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By nature, the temple should have been a place of solitude. Of reflection, of prayer. And in some places, it was. Those places were accessed only by priests to commune with the Almighty. Mostly the temple was alive with activity. There was a constant stream of people coming and going with their atonement offerings. The bleatings of sheep and goats, the cooing of countless doves in cages, the occasional bawl of a bull for one of the more serious offenses conflicted with the drone and echo of voices pinging and reverberating off the stone walls of the temple porch. None of this was new or even particularly disturbing but it was a nuisance. This was why he only came to the temple on very serious matters and preferred to pray in the comfort of his own room at home.
But he had sinned. Egregiously. And he had to make it right.
Being the kind of family they were, the Jaffe men did not keep goats, nor doves, nor bulls, nor any other barnyard thing. They bought what they needed to eat from the market and so it was with atonement offerings. Amiti had purchased a pair of doves and strode with them through the gates of the temple, into the impressively full temple court, and stopped, looking around. This temple was not near so impressive as the white marble one in Jerusalem, but it was more familiar to him. The temple in Jerusalem was grand and opulent; the pride of Judea and more breathtaking than any of the heathen temples. Whenever he was able to worship within its walls, he felt a sense of national pride and belonging but it did not give him the same feeling this one did.
This temple in Damascus was the one in which he’d been dedicated, the one where he’d studied under the tutelage of priests. Its well worn halls were as familiar to him as his own house and he felt as comfortable here as he did at home, though a tad more reverent and appropriately guilt-ridden. Crossing the square of the temple court, he brought the cooing doves to the priest for them to be sacrificed. Amiti knelt, feeling the blood sprinkled on him and praying silently the entire time, and then finally rising after being absolved. He felt like a new man. No more would there be sin in his thoughts. He could finally stop thinking about-No. He wouldn’t even think her name.
He turned to leave, nearly bumped into a priest, and in jumping back to avoid the man, he accidentally tumbled backward over the dove cage, knocked into the priest who’d done the sacrificing, and sprawled on the stone steps. The knife shot upwards, two white dead birds streaked with red throats flew after the knife, then all three plummeted down, with two dull thuds and a metallic pinging.
Amiti wondered if now would be a good moment to slit his throat so he wouldn’t have to bear the agony of this meeting. He sat up, glaring at the idiot who’d been standing so near him as to cause all of this chaos.
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This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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By nature, the temple should have been a place of solitude. Of reflection, of prayer. And in some places, it was. Those places were accessed only by priests to commune with the Almighty. Mostly the temple was alive with activity. There was a constant stream of people coming and going with their atonement offerings. The bleatings of sheep and goats, the cooing of countless doves in cages, the occasional bawl of a bull for one of the more serious offenses conflicted with the drone and echo of voices pinging and reverberating off the stone walls of the temple porch. None of this was new or even particularly disturbing but it was a nuisance. This was why he only came to the temple on very serious matters and preferred to pray in the comfort of his own room at home.
But he had sinned. Egregiously. And he had to make it right.
Being the kind of family they were, the Jaffe men did not keep goats, nor doves, nor bulls, nor any other barnyard thing. They bought what they needed to eat from the market and so it was with atonement offerings. Amiti had purchased a pair of doves and strode with them through the gates of the temple, into the impressively full temple court, and stopped, looking around. This temple was not near so impressive as the white marble one in Jerusalem, but it was more familiar to him. The temple in Jerusalem was grand and opulent; the pride of Judea and more breathtaking than any of the heathen temples. Whenever he was able to worship within its walls, he felt a sense of national pride and belonging but it did not give him the same feeling this one did.
This temple in Damascus was the one in which he’d been dedicated, the one where he’d studied under the tutelage of priests. Its well worn halls were as familiar to him as his own house and he felt as comfortable here as he did at home, though a tad more reverent and appropriately guilt-ridden. Crossing the square of the temple court, he brought the cooing doves to the priest for them to be sacrificed. Amiti knelt, feeling the blood sprinkled on him and praying silently the entire time, and then finally rising after being absolved. He felt like a new man. No more would there be sin in his thoughts. He could finally stop thinking about-No. He wouldn’t even think her name.
He turned to leave, nearly bumped into a priest, and in jumping back to avoid the man, he accidentally tumbled backward over the dove cage, knocked into the priest who’d done the sacrificing, and sprawled on the stone steps. The knife shot upwards, two white dead birds streaked with red throats flew after the knife, then all three plummeted down, with two dull thuds and a metallic pinging.
Amiti wondered if now would be a good moment to slit his throat so he wouldn’t have to bear the agony of this meeting. He sat up, glaring at the idiot who’d been standing so near him as to cause all of this chaos.
By nature, the temple should have been a place of solitude. Of reflection, of prayer. And in some places, it was. Those places were accessed only by priests to commune with the Almighty. Mostly the temple was alive with activity. There was a constant stream of people coming and going with their atonement offerings. The bleatings of sheep and goats, the cooing of countless doves in cages, the occasional bawl of a bull for one of the more serious offenses conflicted with the drone and echo of voices pinging and reverberating off the stone walls of the temple porch. None of this was new or even particularly disturbing but it was a nuisance. This was why he only came to the temple on very serious matters and preferred to pray in the comfort of his own room at home.
But he had sinned. Egregiously. And he had to make it right.
Being the kind of family they were, the Jaffe men did not keep goats, nor doves, nor bulls, nor any other barnyard thing. They bought what they needed to eat from the market and so it was with atonement offerings. Amiti had purchased a pair of doves and strode with them through the gates of the temple, into the impressively full temple court, and stopped, looking around. This temple was not near so impressive as the white marble one in Jerusalem, but it was more familiar to him. The temple in Jerusalem was grand and opulent; the pride of Judea and more breathtaking than any of the heathen temples. Whenever he was able to worship within its walls, he felt a sense of national pride and belonging but it did not give him the same feeling this one did.
This temple in Damascus was the one in which he’d been dedicated, the one where he’d studied under the tutelage of priests. Its well worn halls were as familiar to him as his own house and he felt as comfortable here as he did at home, though a tad more reverent and appropriately guilt-ridden. Crossing the square of the temple court, he brought the cooing doves to the priest for them to be sacrificed. Amiti knelt, feeling the blood sprinkled on him and praying silently the entire time, and then finally rising after being absolved. He felt like a new man. No more would there be sin in his thoughts. He could finally stop thinking about-No. He wouldn’t even think her name.
He turned to leave, nearly bumped into a priest, and in jumping back to avoid the man, he accidentally tumbled backward over the dove cage, knocked into the priest who’d done the sacrificing, and sprawled on the stone steps. The knife shot upwards, two white dead birds streaked with red throats flew after the knife, then all three plummeted down, with two dull thuds and a metallic pinging.
Amiti wondered if now would be a good moment to slit his throat so he wouldn’t have to bear the agony of this meeting. He sat up, glaring at the idiot who’d been standing so near him as to cause all of this chaos.
It was not all the time Selima followed her husband when he had business, but when she did she always enjoyed it. She loved to see the people outside of Jerusalem. Judeans were all one people, happy in worship of Yahweh. But despite being one, the cities differed. Some were more studious, some were hard workers, but all were pious. Which was another reason Selima found herself at this temple without her husband. She enjoyed the feeling of togetherness, even if the people themselves were unique and different.
She also enjoyed the chance to reflect. She had the chance to think of her family life, a chaos that she kept hidden behind a smile and a false assurance that everything was as it should be. It was in the temple did she allow her mind to truly wander, and pray for the opportunity to make things right within her house. She just needed a little more strength to be the wife that her husband needed and the mother that her children deserved. She just needed… guidance.
The temple in Damascus was not like the one in Jerusalem. It was smaller and in many ways more modest. Where in Jeruselam the temple was their shining jewel, a monument of their worship, the one in Damascus instead was very representative of the Judean people. They each were unique, and each held an experience that Selima cherished each time she stepped foot on their lands.
