SeanDareOnline.com

Part 1

Part 1 came easily to me. After re-reading part 1 I realized how much I don’t like the first two paragraphs. For me the story didn’t pick up until the flashback sequence.

Speaking of the the flashback sequence. That was the easiest bit of writing in the whole series. The images came to me quickly and the words flowed easily. If only all writing was like that!

In case you are wondering, Frank and Susan are not based on anyone in particular. I just tried to think of a couple who share a deep love for each other, and Frank and Susan were the result.

Frank held Sarah’s hand as they walked through the parking lot. Sarah was humming to herself as they walked. Frank looked down at her and asked “what is that your humming?” Sarah shrugged, but didn’t stop humming. Frank knew it was a song from Sunday school, but he couldn’t remember the title. “Do you know the words?” Frank asked. Sarah stopped humming long enough to say “No” then she continued. As they reached the car Frank reached into his pocket with his free hand and unlocked the doors with the remote on his key ring, then he opened the back door and held it for Sarah as she climbed into her seat. “Do you want me to buckle you in?” Frank asked “No, I can do it.” Sarah said as she started squirming and lifting herself up trying to get the buckles from under her so she could fasten them together. Frank watched as she clicked the buckles into place. When she was finished he pushed the door partially closed so she could reach the handle to pull it the rest of the way. Then Frank went around to the driver’s side, got in, started the motor, put it in drive, and pulled out to take his place in the line of cars waiting to leave the parking lot.

Images of Susan raced through Frank’s mind. He could see her at the beach, calling for him to join her as she danced in the surf. Then, in an instant, she was sitting on their living room sofa, reading a book by the fire. Next he saw her in the yard, kneeling down in her flower bed, pruning her roses.

Frank lay on his back, eyes open, wishing he could stop the images and go to sleep. He looked at the alarm clock on the bedside table, 2:00am. He rolled over on his side and looked at Susan’s pillow. He could feel the empty space in the bed. It was pulling at him, pulling at his soul. The emptiness was pulling his soul into an abyss. He thought about letting the abyss consume him. He wondered if he would feel any pain. “He was tired of pain” he thought, “tired of fighting”. He sighed, and stared, and thought. He thought about Sarah. He saw her face smiling in the afternoon sun. When she laughed she looked and sounded just like Susan. “What would happen to Sarah?” he thought. He sighed again, and rolled over to face the bedside table, turning his back on the abyss. He didn’t notice when he fell asleep.

The Message

The most important thing to remember when reading The Sacrifice is that Jesus took on this suffering for you. He didn’t have to do it, and, as his prayer in the Garden of Gethsemane suggests, he was extremely anxious about it, but he did go through it. Why? To atone for our sins with the only payment God would accept, blood. Jesus’ death on the cross was the payment for all of the sins in the world. So the next time you sin, and you know when you sin, remember that your sin, along with mine, is what held Jesus on the cross.

Jesus was crucified on a Friday. The following Sunday Jesus rose from the dead and, over the next weeks, appeared to many, including his disciples. This is what proves to us that he is the Son of God and that he is alive and at the right hand of his Father in Heaven. This whole story is irrelevant if we forget that he is alive and well with his father in heaven.

The Names

I did a little bit of research on Roman names for this piece. Unlike American society today, a typical Roman citizen could have many, many names. And depending on how close you were to the person, and what the circumstances were, the name or names you called each other varied. Sometimes you would use the full title, but mostly you would use a two name combo, like Antonius Novellus, or something like that. Only when you knew the person well, like if you served with him in the military, would you use the first name only. The first name in Roman culture was actually said last. So if we lived in Roman times you would call me Darius Seanius, instead of Sean Dare. The last name, our first name, was called the cognomina. Your cognomina was chosen by others in your community or was handed down from generation to generation. Each cognomina means something different. Cato for example means “shrewd” or “cunning”. Bucco means “fool” or “dolt”. Dentatus means “toothy” or “with a lot of teeth”. Bestia means “like an animal” and Aculeo means “prickly” or “unfriendly”. I chose these names to reflect their characters, much like the Roman’s would have done. If you would like to learn more about Roman names check out NovaRoma.

