Blurred Vision: Seven billion voices about to be silenced

by Chris Botragyi

  The howls of a wounded animal sprang from within the exuberant crowd, echoing around the enclosed area of the tombs. The Professor’s eyes welled up as all the literature, paintings and text that depicted these scenes flashed through his mind. Even though he couldn’t see what was happening, he knew the horrors that Jesus was suffering. He dropped his head in shame as tears began to congregate in the corners of his eyes. His body heaved and jerked, reverberating at the sound of each anguished wail.

  He composed himself before glancing over his crossed arms that lay in the soil. Each movement caused a tiny dust cloud to form around his clammy face, forcing him to wipe his grit-covered features. He used his camera to zoom in on the mob as the heavy wooden cross was placed flat upon the ground. He stared on as the Roman centurion ordered the removal of several long spikes from a shabby brown leather satchel, along with what looked like a worn clawhammer.

  ‘This is it, here we go,’ he whispered as the soldiers circled the cross.

  He could hardly hear what was being said as the shouting continued.

  A greybearded man in beige robes begged and pleaded with the soldiers. ‘I am Joseph of Arimathea,’ he declared before dropping to his knees.

  Mark’s mouth fell open. ‘Bloody hell, I can’t believe it, that’s Joseph of Arimathea!’ he said excitedly, yet aloud for the benefit of both video cameras.

  His temptation couldn’t hold. He crawled on all fours through the harsh dirt as he strived for an advantage. He cautiously rose on his knees for a better look, while simultaneously wrenching his neck muscles to their limits.

  ‘Oh God, oh fucking hell!’ He fell onto his backside, his feet kicking out in the filth as he fought to move away from what he had just seen. ‘W-w-what’s happening?’ He felt violently sick as he shook uncontrollably. He placed his hands over his mouth to suppress the raw emotions as his brain tried to comprehend, to filter, what his eyes had relayed back to it. He clambered back to his original position, desperate to focus the cameras on the playing spectacle. ‘My God, are you getting this?’ he whimpered in a cracked tone to the shoulder cam’s audio.

  There, being dragged onto the cross by the Roman soldiers was Jesus Christ, the Son of God. Mark once again recoiled in horror at the sight. The supposed “Jesus”, that everyone had come to worship for the last 2000 years, lay not far from view in the dusty, stone-filled land. This was not what he had expected, nor could ever have imagined. He still couldn’t stop trembling as the enormity of what was happening before his eyes skewered his fragility.

  Animalistic whines pierced the sky as the seven-foot tall grey humanoid was lashed again and again by the soldiers. Brown treacle-like blood oozed from the countless lacerations that criss-crossed its slender, leathery-skinned body. The disturbed crowd threw rocks and stones at the cowering creature; their verbal abuse cruel, spat like arrows of hatred. A length of sharp thorns had been wrapped tight around its skinny neck; this was no crown, it had been used as a collar for a leash. Every movement it made caused a distressing wince as the needles dug in deep.

  The soldiers grabbed the creature’s long spindly limbs, spreading them outwards with force as they held it down. Its huge black eyes seemed agonised, innocent as its pencil-thin mouth bleated painfully like a sacrificial lamb. One of the soldiers took the iron hammer determinedly, hovering it over the rusted spike that was placed upon its bony wrist. Its four-fingered hand juddered with each formidable blow.

  THUD, THUD, THUD, THUD!

  Mark felt queasy again as he watched the hammer bury the spike home. The alien screamed as its syrupy blood spattered the nearest soldiers’ faces. They cursed it with obscenities as they kicked and stamped angrily on its bleeding torso, which encouraged the crowd even more. They continued to place the remaining spikes through the other wrist, then one through both feet as members of the crowd continued to spit and taunt the wailing extraterrestrial.

  He narrowed his eyes as he zoomed in on the camera. He watched as Joseph’s sorrow-stricken face pleaded with the soldiers to relent their violence, only to be pushed back aggressively. A young woman adorned in a red robe stood side by side with Joseph; she too appealed for the madness to cease. Her sprouting red hair bore the hallmarks of her fiery nature as she attempted to grab at the soldiers, to gain their attention in relinquishing their cruel actions. Mark looked on in contorted awe as this passionate woman fought to protect the alien.