Selima’s mind was like an ocean. So often the waves were dangerous and wild, but in the temple she could all them to calm. She could allow the worries that gripped her every day, and the guilt that she had building inside her to quiet. She was with people, all praying, but also she was alone. She was alone… except she wasn’t. She was with someone, the only one who truly mattered to Selima. And that, in itself, was a blessing.
Time ticked on, and after too much of it passed Selima finally reclaimed her thoughts. It was time for her to go. Her husband would be wondering where she had gone. And while he certainly would approve of the location she chose to spend much of her time at, she did not like to leave him waiting. Selima had started on her way when she suddenly stopped. Did she leave something? Wait… no, no she was fine.
That moment’s hesitation was disastrous. For a man stumbled backwards, over a cage with dead birds flopping to the ground. He sat up, looking quite irritated at Selima for having been so close to him. Selima had opened her mouth to apologize, but instead “Amiti?!” came out of her mouth instead.
Oh the poor dear! Selima crouched and offered a hand to help him back to his feet. “I’m so sorry, Amiti. I wasn’t paying enough attention. Are you okay? You didn’t get hurt did you?” Selima fretted. Oh Simeon wouldn’t be happy about this, nor would Selima for that matter. This was her fault after all.
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This character is currently a work in progress.
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It was not all the time Selima followed her husband when he had business, but when she did she always enjoyed it. She loved to see the people outside of Jerusalem. Judeans were all one people, happy in worship of Yahweh. But despite being one, the cities differed. Some were more studious, some were hard workers, but all were pious. Which was another reason Selima found herself at this temple without her husband. She enjoyed the feeling of togetherness, even if the people themselves were unique and different.
She also enjoyed the chance to reflect. She had the chance to think of her family life, a chaos that she kept hidden behind a smile and a false assurance that everything was as it should be. It was in the temple did she allow her mind to truly wander, and pray for the opportunity to make things right within her house. She just needed a little more strength to be the wife that her husband needed and the mother that her children deserved. She just needed… guidance.
The temple in Damascus was not like the one in Jerusalem. It was smaller and in many ways more modest. Where in Jeruselam the temple was their shining jewel, a monument of their worship, the one in Damascus instead was very representative of the Judean people. They each were unique, and each held an experience that Selima cherished each time she stepped foot on their lands.
Selima’s mind was like an ocean. So often the waves were dangerous and wild, but in the temple she could all them to calm. She could allow the worries that gripped her every day, and the guilt that she had building inside her to quiet. She was with people, all praying, but also she was alone. She was alone… except she wasn’t. She was with someone, the only one who truly mattered to Selima. And that, in itself, was a blessing.
Time ticked on, and after too much of it passed Selima finally reclaimed her thoughts. It was time for her to go. Her husband would be wondering where she had gone. And while he certainly would approve of the location she chose to spend much of her time at, she did not like to leave him waiting. Selima had started on her way when she suddenly stopped. Did she leave something? Wait… no, no she was fine.
That moment’s hesitation was disastrous. For a man stumbled backwards, over a cage with dead birds flopping to the ground. He sat up, looking quite irritated at Selima for having been so close to him. Selima had opened her mouth to apologize, but instead “Amiti?!” came out of her mouth instead.
Oh the poor dear! Selima crouched and offered a hand to help him back to his feet. “I’m so sorry, Amiti. I wasn’t paying enough attention. Are you okay? You didn’t get hurt did you?” Selima fretted. Oh Simeon wouldn’t be happy about this, nor would Selima for that matter. This was her fault after all.
It was not all the time Selima followed her husband when he had business, but when she did she always enjoyed it. She loved to see the people outside of Jerusalem. Judeans were all one people, happy in worship of Yahweh. But despite being one, the cities differed. Some were more studious, some were hard workers, but all were pious. Which was another reason Selima found herself at this temple without her husband. She enjoyed the feeling of togetherness, even if the people themselves were unique and different.
She also enjoyed the chance to reflect. She had the chance to think of her family life, a chaos that she kept hidden behind a smile and a false assurance that everything was as it should be. It was in the temple did she allow her mind to truly wander, and pray for the opportunity to make things right within her house. She just needed a little more strength to be the wife that her husband needed and the mother that her children deserved. She just needed… guidance.
The temple in Damascus was not like the one in Jerusalem. It was smaller and in many ways more modest. Where in Jeruselam the temple was their shining jewel, a monument of their worship, the one in Damascus instead was very representative of the Judean people. They each were unique, and each held an experience that Selima cherished each time she stepped foot on their lands.
Selima’s mind was like an ocean. So often the waves were dangerous and wild, but in the temple she could all them to calm. She could allow the worries that gripped her every day, and the guilt that she had building inside her to quiet. She was with people, all praying, but also she was alone. She was alone… except she wasn’t. She was with someone, the only one who truly mattered to Selima. And that, in itself, was a blessing.
Time ticked on, and after too much of it passed Selima finally reclaimed her thoughts. It was time for her to go. Her husband would be wondering where she had gone. And while he certainly would approve of the location she chose to spend much of her time at, she did not like to leave him waiting. Selima had started on her way when she suddenly stopped. Did she leave something? Wait… no, no she was fine.
That moment’s hesitation was disastrous. For a man stumbled backwards, over a cage with dead birds flopping to the ground. He sat up, looking quite irritated at Selima for having been so close to him. Selima had opened her mouth to apologize, but instead “Amiti?!” came out of her mouth instead.
Oh the poor dear! Selima crouched and offered a hand to help him back to his feet. “I’m so sorry, Amiti. I wasn’t paying enough attention. Are you okay? You didn’t get hurt did you?” Selima fretted. Oh Simeon wouldn’t be happy about this, nor would Selima for that matter. This was her fault after all.
He’d been expecting some shepherd or perhaps a dullard. Someone with a cragged face and time to waste. Instead, he was staring up into Selima of Simeon’s beautiful face. Her features contorted in concern and Amiti thought he could see some sort of pity in the depths of her eyes. Pity from this woman, in particular, he could not bear. She was married to Simeon of Nissim and if she told her husband...no, not if, when she told her husband that he’d made a spectacle of himself in the temple - oh the thoughts were not even to be borne. He could already see the deep divot crease between Simeon’s eyebrows as they drew together. The man had the capacity to snarl his lip up like no one else. It was an expression Amiti particularly hated and most especially when it was directed at him.
“Selima,” he answered quickly but his eyes dropped to her hand as it snaked towards him. His eyes remained on her upturned palm and he leaned away from it, back on his hands, the flats of his feet coming down to lift himself bridgelike from the stone floor. He was suspended like that for a second or two, did one crabwalk backwards, and then turned like a barrel, using an ungainly amount of skill to hoist himself to his feet without the need to touch her.
To his horror, as he looked down at where he had been laying, he found blood to be very near him. In fact, it looked as though there was a line of it that might have been stopped by his own clothing. “Oh no!” he said over Selima’s apologies. Amiti craned his neck around, trying to see his rump, twirling on the spot to grab hold of his coat and wrench it out so that the fabric stretched as far as possible, outlining his leg, hip, and torso as he searched for any hint of blood, be it splotch or droplet. “Oh,” he mumbled, face twisted as anxiety overtook him. If he got blood on his clothes or on his person, he would be unclean for seven days. Blood was for the priests only. If someone not of the priesthood was bloodied when it had nothing to do with food or sacrifice, then he was impure. He’d have to go through the ceremony, stay away from the temple, which of course was the center of everyone’s lives.
“Is there blood?” he asked, nearly frantic. This hadn’t been his sacrifice. Meanwhile, the priest, eyed them both with high irritation. The old man, whose white beard extended to his navel, held up a hand and said, ”No, no, don’t worry about me, I’m fine. Thank you for checking.”
It was at that point that Amiti realized there was no blood and let his own clothing go. “Thomias, forgive me...and forgive Selima,” he said pointedly. Thomias was in no mood for anyone’s apologies and waved the two of them off. He retrieved the knife, the dead doves, and the cage, and wandered off, grumbling about young people and their hurry and scurry.