The Point of View

I wanted to tell the story of how much Jesus suffered for us, but needed an interesting point of view to convey the whole thing. The only character I could come up with that could see the entire process was a Roman soldier. I didn’t research the Roman military in depth, so I am sure I got a lot of the details wrong, but I think the story has enough truth to remain compelling. I also wasn’t sure about the time line of the events. After reading all four of the Disciples accounts I decided on the current course. If I am wrong on the time line then I am wrong, but please don’t let it distract you from the message, that Jesus endured great suffering to pay for our sins.

I chose the first person point of view because the story just kept going back to that. I would try to write in the third person and before the paragraph was finished I would be back in the first person again. Cato, by the way, is patterned after my Brother, and Bestia is patterned after a guy I knew in college. I didn’t have anyone specific in mind for any of the other characters, except Jesus of course.

Please tell me what you think of The Sacrifice in either the comments or via email.

- Sean

Part 1

I pour the water on the floor and set the bucket down to the side. Bending over I pick up the long handled brush and start scrubbing the dried blood from between the large flat stones. Bucco notices me and calls to me saying, “Hey Cato! Why are you doing woman’s work?” He turns to the group of soldiers standing behind him, smiling at their laughter. I stop and lean against the long handle. “Bucco, if you didn’t soil yourself every time a man comes in here I wouldn’t have to!” This brings an even greater reaction from the crowd. Bucco’s eyes grow dark as he tries to think of an adequate reply. I turn my back on the group and begin scrubbing again. I don’t care that much that the floor is clean. It’s just that the smell of dung, urine and blood seems to attack my stomach. It makes me nauseous. I like to get rid of the smell after the last victim of the day so I can eat my lunch without vomiting.

I hear the hinges of the large wooden door as it opens. I stop scrubbing and look up to see a Centurion guard detail enter the room with another prisoner. Glancing quickly around I notice everyone is looking. Some of the guys are even standing on tiptoe to get a better look over the heads of their companions. Out of the corner of my eye I notice Captain Aculeo stand up from his desk. I follow him with my eyes as He walks over to the Centurion at the head of the procession. You can see they are discussing the prisoner, The Centurion is pointing at a written order in his hand while Captain Aculeo nods. After a few minutes Captain Aculeo takes the paper and walks over to his desk. Without sitting down he hunches over the desk to sign the paper with a quill. He then makes a note in the prisoner log. When he finishes he motions for me to follow him, and walks back to the Centurion.

Part 1

The edge of the plastic chair dug into the back of Franks thighs cutting off the circulation to his legs. His legs were numb but he didn’t notice. He was leaning forward, elbows on knee’s, flipping through a People magazine. He looked at the pictures of celebrities in glamorous clothes and wondered if they ever felt anxiety or pain. He didn’t think so. At least you wouldn’t think so by looking at the pictures on the pages. He got to the end of the magazine and tossed it on the end table. Having already looked through all the magazines on the table next to him he stood up and walked over to see what magazines the other end tables had to offer.

