, with the others who were there. We’ve never spoken of it after that night. What is there to say, when everything you know, the whole world gets turned on its head and you don’t know where the foundations of your life are anymore?
“Peace.” That was what they said. “Peace.” If there’s one word I don’t associate with that memory, it’s the word “peace.” Peace is not tramping from the fields into town. Peace is not a screaming infant in a barn because the city is so full of people there’s not place to fit anyone else. And peace is certainly not having beings from another world burst in upon you unexpectedly and telling you to pass on their message.
I wonder what happened to the baby, sometimes. They said a savior. They said the Messiah. He’d be a man, now. But I haven’t heard of any new king. Last I checked, Caesar was still in Rome, and we were still occupied. Not that I’m a Zealot. I just tend my sheep. As I said, that’s what I’m good at.
They said peace. They said joy. All I have now are worries and the vague feeling that the whole world is just a skin on top of something much larger and more massive than I care to think about. That, and the occasional dream. But then…maybe I’m just crazy.