Amiti watched him go, frown settling over his eyes, hands folded behind his back, and then looked back at Selima as though she was the source of original sin. “It’s good to see you,” he said, entirely unconvincingly.
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This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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He’d been expecting some shepherd or perhaps a dullard. Someone with a cragged face and time to waste. Instead, he was staring up into Selima of Simeon’s beautiful face. Her features contorted in concern and Amiti thought he could see some sort of pity in the depths of her eyes. Pity from this woman, in particular, he could not bear. She was married to Simeon of Nissim and if she told her husband...no, not if, when she told her husband that he’d made a spectacle of himself in the temple - oh the thoughts were not even to be borne. He could already see the deep divot crease between Simeon’s eyebrows as they drew together. The man had the capacity to snarl his lip up like no one else. It was an expression Amiti particularly hated and most especially when it was directed at him.
“Selima,” he answered quickly but his eyes dropped to her hand as it snaked towards him. His eyes remained on her upturned palm and he leaned away from it, back on his hands, the flats of his feet coming down to lift himself bridgelike from the stone floor. He was suspended like that for a second or two, did one crabwalk backwards, and then turned like a barrel, using an ungainly amount of skill to hoist himself to his feet without the need to touch her.
To his horror, as he looked down at where he had been laying, he found blood to be very near him. In fact, it looked as though there was a line of it that might have been stopped by his own clothing. “Oh no!” he said over Selima’s apologies. Amiti craned his neck around, trying to see his rump, twirling on the spot to grab hold of his coat and wrench it out so that the fabric stretched as far as possible, outlining his leg, hip, and torso as he searched for any hint of blood, be it splotch or droplet. “Oh,” he mumbled, face twisted as anxiety overtook him. If he got blood on his clothes or on his person, he would be unclean for seven days. Blood was for the priests only. If someone not of the priesthood was bloodied when it had nothing to do with food or sacrifice, then he was impure. He’d have to go through the ceremony, stay away from the temple, which of course was the center of everyone’s lives.
“Is there blood?” he asked, nearly frantic. This hadn’t been his sacrifice. Meanwhile, the priest, eyed them both with high irritation. The old man, whose white beard extended to his navel, held up a hand and said, ”No, no, don’t worry about me, I’m fine. Thank you for checking.”
It was at that point that Amiti realized there was no blood and let his own clothing go. “Thomias, forgive me...and forgive Selima,” he said pointedly. Thomias was in no mood for anyone’s apologies and waved the two of them off. He retrieved the knife, the dead doves, and the cage, and wandered off, grumbling about young people and their hurry and scurry.
Amiti watched him go, frown settling over his eyes, hands folded behind his back, and then looked back at Selima as though she was the source of original sin. “It’s good to see you,” he said, entirely unconvincingly.
He’d been expecting some shepherd or perhaps a dullard. Someone with a cragged face and time to waste. Instead, he was staring up into Selima of Simeon’s beautiful face. Her features contorted in concern and Amiti thought he could see some sort of pity in the depths of her eyes. Pity from this woman, in particular, he could not bear. She was married to Simeon of Nissim and if she told her husband...no, not if, when she told her husband that he’d made a spectacle of himself in the temple - oh the thoughts were not even to be borne. He could already see the deep divot crease between Simeon’s eyebrows as they drew together. The man had the capacity to snarl his lip up like no one else. It was an expression Amiti particularly hated and most especially when it was directed at him.
“Selima,” he answered quickly but his eyes dropped to her hand as it snaked towards him. His eyes remained on her upturned palm and he leaned away from it, back on his hands, the flats of his feet coming down to lift himself bridgelike from the stone floor. He was suspended like that for a second or two, did one crabwalk backwards, and then turned like a barrel, using an ungainly amount of skill to hoist himself to his feet without the need to touch her.
To his horror, as he looked down at where he had been laying, he found blood to be very near him. In fact, it looked as though there was a line of it that might have been stopped by his own clothing. “Oh no!” he said over Selima’s apologies. Amiti craned his neck around, trying to see his rump, twirling on the spot to grab hold of his coat and wrench it out so that the fabric stretched as far as possible, outlining his leg, hip, and torso as he searched for any hint of blood, be it splotch or droplet. “Oh,” he mumbled, face twisted as anxiety overtook him. If he got blood on his clothes or on his person, he would be unclean for seven days. Blood was for the priests only. If someone not of the priesthood was bloodied when it had nothing to do with food or sacrifice, then he was impure. He’d have to go through the ceremony, stay away from the temple, which of course was the center of everyone’s lives.
“Is there blood?” he asked, nearly frantic. This hadn’t been his sacrifice. Meanwhile, the priest, eyed them both with high irritation. The old man, whose white beard extended to his navel, held up a hand and said, ”No, no, don’t worry about me, I’m fine. Thank you for checking.”
It was at that point that Amiti realized there was no blood and let his own clothing go. “Thomias, forgive me...and forgive Selima,” he said pointedly. Thomias was in no mood for anyone’s apologies and waved the two of them off. He retrieved the knife, the dead doves, and the cage, and wandered off, grumbling about young people and their hurry and scurry.
Amiti watched him go, frown settling over his eyes, hands folded behind his back, and then looked back at Selima as though she was the source of original sin. “It’s good to see you,” he said, entirely unconvincingly.
Selima didn’t know quite what to say. Amiti was an… odd man to put it kindly? Was that kind? She was quite sure her hand was clean, and normally one would expect the other to reach out and accept the help. Instead, Amiti performed a rather impressive feat of acrobatics to avoid using her hand. Did he expect Selima’s hand to be unclean? She could assure him that it was pristine.
Then she noticed the blood. Selima took a step back from the puddle as Amiti did a little dance, trying desperately to see if blood had splattered on him. Had he remained still for just a second Selima would look for him and reassure the man that none had gotten on him. Instead, Amiti chose to spin like a dog chasing his own tail. It was… something alright; a sight to see.
Then the priest spoke, and Selima opened her mouth to apologize only to be cut off by Amiti. Thomias, forgive me… and forgive Selima. Selima found it better to just keep her mouth shut and instead offer the priest a meek smile. Never was she the type to overstep a man, even if this was such an unusual situation that she found herself in.
The priest wandered off obviously perturbed and Selima could only feel for him. She would probably react the same way in his shoes. Her eyes returned to Amiti, who looked at her like she was the cause of all problems- not just here… but in the world. Those eyes did not match his words. It’s good to see you. is what he said. Selima desired to tell him that it was not kind of him to lie. Selima liked to think the best of people, but not so much that she was blind to the truth. Amiti was not happy to see her.
She could call him out, but that would make her rude. Selima of Simeon was many things, but rude was not one of them. Instead, she elected to take the higher road. Selima would never stoop so low as to match the disdain that others might show her. She had perfected the art of smiling and pretending like nothing was amiss. There was only one thing that Selima could do. She would kill him with kindness as any good woman should.
“And it is lovely to see you, Amiti.” Selima gave him a wide smile. “Goodness, that was quite some acrobatics you pulled off there. It was a show! I’m sure word will get around on just how athletic you are. It is quite impressive.”
Selima tilted her head innocently. “And I am happy your robes were spared from the blood. This was all quite fortunate. The incident could have been so much worse.” Selima would have felt guilty if he had blood on his robes. She was, in part, responsible for this mess. “Where were you headed, Amiti? Perhaps I could accompany you?”
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Selima didn’t know quite what to say. Amiti was an… odd man to put it kindly? Was that kind? She was quite sure her hand was clean, and normally one would expect the other to reach out and accept the help. Instead, Amiti performed a rather impressive feat of acrobatics to avoid using her hand. Did he expect Selima’s hand to be unclean? She could assure him that it was pristine.