He picked up a Field and Stream and began flipping the pages looking at the beautiful scenery. He paused on a picture of water flowing over rocks in a mountain stream. Something about its pristine beauty brought a moment of peace. By the time he heard the door open behind him he was back to flipping pages. Dropping the magazine on the side table he turned around and saw Dr. Green coming toward him, zig zagging his way through the rows of plastic chairs. Dr. Green wore green scrubs complete with green booties over the shoes and a green cap on his head. The scrubs had a faint streak of crimson across the chest. Frank looked at Dr. Green’s eyes as he approached. There was something different about the eyes. The eyes were darker than he remembered, and deeper. Frank’s insides tightened. Unconsciously he took a half step backwards before he stopped, squared himself and forced himself to say “How is she?” Dr. Green said “Frank, I…I have some bad news.” then he looked down at his hands, paused for a moment before saying, “She didn’t make it.” Frank felt the floor shift beneath his feet. He stared at Dr. Green. Dr. Green looked up from his hands and without taking his eyes off Frank’s he said, “There was nothing we could do” then, looking back at his hands, he continued, “a blood clot broke loose and lodged in her brain.” Frank looked intensely at Dr. Green. Dr. Green shifted his weight under Frank’s gaze and said, “I’m sorry.” Frank didn’t speak. Dr. Green waited. Finally, in a raspy voice, Frank asked, “Can I see her?” Dr. Green paused for just a moment as if collecting his thoughts and said, “Sure, just give us a few minutes. I will send a nurse to get you when we’re ready.” Frank nodded and Dr. Green looked down, turned away and left. Frank stood there feeling disjointed and awkward, like he was being suspended from the ceiling by unseen cords. He stared silently at the door for a moment then, without consciously realizing he was doing it, he sat down in one of the plastic chairs and closed his eyes.

My friend Tom who writes the In Continuous Pursuit blog has started writing essays as well. Check out his first essay and make sure to leave a comment.

I am glad to have Tom along on the road to writing well. The more people I share it with the more fun it will be!

- Sean

I got some great feedback from my Essay post on Friday. I have held off on posting all weekend to allow more people to read it. So if you are reading this post and are wondering what post I am referring to, check out Magic in the Morning, which is posted just below this post.

I heard two main criticisms concerning the Magic in the Morning post. One, the word “gray” was used a little too much. After hearing this, and then re-reading it, I agree. I wanted to make sure everyone got that it is incredibly gray in the woods after a rain, escpecially in the early morning. I guess I went a little overboard. Two, the bathroom sequence was distracting. I also agree, and I thought about that when I was writing it, but I didn’t want the character not go to the bathroom and have some reader out there say, “hey, he didn’t go to the bathroom!”. The comment that stuck with me was that it seemed to distract the reader. That is a big No-No in writing. Your reader should loose themselves in the story. If something I write distracts them to the point they are no longer absorbed then I have made a mistake. But hey, that is what these exercises are for aren’t they?

A note on that last comment. I want to use SeanDareOnline.com as a sort of crucible. For those who don’t know, a crucible is a container that is heated to extreemly high temperatures. Inside you place impure metal, usually ore containing gold or silver. Once the crucible has reached a certain temperature, and the ore inside has melted, the metal smith will pour off the material that has risen to the top which is called dross. The dross is the impurities of the metal ore. In effect the crucible purifies the metal ore. I want SeanDareOnline.com to purify my writing. So keep those comments coming!

One last note. I don’t really see ghosts when I am camping. I just feel connected to the past and to God when I am in the woods. I thought the ghosts would make a good illustration of that point.

Special thanks to the commentors:

• My Aunt Jan
• My Uncle Pat
• My friend Tom, who has a blog by the way!

- Sean

I can hear fluttering, like someone is lashing a wooden board with a strip of velvet, it draws me slowly back to consciousness. Without opening my eyes I stretch out and feel a cool spot at my toes. I smile and listen to the fluttering. As I move steadily toward a more conscious state I hear more sounds; I hear…chirping. Light chirping sounds mixed in with the fluttering. I breath in deeply and then roll back and forth slightly, trying to work my way back into warm sleep. I try relaxing and letting myself fall back into my dream, but it is too late. I am awake. I lie there for a moment and listen to the birds outside my window.

I roll over and slowly unzip the nylon panel that covers the screen window in my tent. I open the zipper no more than two inches and pull it open to spy on the birds. I search for them in the gray of early dawn. At first I don’t see them, they are further away than I expected. I finally catch sight of them, a blur of gray amongst the darker gray of morning. The two birds flit and flutter around each other, taking jabs when the other one leaves an opening, bobbing and weaving away from each others beaks and talons. This early morning ritual has something to do with mating, I try to remember what, but I can’t.

I am going to start writing fiction essays. You can read more about this new feature by reading the post on Finding My Voice.

- Sean