  ‘I pray that all of this is being bloody recorded, because that’s Mary Magdalene!’ he said to the camera again before pulling his face away, still shaking in fear and amazement.

  The creature tried to move its head as it struggled to understand why this was happening. The same bleating sound left its weak mouth repetitively. Its withering body, now battered and broken, desperately fought to escape, but the pain caused it to cry out at every attempt.

  Mark dropped his aching head to the ground and began crying hard. ‘Why, why do we do this? We don’t deserve to thrive as a species.’ The tears ran fast from his stinging eyes, leaping from his face to his hands. He looked to the heavens for answers as the being roared out from its latest torture. He cupped his ears with his grubby hands, he could take no more. ‘We deserve to watch the world burn, we deserve only death.’

  His guilt at not being able to do anything far outweighed his need for personal advancement. He placed his hands in the earth, clenching handfuls as he smashed and ground his fists over and over. His mind was frazzled, and it ached with a sorrowful weight. Slowly, he pushed himself to regain some sanity and focus on why he was here in the first place.

  The four-metre long wooden cross was heaved upright on broad ropes by the soldiers. There it stood, sickeningly proud between two terrified men who were also being crucified. Their empathetic looks towards the creature only served to weaken their own chances of survival.

  Individuals from within the mob were still throwing rocks and debris at the alien as it groaned loudly. One of the soldiers suddenly rammed his long pilum into its side, snapping off the handle several inches below the spear tip. The sound that left its mouth shattered Mark’s soul, and would haunt him until his dying days.

  Mark lay in a dazed heap after passing out from heat exhaustion. The sun continued to glare down upon his static body, frying his bare hands in the hot soil.

  The cries gradually subsided as Mary Magdalene and Joseph of Arimathea tried to sooth the creature’s splintered mind. Its foreign organs pushed partly through the torso wound, glistening in the light with a slimy moisture. She wept as she serenely bathed its slender four-toed feet with cool water. Joseph looked up as the vultures began to circle the hazy skies. They cast a foreboding sense of death.

  After a few hours, Mark opened his eyes gingerly. His sweaty hair began to itch from the grime that centred within his scalp. He placed his bruised and burnt hands over his tired face, and wiped the sweat from his troubled brow. His moral boundaries could not grasp why people did what they did. It kept playing over in his muggy head like a broken record. How can humanity be so cruel and heartless?

  He looked at his watch, it said 14:55 p.m. There was no let up in the oppressive heat as he began to gather his belongings. He took one last sad look at the bloodied body that clung to the wooden structure. He looked on dejectedly as Joseph and Mary still knelt, praying at the foot of the cross. Their distraught faces had shed a lifetime of tears. The alien wheezed and whimpered with each soft dabbing from the wet rag that she used. Her efforts to add some moisture to its dry and wrinkled skin were not working.

  Mark looked through the camera again. Even from the distance he could see that the creature’s chest wounds had stopped bleeding. All that remained was an emaciated body full of deep gashes and flayed skin. The local insects got a good feed as they flocked together, happily buzzing amongst the few broken ribs that had torn through its side.

  Devastated cries left Mary’s sun exposed lips, the alien had breathed its last breath. Joseph held her back in an effort to console her. It
s heavy head had flopped forwards, its eyes now a shade of light grey as the dark flicker of life had vacated them. What was left of the people celebrated amongst themselves.

  Mark’s lips quivered as the sorrow and shame crept over his entire body, filling his throat and heart with a strong burning sensation.

  Almost instantly, a strange cooling in the air caused the Professor to shiver and look upwards. The brightness quickly began to disappear as an eerie darkness gradually ate the sky, blotting out the sun. The ground began to quake, followed by a dense humming sound. He looked down at his desert-booted feet as he tried to steady himself.

  Hysteria broke out within the pack as the soldiers failed to keep order. Mark stared as arms were raised. Fear soared high from not only where he was, but from all around as the clear blue skies continued to turn a sinister black. The stalking gloom swam overhead, swallowing the land as he looked on. There, over the entire valley, came an approaching spacecraft. The gigantic metallic disc floated with little effort, though moved menacingly as it headed towards Golgotha.