Then she noticed the blood. Selima took a step back from the puddle as Amiti did a little dance, trying desperately to see if blood had splattered on him. Had he remained still for just a second Selima would look for him and reassure the man that none had gotten on him. Instead, Amiti chose to spin like a dog chasing his own tail. It was… something alright; a sight to see.
Then the priest spoke, and Selima opened her mouth to apologize only to be cut off by Amiti. Thomias, forgive me… and forgive Selima. Selima found it better to just keep her mouth shut and instead offer the priest a meek smile. Never was she the type to overstep a man, even if this was such an unusual situation that she found herself in.
The priest wandered off obviously perturbed and Selima could only feel for him. She would probably react the same way in his shoes. Her eyes returned to Amiti, who looked at her like she was the cause of all problems- not just here… but in the world. Those eyes did not match his words. It’s good to see you. is what he said. Selima desired to tell him that it was not kind of him to lie. Selima liked to think the best of people, but not so much that she was blind to the truth. Amiti was not happy to see her.
She could call him out, but that would make her rude. Selima of Simeon was many things, but rude was not one of them. Instead, she elected to take the higher road. Selima would never stoop so low as to match the disdain that others might show her. She had perfected the art of smiling and pretending like nothing was amiss. There was only one thing that Selima could do. She would kill him with kindness as any good woman should.
“And it is lovely to see you, Amiti.” Selima gave him a wide smile. “Goodness, that was quite some acrobatics you pulled off there. It was a show! I’m sure word will get around on just how athletic you are. It is quite impressive.”
Selima tilted her head innocently. “And I am happy your robes were spared from the blood. This was all quite fortunate. The incident could have been so much worse.” Selima would have felt guilty if he had blood on his robes. She was, in part, responsible for this mess. “Where were you headed, Amiti? Perhaps I could accompany you?”
Selima didn’t know quite what to say. Amiti was an… odd man to put it kindly? Was that kind? She was quite sure her hand was clean, and normally one would expect the other to reach out and accept the help. Instead, Amiti performed a rather impressive feat of acrobatics to avoid using her hand. Did he expect Selima’s hand to be unclean? She could assure him that it was pristine.
Then she noticed the blood. Selima took a step back from the puddle as Amiti did a little dance, trying desperately to see if blood had splattered on him. Had he remained still for just a second Selima would look for him and reassure the man that none had gotten on him. Instead, Amiti chose to spin like a dog chasing his own tail. It was… something alright; a sight to see.
Then the priest spoke, and Selima opened her mouth to apologize only to be cut off by Amiti. Thomias, forgive me… and forgive Selima. Selima found it better to just keep her mouth shut and instead offer the priest a meek smile. Never was she the type to overstep a man, even if this was such an unusual situation that she found herself in.
The priest wandered off obviously perturbed and Selima could only feel for him. She would probably react the same way in his shoes. Her eyes returned to Amiti, who looked at her like she was the cause of all problems- not just here… but in the world. Those eyes did not match his words. It’s good to see you. is what he said. Selima desired to tell him that it was not kind of him to lie. Selima liked to think the best of people, but not so much that she was blind to the truth. Amiti was not happy to see her.
She could call him out, but that would make her rude. Selima of Simeon was many things, but rude was not one of them. Instead, she elected to take the higher road. Selima would never stoop so low as to match the disdain that others might show her. She had perfected the art of smiling and pretending like nothing was amiss. There was only one thing that Selima could do. She would kill him with kindness as any good woman should.
“And it is lovely to see you, Amiti.” Selima gave him a wide smile. “Goodness, that was quite some acrobatics you pulled off there. It was a show! I’m sure word will get around on just how athletic you are. It is quite impressive.”
Selima tilted her head innocently. “And I am happy your robes were spared from the blood. This was all quite fortunate. The incident could have been so much worse.” Selima would have felt guilty if he had blood on his robes. She was, in part, responsible for this mess. “Where were you headed, Amiti? Perhaps I could accompany you?”
“And it is lovely to see you, Amiti.” Selima was saying. “Goodness, that was quite some acrobatics you pulled off there.”
Amiti colored. “I...well, it-” he began, his brain flicking through several responses he could give and rejecting each one as it came to him. His stammer was uncharacteristic and thankfully apparently not audible for Selima continued.
”It was a show! I’m sure word will get around on just how athletic you are. It is quite impressive.”
Thankfully he did have a beard which hid most of the pink blooming across his cheeks but it didn’t hide all of it. “Was it?” he said, not knowing what else he could say. Somehow he completely mistrusted that she was actually impressed but rather wanted her to be, and so was fighting internally about whether to accept that compliment or to decide it was a veiled insult. Of course, if it was, that’d be an insult to Simeon. One couldn’t trust a woman, of course, but one could trust a man and as Simeon had chosen Selima, that did clear her of ulterior motives...for the time being.
“And I am happy your robes were spared from the blood. This was all quite fortunate. The incident could have been so much worse.”
He peered at her. Oh Yahweh help him, she wasn’t one of these people who painted a good face on everything, was she? ‘Oh look, it’s raining. At least the plants are being watered!’ or ‘My but it’s been a dry summer and the harvest will be terrible. I’ve needed to lose weight, though. Now’s the time!’ or even ‘At least you weren’t kicked out of the temple for seven days and having to go through the purification ritual.’
Amiti’s eyes narrowed a fraction and he kept looking at her, waiting for something else to pop out of her mouth. Something mean. But all he got in return was a kind smile and oceanic blue eyes that were the sort to invite you to be swept away in them and lose yourself for hours. He blinked and looked away, confused for a moment what he’d been thinking of a few seconds prior. Selima saved him in that respect.
“Where were you headed, Amiti? Perhaps I could accompany you?”
Irresolution warred within him. Honestly he’d been on his way to pray and look as pious as possible. It never did anyone harm for everyone and their grandmother to see you and hear you praying. Of course, if he went to pray, though, he’d be in the men’s court and she’d stay in the women’s. So it might be an insult to her if he ditched her like that.
“Sacrifices,” he said, the idea being born even as the words left his mouth and he gestured to the far side of the main temple courtyard where stalls were set up. There were bulls, sheep, doves, cattle, goats, herbs, spices, and nearly anything else pure and clean to be sold so that one could take them to the priest and absolve sins. He was sure that, even as Simeon’s wife, Selima had sins she could ask atonement for. After all, she was human.
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“And it is lovely to see you, Amiti.” Selima was saying. “Goodness, that was quite some acrobatics you pulled off there.”
Amiti colored. “I...well, it-” he began, his brain flicking through several responses he could give and rejecting each one as it came to him. His stammer was uncharacteristic and thankfully apparently not audible for Selima continued.
”It was a show! I’m sure word will get around on just how athletic you are. It is quite impressive.”
Thankfully he did have a beard which hid most of the pink blooming across his cheeks but it didn’t hide all of it. “Was it?” he said, not knowing what else he could say. Somehow he completely mistrusted that she was actually impressed but rather wanted her to be, and so was fighting internally about whether to accept that compliment or to decide it was a veiled insult. Of course, if it was, that’d be an insult to Simeon. One couldn’t trust a woman, of course, but one could trust a man and as Simeon had chosen Selima, that did clear her of ulterior motives...for the time being.
“And I am happy your robes were spared from the blood. This was all quite fortunate. The incident could have been so much worse.”
He peered at her. Oh Yahweh help him, she wasn’t one of these people who painted a good face on everything, was she? ‘Oh look, it’s raining. At least the plants are being watered!’ or ‘My but it’s been a dry summer and the harvest will be terrible. I’ve needed to lose weight, though. Now’s the time!’ or even ‘At least you weren’t kicked out of the temple for seven days and having to go through the purification ritual.’
Amiti’s eyes narrowed a fraction and he kept looking at her, waiting for something else to pop out of her mouth. Something mean. But all he got in return was a kind smile and oceanic blue eyes that were the sort to invite you to be swept away in them and lose yourself for hours. He blinked and looked away, confused for a moment what he’d been thinking of a few seconds prior. Selima saved him in that respect.
“Where were you headed, Amiti? Perhaps I could accompany you?”
Irresolution warred within him. Honestly he’d been on his way to pray and look as pious as possible. It never did anyone harm for everyone and their grandmother to see you and hear you praying. Of course, if he went to pray, though, he’d be in the men’s court and she’d stay in the women’s. So it might be an insult to her if he ditched her like that.
“Sacrifices,” he said, the idea being born even as the words left his mouth and he gestured to the far side of the main temple courtyard where stalls were set up. There were bulls, sheep, doves, cattle, goats, herbs, spices, and nearly anything else pure and clean to be sold so that one could take them to the priest and absolve sins. He was sure that, even as Simeon’s wife, Selima had sins she could ask atonement for. After all, she was human.
“And it is lovely to see you, Amiti.” Selima was saying. “Goodness, that was quite some acrobatics you pulled off there.”
Amiti colored. “I...well, it-” he began, his brain flicking through several responses he could give and rejecting each one as it came to him. His stammer was uncharacteristic and thankfully apparently not audible for Selima continued.
”It was a show! I’m sure word will get around on just how athletic you are. It is quite impressive.”
Thankfully he did have a beard which hid most of the pink blooming across his cheeks but it didn’t hide all of it. “Was it?” he said, not knowing what else he could say. Somehow he completely mistrusted that she was actually impressed but rather wanted her to be, and so was fighting internally about whether to accept that compliment or to decide it was a veiled insult. Of course, if it was, that’d be an insult to Simeon. One couldn’t trust a woman, of course, but one could trust a man and as Simeon had chosen Selima, that did clear her of ulterior motives...for the time being.
“And I am happy your robes were spared from the blood. This was all quite fortunate. The incident could have been so much worse.”
He peered at her. Oh Yahweh help him, she wasn’t one of these people who painted a good face on everything, was she? ‘Oh look, it’s raining. At least the plants are being watered!’ or ‘My but it’s been a dry summer and the harvest will be terrible. I’ve needed to lose weight, though. Now’s the time!’ or even ‘At least you weren’t kicked out of the temple for seven days and having to go through the purification ritual.’
Amiti’s eyes narrowed a fraction and he kept looking at her, waiting for something else to pop out of her mouth. Something mean. But all he got in return was a kind smile and oceanic blue eyes that were the sort to invite you to be swept away in them and lose yourself for hours. He blinked and looked away, confused for a moment what he’d been thinking of a few seconds prior. Selima saved him in that respect.
“Where were you headed, Amiti? Perhaps I could accompany you?”
Irresolution warred within him. Honestly he’d been on his way to pray and look as pious as possible. It never did anyone harm for everyone and their grandmother to see you and hear you praying. Of course, if he went to pray, though, he’d be in the men’s court and she’d stay in the women’s. So it might be an insult to her if he ditched her like that.
“Sacrifices,” he said, the idea being born even as the words left his mouth and he gestured to the far side of the main temple courtyard where stalls were set up. There were bulls, sheep, doves, cattle, goats, herbs, spices, and nearly anything else pure and clean to be sold so that one could take them to the priest and absolve sins. He was sure that, even as Simeon’s wife, Selima had sins she could ask atonement for. After all, she was human.
To say that the pink that appeared on Amiti’s cheeks made Selima proud would be rude- and she was not a rude person. Satisfying, on the other hand, well, Selima wouldn’t deny that. Her smile persisted though, and she gave no indication of noticing it. She was not cruel. She knew how to kill with kindness, she just rarely utilized that ability.
Sacrifices. Selima hesitated. She disliked sacrifices- not because of the act itself, but because it forced her to confront the fact that she was not, in fact, perfect. An utterly ridiculous sentiment, and something that often showed indications of one being egotistical, Selima nonetheless tried to believe that she was perfect and sinless. The consequences, otherwise, was a cost too high for the wife of Simeon, the most pious man in all of Judea.
But the fact of the matter was, Selima was not perfect. And while she tried her best, she was human and sinned just as every other human has. And thus, it was only right that she asked for atonement, especially when her husband was not here to accompany her…
The smile had wavered for only a second as these thoughts crossed her mind, but just as quickly as it was lost- she regained her composure. “Well then, after you, Amiti.” She gestured towards the table.
Selima walked towards the table, reaching for her coin purse with the intention of purchasing a dove. Close to them, she heard a small argument between a patron and a priest.
“No, you don’t understand. I need an ox!” The person’s voice was shaking. Their eyes looked bloodshot and swollen as if they hadn’t slept in days. They were pleading with a priest. “Y-You don’t know what I did!”
“Slow down, breathe.” The priest tried to calm the man. “This isn’t enough coin. But speak with me. We can-”
“No!” The man let out a mournful awful sound. He took a step back from the priest. Selima raised an eyebrow alarmed. What had he done that he was acting this way? She felt half the need to intervene, to help, but another part of her thought that staying silent would be better. She did not want to worsen a situation where someone was obviously very distressed.
“No!” He let out another shout and then suddenly he brandished a knife. Selima gasped, covering her mouth. Never in all her years had she seen a scene such as this. What was he going to do?
“I-I’m sorry. I-I-I am so sorry!” he sobbed. He looked devastated. Selima felt her stomach drop to the floor. Was he threatening the priest over an ox? In a place of worship of all places too!
As Selima thought that, the man's hand began to tremble. It moved the knife to his own neck and Selima screamed into her hands. She felt faint. He wasn't about to sacrifice Yahweh's goodness was he? Selima couldn't watch. She was panicking. Someone had to stop him before it was too late! What had even happened that pushed him to this? For him to have fallen so far off the path?
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To say that the pink that appeared on Amiti’s cheeks made Selima proud would be rude- and she was not a rude person. Satisfying, on the other hand, well, Selima wouldn’t deny that. Her smile persisted though, and she gave no indication of noticing it. She was not cruel. She knew how to kill with kindness, she just rarely utilized that ability.
Sacrifices. Selima hesitated. She disliked sacrifices- not because of the act itself, but because it forced her to confront the fact that she was not, in fact, perfect. An utterly ridiculous sentiment, and something that often showed indications of one being egotistical, Selima nonetheless tried to believe that she was perfect and sinless. The consequences, otherwise, was a cost too high for the wife of Simeon, the most pious man in all of Judea.
But the fact of the matter was, Selima was not perfect. And while she tried her best, she was human and sinned just as every other human has. And thus, it was only right that she asked for atonement, especially when her husband was not here to accompany her…
The smile had wavered for only a second as these thoughts crossed her mind, but just as quickly as it was lost- she regained her composure. “Well then, after you, Amiti.” She gestured towards the table.
Selima walked towards the table, reaching for her coin purse with the intention of purchasing a dove. Close to them, she heard a small argument between a patron and a priest.
“No, you don’t understand. I need an ox!” The person’s voice was shaking. Their eyes looked bloodshot and swollen as if they hadn’t slept in days. They were pleading with a priest. “Y-You don’t know what I did!”
“Slow down, breathe.” The priest tried to calm the man. “This isn’t enough coin. But speak with me. We can-”
“No!” The man let out a mournful awful sound. He took a step back from the priest. Selima raised an eyebrow alarmed. What had he done that he was acting this way? She felt half the need to intervene, to help, but another part of her thought that staying silent would be better. She did not want to worsen a situation where someone was obviously very distressed.
“No!” He let out another shout and then suddenly he brandished a knife. Selima gasped, covering her mouth. Never in all her years had she seen a scene such as this. What was he going to do?
“I-I’m sorry. I-I-I am so sorry!” he sobbed. He looked devastated. Selima felt her stomach drop to the floor. Was he threatening the priest over an ox? In a place of worship of all places too!