  ‘This can’t be happening,’ he said, snapping randomly away on his camera. ‘T-this isn’t in the Bible?!’

  He felt faint as he quickly returned to packing the rucksack; he was careful not to forget anything amidst the mass panic before climbing sluggishly down from the tombs. He tilted his shoulder cam up at the enormous craft, which he estimated to be at least a mile in diameter. He couldn’t hang around any longer, he knew that he had to get out, and fast.

  He tightened the white sheet around his damp body, wincing at the uncomfortable chafing that his clothes made over the wetness. His heart beat dangerously as he scrambled down the dirty trail. Tired legs felt like lead as they struggled to form a regular rhythm, it was almost like he had forgotten how to run. His windpipe became clogged from the flying dust and earth, causing him to heave. He hardly looked back as he descended through the Kidron Valley, and back to the Mount of Olives.

  ‘Keep going, keep going,’ he kept repeating as he desperately tried to hold the weighty rucksack in place upon his painful right shoulder.

  He didn’t care who saw him anymore as the helmet fell from his head. He quickly managed a sliding U-turn in the gravel, grabbing at it with his left hand as it rolled clumsily away. All he thought about was getting home, and away from the grisly din that peppered the air from afar. The putrid smell of burning flesh and ash shot up his nose, jabbing his senses. God only knew what was happening to the people in Golgotha, because he sure as hell didn’t want to know.

  His body compass was all over the place. He wished that he was physically fitter as he fought to refrain from vomiting. With hands on hips, he spun in a full circle as he searched for the rough destination of his original arrival. In a panic he scoured the map, fingering the crease-riddled paper in desperate arcs as he scanned for the exact location.

  ‘Shit, the remote,’ he said, patting down his clothing, ‘where is the remote?’

  He looked back across the valley and at the shadowy disc. His hands frantically searched the pockets for the remote control. Finding it in his upper arm pocket, he juggled the plastic square in mid-air. His eyes followed its every move as it slipped in and out of his swollen fingers before he grabbed hold of it. He pointed it without aim, squeezing the round green button apprehensively, praying that it started the process for his journey home.

  ‘Come on!’ He continuously pressed the button impatiently. He cast a glance back at the alien ship again, all the while shaking the device angrily. ‘Come on!’ A small green light pulsed brightly from the remote. Momentarily relieved, he knew that back home they had received the signal.

  Stones and dry mud rose from the vibrating ground as a tear began forming behind him. The magnetic field from the approaching hole interacted with the remote control’s built-in magnetism. It forced Mark’s arm, and then his body to spin round to its position. It yanked him forwards, like a powerful dog on a leash leading its owner on a merry dash.

  Blackness blended with the remaining sunlight that caused a gold and coffee-coloured effect as the swirling began. He felt dizzy as it dragged him towards the small spinning hole that had opened with a series of static, crackling blasts. He removed the rucksack from his pain-fraught shoulder and slung it wildly into the blur. He collapsed, falling head first into the hypnotic kaleidoscope.

  A loud snap forced the journalists and photographers to crouch for cover. The tear opened within the room, like a transparent knife had slashed the air in an identical position to where its predecessor had been. Gasps sounded all around as the split grew outwards, turning into a hole that spun the scientists’ sheets of paper and light objects within the air.

  Keller watched as Mark fell through the hole. ‘My God, we’ve done it!’ he celebrated as the Professor dropped to the floor with a hefty thump.

  Keller hammered the buttons of the machine which powered it down with a series of loud humming drones, each quieter than the last. The black hole ceased spinning and began reversing its motion, rewinding itself to a single point before vanishing. It was as though someone had stitched up the air with an invisible needle and thread. The hundreds of sheets of white paper floated to the floor like crisp, giant snowflakes.

  Long and Daniels dashed over to where Mark lay, quickly followed by Keller. Daniels forcefully pulled the rucksack from the Professor’s hand and pushed it away. Long gently cradled his aching head in her lap, stroking his feverish brow as everyone in the room looked on.

  The photographers’ cameras snapped away. Shadows flickered on the walls as a relentless stream of photos were taken – it was enough to cause an epileptic fit in the most healthy of people.