As Selima thought that, the man's hand began to tremble. It moved the knife to his own neck and Selima screamed into her hands. She felt faint. He wasn't about to sacrifice Yahweh's goodness was he? Selima couldn't watch. She was panicking. Someone had to stop him before it was too late! What had even happened that pushed him to this? For him to have fallen so far off the path?
To say that the pink that appeared on Amiti’s cheeks made Selima proud would be rude- and she was not a rude person. Satisfying, on the other hand, well, Selima wouldn’t deny that. Her smile persisted though, and she gave no indication of noticing it. She was not cruel. She knew how to kill with kindness, she just rarely utilized that ability.
Sacrifices. Selima hesitated. She disliked sacrifices- not because of the act itself, but because it forced her to confront the fact that she was not, in fact, perfect. An utterly ridiculous sentiment, and something that often showed indications of one being egotistical, Selima nonetheless tried to believe that she was perfect and sinless. The consequences, otherwise, was a cost too high for the wife of Simeon, the most pious man in all of Judea.
But the fact of the matter was, Selima was not perfect. And while she tried her best, she was human and sinned just as every other human has. And thus, it was only right that she asked for atonement, especially when her husband was not here to accompany her…
The smile had wavered for only a second as these thoughts crossed her mind, but just as quickly as it was lost- she regained her composure. “Well then, after you, Amiti.” She gestured towards the table.
Selima walked towards the table, reaching for her coin purse with the intention of purchasing a dove. Close to them, she heard a small argument between a patron and a priest.
“No, you don’t understand. I need an ox!” The person’s voice was shaking. Their eyes looked bloodshot and swollen as if they hadn’t slept in days. They were pleading with a priest. “Y-You don’t know what I did!”
“Slow down, breathe.” The priest tried to calm the man. “This isn’t enough coin. But speak with me. We can-”
“No!” The man let out a mournful awful sound. He took a step back from the priest. Selima raised an eyebrow alarmed. What had he done that he was acting this way? She felt half the need to intervene, to help, but another part of her thought that staying silent would be better. She did not want to worsen a situation where someone was obviously very distressed.
“No!” He let out another shout and then suddenly he brandished a knife. Selima gasped, covering her mouth. Never in all her years had she seen a scene such as this. What was he going to do?
“I-I’m sorry. I-I-I am so sorry!” he sobbed. He looked devastated. Selima felt her stomach drop to the floor. Was he threatening the priest over an ox? In a place of worship of all places too!
As Selima thought that, the man's hand began to tremble. It moved the knife to his own neck and Selima screamed into her hands. She felt faint. He wasn't about to sacrifice Yahweh's goodness was he? Selima couldn't watch. She was panicking. Someone had to stop him before it was too late! What had even happened that pushed him to this? For him to have fallen so far off the path?
Amiti walked with Selima at a sedate pace towards the dove tables. This was a good choice. Doves meant the sin was rather small and he waited for her to make her purchase prior to making his own. Unlike Selima, Amiti didn’t lie to himself. He knew he wasn’t perfect and knew for a fact that Yahweh would never be fooled into thinking so either. However, that didn’t mean that he couldn’t fool other people into thinking his sins so very small. Maybe they were small, too. Amiti did try to keep his mind and deeds as clean as humanly possible. Life was better that way.
He was just reaching into the pouch at his belt in which he kept his coins when noise from a table over made him look. Of all the nerve. Amiti glowered. Such rukous and in a temple no less. It was well the man wanted an ox because he probably did need it to atone for such sins as these. What a terrible, terrible person he probably was, too. Best not to associate with him than risk getting oneself caught up in whatever mess that was.
Amiti pointedly looked away but caught Selima openly watching the exchange. That Amiti disapproved of entirely. Obviously she was a little too curious and he might take it upon himself to speak to Simeon about it. He was just on the point of advising his companion to look away when the voices behind him escalated and despite himself, he looked back. He wasn’t the only one, either. The way the man had been acting had drawn notice and the temple guards were already monitoring the exchange.
The guards were halfway across the courtyard by the time the man raised the knife to his neck, threatening himself. Amiti snapped his fingers and shouted “guards!” but he needn’t have bothered. The men were already sprinting towards the deranged lunatic. What Amiti didn’t expect was for someone to surge between Selima and himself. One hand flung Selima to the left while the other slung Amiti to the right.
For the second time in ten minutes, Amiti found himself on the ground. He was dazed this time, not having expected that Greek guard to bust through them like that. Did it matter that the man had just cause to take the quickest path? No. Though the man that had the knife had already done the damage. Blood sprayed from the man’s throat in a grotesque waterfall of blood. As soon as he saw it Amiti jumped backwards - an impressive feat considering he’d been reclined on his hip a second before. In nearly the same instance, he slid his arms beneath Selima’s armpits, hauled her to her feet, and dragged the two of them backwards, away from the gore.
They were not alone in this action, either. All around them people packed and surged, nearly crushing Selima and Amiti in a wall of bodies. Amiti was barely aware of the men and women pressed to his front and back. He wasn’t even sure he still had hold of Selima. His attention was completely focused on the man now being supported by the Greek guards, who didn’t have the same issues with blood as Judeans did. The victim twitched in a macabre dance and Amiti felt his insides shift violently.
“I’m going to be sick,” he gasped and while people around him would have liked to move, they couldn’t. It was all he could do to slap his hand over his mouth to stop the body wrenching convulsions of his stomach. His eyes watered and he had to gulp back down the bile, which made it come right back up again. Unfortunately, he wasn’t the only one. Several people involuntarily gagged and then spewed vomit. It was everywhere and impossible now to tell who the fluids had come from.
Was this the worst day ever? Possibly.
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Amiti walked with Selima at a sedate pace towards the dove tables. This was a good choice. Doves meant the sin was rather small and he waited for her to make her purchase prior to making his own. Unlike Selima, Amiti didn’t lie to himself. He knew he wasn’t perfect and knew for a fact that Yahweh would never be fooled into thinking so either. However, that didn’t mean that he couldn’t fool other people into thinking his sins so very small. Maybe they were small, too. Amiti did try to keep his mind and deeds as clean as humanly possible. Life was better that way.
He was just reaching into the pouch at his belt in which he kept his coins when noise from a table over made him look. Of all the nerve. Amiti glowered. Such rukous and in a temple no less. It was well the man wanted an ox because he probably did need it to atone for such sins as these. What a terrible, terrible person he probably was, too. Best not to associate with him than risk getting oneself caught up in whatever mess that was.
Amiti pointedly looked away but caught Selima openly watching the exchange. That Amiti disapproved of entirely. Obviously she was a little too curious and he might take it upon himself to speak to Simeon about it. He was just on the point of advising his companion to look away when the voices behind him escalated and despite himself, he looked back. He wasn’t the only one, either. The way the man had been acting had drawn notice and the temple guards were already monitoring the exchange.
The guards were halfway across the courtyard by the time the man raised the knife to his neck, threatening himself. Amiti snapped his fingers and shouted “guards!” but he needn’t have bothered. The men were already sprinting towards the deranged lunatic. What Amiti didn’t expect was for someone to surge between Selima and himself. One hand flung Selima to the left while the other slung Amiti to the right.
For the second time in ten minutes, Amiti found himself on the ground. He was dazed this time, not having expected that Greek guard to bust through them like that. Did it matter that the man had just cause to take the quickest path? No. Though the man that had the knife had already done the damage. Blood sprayed from the man’s throat in a grotesque waterfall of blood. As soon as he saw it Amiti jumped backwards - an impressive feat considering he’d been reclined on his hip a second before. In nearly the same instance, he slid his arms beneath Selima’s armpits, hauled her to her feet, and dragged the two of them backwards, away from the gore.
They were not alone in this action, either. All around them people packed and surged, nearly crushing Selima and Amiti in a wall of bodies. Amiti was barely aware of the men and women pressed to his front and back. He wasn’t even sure he still had hold of Selima. His attention was completely focused on the man now being supported by the Greek guards, who didn’t have the same issues with blood as Judeans did. The victim twitched in a macabre dance and Amiti felt his insides shift violently.
“I’m going to be sick,” he gasped and while people around him would have liked to move, they couldn’t. It was all he could do to slap his hand over his mouth to stop the body wrenching convulsions of his stomach. His eyes watered and he had to gulp back down the bile, which made it come right back up again. Unfortunately, he wasn’t the only one. Several people involuntarily gagged and then spewed vomit. It was everywhere and impossible now to tell who the fluids had come from.
Was this the worst day ever? Possibly.
Amiti walked with Selima at a sedate pace towards the dove tables. This was a good choice. Doves meant the sin was rather small and he waited for her to make her purchase prior to making his own. Unlike Selima, Amiti didn’t lie to himself. He knew he wasn’t perfect and knew for a fact that Yahweh would never be fooled into thinking so either. However, that didn’t mean that he couldn’t fool other people into thinking his sins so very small. Maybe they were small, too. Amiti did try to keep his mind and deeds as clean as humanly possible. Life was better that way.
He was just reaching into the pouch at his belt in which he kept his coins when noise from a table over made him look. Of all the nerve. Amiti glowered. Such rukous and in a temple no less. It was well the man wanted an ox because he probably did need it to atone for such sins as these. What a terrible, terrible person he probably was, too. Best not to associate with him than risk getting oneself caught up in whatever mess that was.
Amiti pointedly looked away but caught Selima openly watching the exchange. That Amiti disapproved of entirely. Obviously she was a little too curious and he might take it upon himself to speak to Simeon about it. He was just on the point of advising his companion to look away when the voices behind him escalated and despite himself, he looked back. He wasn’t the only one, either. The way the man had been acting had drawn notice and the temple guards were already monitoring the exchange.
The guards were halfway across the courtyard by the time the man raised the knife to his neck, threatening himself. Amiti snapped his fingers and shouted “guards!” but he needn’t have bothered. The men were already sprinting towards the deranged lunatic. What Amiti didn’t expect was for someone to surge between Selima and himself. One hand flung Selima to the left while the other slung Amiti to the right.
For the second time in ten minutes, Amiti found himself on the ground. He was dazed this time, not having expected that Greek guard to bust through them like that. Did it matter that the man had just cause to take the quickest path? No. Though the man that had the knife had already done the damage. Blood sprayed from the man’s throat in a grotesque waterfall of blood. As soon as he saw it Amiti jumped backwards - an impressive feat considering he’d been reclined on his hip a second before. In nearly the same instance, he slid his arms beneath Selima’s armpits, hauled her to her feet, and dragged the two of them backwards, away from the gore.
They were not alone in this action, either. All around them people packed and surged, nearly crushing Selima and Amiti in a wall of bodies. Amiti was barely aware of the men and women pressed to his front and back. He wasn’t even sure he still had hold of Selima. His attention was completely focused on the man now being supported by the Greek guards, who didn’t have the same issues with blood as Judeans did. The victim twitched in a macabre dance and Amiti felt his insides shift violently.
“I’m going to be sick,” he gasped and while people around him would have liked to move, they couldn’t. It was all he could do to slap his hand over his mouth to stop the body wrenching convulsions of his stomach. His eyes watered and he had to gulp back down the bile, which made it come right back up again. Unfortunately, he wasn’t the only one. Several people involuntarily gagged and then spewed vomit. It was everywhere and impossible now to tell who the fluids had come from.
Was this the worst day ever? Possibly.
It happened fast, far too fast. Selima had seen death before. Her father succumbed to sickness little after her marriage to Simeon, and her mother the same after Davitah’s birth. It had been painful to watch, but it was natural. This, however, was not natural. This man brought this upon himself, and it was a death so violent that Selima would never find the words to properly describe it. Never in her life had she seen something so awful, so terrible, so horrifying. And the proof Selima had that this was not some awful nightmare was the fact that her mind would never come up with something so… grotesque.
Selima didn’t even feel herself fall to the ground. She was in shock by it all. She couldn’t even move, not until Amiti dragged her onto her feet. And even then, she couldn’t talk, couldn’t think. Her body was reacting outside of her mind. It was like she was in two places at once. Words were echoing in her head, but none of it registered. None of it at all. Until…
I’m going to be sick, Selima blinked several times and like a wave crashing onto the shore, her mind returned. Amiti was pale, his hand clasped over his mouth, and the smell of vomit filled the air as people around them reacted to the horrible, awful scene.
“You’re okay, you’re okay, you’re okay.” She whispered over and over again to Amiti, a very shaky hand going to his back trying her best now to be the one to lead through the still moving crowd. Priests were trying to shout over the chaos, to calm the Judeans, but there was no calm. Not with a death so violent.
Selima hadn’t realized she was crying until she felt the tears drip from her chin and onto the floor. Still, she whispered the words over and over again. Was she trying to soothe Amiti or herself? At this point did it matter?
The crowd was finally thin enough for which they could stop. She had stopped whispering those words and took a look at Amiti. They were disheveled from being shoved to the ground, then from pushing through crowds of other Judeans, herded like cattle this way and that. She might have lost Amiti had she not clung to him so hard. Or did he cling to her? It was just moments ago but everything felt so blurry… and cold.
“Just a bit of dirt. That’s all.” Selima said quietly as she brushed the dirt off Amiti. She was still trembling- noticeably so. Selima defaulted to what she knew best: Caring about other people. “You’re fine, Amiti. You’re fine.”
Water, he needs water. She thought. He felt sick, the poor dear. He needs water. He needs to rest. He needs to settle his stomach. He needs… Like another wave, Selima felt another rush of emotion. Suddenly she felt very dizzy. She reached out and grabbed Amiti’s arm tightly as she swooned, steadying herself.
You’re okay, you’re okay, you’re okay.
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It happened fast, far too fast. Selima had seen death before. Her father succumbed to sickness little after her marriage to Simeon, and her mother the same after Davitah’s birth. It had been painful to watch, but it was natural. This, however, was not natural. This man brought this upon himself, and it was a death so violent that Selima would never find the words to properly describe it. Never in her life had she seen something so awful, so terrible, so horrifying. And the proof Selima had that this was not some awful nightmare was the fact that her mind would never come up with something so… grotesque.
Selima didn’t even feel herself fall to the ground. She was in shock by it all. She couldn’t even move, not until Amiti dragged her onto her feet. And even then, she couldn’t talk, couldn’t think. Her body was reacting outside of her mind. It was like she was in two places at once. Words were echoing in her head, but none of it registered. None of it at all. Until…
I’m going to be sick, Selima blinked several times and like a wave crashing onto the shore, her mind returned. Amiti was pale, his hand clasped over his mouth, and the smell of vomit filled the air as people around them reacted to the horrible, awful scene.
“You’re okay, you’re okay, you’re okay.” She whispered over and over again to Amiti, a very shaky hand going to his back trying her best now to be the one to lead through the still moving crowd. Priests were trying to shout over the chaos, to calm the Judeans, but there was no calm. Not with a death so violent.
Selima hadn’t realized she was crying until she felt the tears drip from her chin and onto the floor. Still, she whispered the words over and over again. Was she trying to soothe Amiti or herself? At this point did it matter?
The crowd was finally thin enough for which they could stop. She had stopped whispering those words and took a look at Amiti. They were disheveled from being shoved to the ground, then from pushing through crowds of other Judeans, herded like cattle this way and that. She might have lost Amiti had she not clung to him so hard. Or did he cling to her? It was just moments ago but everything felt so blurry… and cold.
“Just a bit of dirt. That’s all.” Selima said quietly as she brushed the dirt off Amiti. She was still trembling- noticeably so. Selima defaulted to what she knew best: Caring about other people. “You’re fine, Amiti. You’re fine.”
Water, he needs water. She thought. He felt sick, the poor dear. He needs water. He needs to rest. He needs to settle his stomach. He needs… Like another wave, Selima felt another rush of emotion. Suddenly she felt very dizzy. She reached out and grabbed Amiti’s arm tightly as she swooned, steadying herself.