  Mark looked up into Long’s eyes, shivering as though the temperature had dramatically fallen. Without warning he vomited down the front of the dust-stained sheet that he wore. Long turned his head sideways to prevent him from choking.

  ‘It’s okay, Mark, you’re home now.’ She soothingly stroked his grimy hair. ‘Where have you been all this time? We were worried sick.’ Mark tried to speak, but couldn’t. ‘Can we get some medical help here please?’ she requested with a firm shout.

  ‘Well done buddy, you’ve made history today. You’ll be on the front of every magazine and newspaper in the world tomorrow,’ added Keller enthusiastically as he carefully removed the camera from Mark’s left shoulder.

  Mark reached out for the camera, swiping through the air with an open hand as Keller’s exuberance beamed down at him.

  ‘No, Keller!’ said Mark weakly as his voice croaked. ‘Destroy that camera, destroy them all.’

  ‘Are you serious?’ A puzzled smirk sat upon Keller’s face. ‘This footage will be the greatest thing ever recorded, ever seen!’

  Mark grabbed at Daniels’ arm as the tech whiz continued to remove the strappings and gadgets from his body. He stared glassy-eyed at the thickset, middle-aged man. ‘Daniels, get that camera off Keller. Don’t let anyone see it before I can explain what’s on the hard drive.’

  Long glanced her head sideways as she subtly motioned to Daniels. He leapt to his feet with purpose and walked quickly towards Keller. He calmly placed a large arm around his colleague’s lower back as not to cause any concern amongst the journalists.

  ‘Don’t show it, Keller,’ whispered Daniels sternly into the assistant’s left ear. ‘Mark says not to show it yet.’

  Keller looked down at Mark, who in turn gestured for him to come over to where he lay. Daniels walked Keller back, like he was escorting a prisoner to his cell. The two men knelt down beside Long. All three strained to listen, but the raucous squawk of jumbled media questions took precedence.

  ‘What is it, Mark, why don’t you want us viewing the video footage?’ asked Keller quietly, intrigued.

  Mark placed a hand on each of the two men’s forearms. He was cautiously aware of the prying ears.

  ‘It’s alright, Mark, you can tell us,’ said Long in her velvettoned voice.

  ‘You c
an’t… you can’t show the world that footage. It’s not what you think,’ said Mark with effort as his dry throat had ceased to work properly.

  Keller’s blue eyes arrowed in on the Professor’s exhausted, filth-covered face. ‘Tell us, what did you see, was it amazing?’ he rambled excitedly. ‘Did you see all the classic Biblical figures?’

  Mark’s face contorted as his eyes widened with confusion. ‘It’s not what you think. Jesus, no Jesus Christ.’

  The three of them looked at each other with baffled frowns. The Professor narrowed his eyes in discomfort as the endless stabs of camera flashes temporarily blinded him. Daniels grabbed at the glass of water from the podium, almost knocking it over. He delicately held the glass to Mark’s cracked lips; he gulped the water down greedily. He took several deep breaths, spluttering as he drank the liquid too quickly.

  ‘It wasn’t Jesus that they nailed to the cross, the Bible doesn’t tell the true story.’ He coughed hard as the water ran heavily down his throat, choking him. ‘The ancient races of the past, like the Sumerians…’ Long lifted his head slightly as he coughed again. ‘Like the Sumerians, they were right. Their drawings of beings and spaceships on their archaic stone tablets are correct! Jesus was a story written to cover the truth of what really happened, and for good reason.’

  Again, the three all looked to one another.

  Long shook her head with a confused smile. ‘I don’t understand, Mark.’

  ‘Jesus wasn’t crucified on the cross!’ whispered Mark bitingly. ‘Don’t you get it? It wasn’t a human being, it was a fucking grey alien that suffered that fate! If this gets out it will be the end of civilisation, period! The impact on religion and faith will be irreparable, it will fold in on itself; the world as we know it will end. Like I said, they covered it up for good reason. Even they, 2000 years ago, could foresee the potential dangers that we now face.’ He raised his right arm painfully and pointed at the machine. ‘Destroy that device, no good can come from it. It will only bring a new pain and suffering into the 21st century.’ Mark’s vision clouded before he passed out.