You’re okay, you’re okay, you’re okay.
It happened fast, far too fast. Selima had seen death before. Her father succumbed to sickness little after her marriage to Simeon, and her mother the same after Davitah’s birth. It had been painful to watch, but it was natural. This, however, was not natural. This man brought this upon himself, and it was a death so violent that Selima would never find the words to properly describe it. Never in her life had she seen something so awful, so terrible, so horrifying. And the proof Selima had that this was not some awful nightmare was the fact that her mind would never come up with something so… grotesque.
Selima didn’t even feel herself fall to the ground. She was in shock by it all. She couldn’t even move, not until Amiti dragged her onto her feet. And even then, she couldn’t talk, couldn’t think. Her body was reacting outside of her mind. It was like she was in two places at once. Words were echoing in her head, but none of it registered. None of it at all. Until…
I’m going to be sick, Selima blinked several times and like a wave crashing onto the shore, her mind returned. Amiti was pale, his hand clasped over his mouth, and the smell of vomit filled the air as people around them reacted to the horrible, awful scene.
“You’re okay, you’re okay, you’re okay.” She whispered over and over again to Amiti, a very shaky hand going to his back trying her best now to be the one to lead through the still moving crowd. Priests were trying to shout over the chaos, to calm the Judeans, but there was no calm. Not with a death so violent.
Selima hadn’t realized she was crying until she felt the tears drip from her chin and onto the floor. Still, she whispered the words over and over again. Was she trying to soothe Amiti or herself? At this point did it matter?
The crowd was finally thin enough for which they could stop. She had stopped whispering those words and took a look at Amiti. They were disheveled from being shoved to the ground, then from pushing through crowds of other Judeans, herded like cattle this way and that. She might have lost Amiti had she not clung to him so hard. Or did he cling to her? It was just moments ago but everything felt so blurry… and cold.
“Just a bit of dirt. That’s all.” Selima said quietly as she brushed the dirt off Amiti. She was still trembling- noticeably so. Selima defaulted to what she knew best: Caring about other people. “You’re fine, Amiti. You’re fine.”
Water, he needs water. She thought. He felt sick, the poor dear. He needs water. He needs to rest. He needs to settle his stomach. He needs… Like another wave, Selima felt another rush of emotion. Suddenly she felt very dizzy. She reached out and grabbed Amiti’s arm tightly as she swooned, steadying herself.
You’re okay, you’re okay, you’re okay.
Amiti was only dimly aware of Selima attempting to calm him down, or her hold on his arm. Together they shifted through the press of the crowds. The stench was horrendous. Vomit, blood; it was all filthy and he wanted well away from here. Worse, it had happened in the temple. That was possibly the worst offense he could think of and he was reeling from it.
His inattention kept them in the current of people who were filing out of the temple. They were dumped onto the main street and it was only then that Amiti realized where they were. He looked about him, blinking as though coming out of a trance and looked down into Selima’s face. Her eyes were red rimmed and wet tracks shimmered down her cheeks. Oh no. People couldn’t know she was crying...and in his presence, too, like he may have had something to do with it. Out here, away from the chaos, life was continuing as normal, with Judeans coming and going, having no idea of the horror that had happened just within those white temple walls.
Pulling on Selima, he sequestered the two of them into the nearest alleyway, out of sight and in the shadows. While he was looking to make sure that no one had seen this, he felt her hand brushing across his chest. “Just a bit of dirt. That’s all.” Her voice sounded thick and he was half afraid to find her crying again but he finally looked down at her and noticed she was right. There was a bit of dirt. He swiped at his clothes, now wondering if there was blood there, too. Oh there better not be! “You’re fine, Amiti. You’re fine.”
“No,” he shook his head, bending to check the hem of his garment. “No I’m far from fine.” Her hand was in his peripheral vision and he finally saw that she was trembling. She needed to sit down...All at once her hand shot out and caught hold of his arm as she swayed on her feet. Reflexively, he slipped an arm around her and caught her. Together they sunk down to the ground in the most undignified manner possible. The only blessing in this was that they were behind a barrel in the alley and no one could see them, save for their sandals sticking out. Hopefully no one would be so curious as to check about two pairs of sandals. Hopefully people would just mind their own business...but this was Judea. Who was going to mind their own business?
“Selima are you alright?” he checked, trying to see into her face. She’d looked pale. Would Simeon murder him if something happened to his wife while in his care? ...Maybe.
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Amiti was only dimly aware of Selima attempting to calm him down, or her hold on his arm. Together they shifted through the press of the crowds. The stench was horrendous. Vomit, blood; it was all filthy and he wanted well away from here. Worse, it had happened in the temple. That was possibly the worst offense he could think of and he was reeling from it.
His inattention kept them in the current of people who were filing out of the temple. They were dumped onto the main street and it was only then that Amiti realized where they were. He looked about him, blinking as though coming out of a trance and looked down into Selima’s face. Her eyes were red rimmed and wet tracks shimmered down her cheeks. Oh no. People couldn’t know she was crying...and in his presence, too, like he may have had something to do with it. Out here, away from the chaos, life was continuing as normal, with Judeans coming and going, having no idea of the horror that had happened just within those white temple walls.
Pulling on Selima, he sequestered the two of them into the nearest alleyway, out of sight and in the shadows. While he was looking to make sure that no one had seen this, he felt her hand brushing across his chest. “Just a bit of dirt. That’s all.” Her voice sounded thick and he was half afraid to find her crying again but he finally looked down at her and noticed she was right. There was a bit of dirt. He swiped at his clothes, now wondering if there was blood there, too. Oh there better not be! “You’re fine, Amiti. You’re fine.”
“No,” he shook his head, bending to check the hem of his garment. “No I’m far from fine.” Her hand was in his peripheral vision and he finally saw that she was trembling. She needed to sit down...All at once her hand shot out and caught hold of his arm as she swayed on her feet. Reflexively, he slipped an arm around her and caught her. Together they sunk down to the ground in the most undignified manner possible. The only blessing in this was that they were behind a barrel in the alley and no one could see them, save for their sandals sticking out. Hopefully no one would be so curious as to check about two pairs of sandals. Hopefully people would just mind their own business...but this was Judea. Who was going to mind their own business?
“Selima are you alright?” he checked, trying to see into her face. She’d looked pale. Would Simeon murder him if something happened to his wife while in his care? ...Maybe.
Amiti was only dimly aware of Selima attempting to calm him down, or her hold on his arm. Together they shifted through the press of the crowds. The stench was horrendous. Vomit, blood; it was all filthy and he wanted well away from here. Worse, it had happened in the temple. That was possibly the worst offense he could think of and he was reeling from it.
His inattention kept them in the current of people who were filing out of the temple. They were dumped onto the main street and it was only then that Amiti realized where they were. He looked about him, blinking as though coming out of a trance and looked down into Selima’s face. Her eyes were red rimmed and wet tracks shimmered down her cheeks. Oh no. People couldn’t know she was crying...and in his presence, too, like he may have had something to do with it. Out here, away from the chaos, life was continuing as normal, with Judeans coming and going, having no idea of the horror that had happened just within those white temple walls.
Pulling on Selima, he sequestered the two of them into the nearest alleyway, out of sight and in the shadows. While he was looking to make sure that no one had seen this, he felt her hand brushing across his chest. “Just a bit of dirt. That’s all.” Her voice sounded thick and he was half afraid to find her crying again but he finally looked down at her and noticed she was right. There was a bit of dirt. He swiped at his clothes, now wondering if there was blood there, too. Oh there better not be! “You’re fine, Amiti. You’re fine.”
“No,” he shook his head, bending to check the hem of his garment. “No I’m far from fine.” Her hand was in his peripheral vision and he finally saw that she was trembling. She needed to sit down...All at once her hand shot out and caught hold of his arm as she swayed on her feet. Reflexively, he slipped an arm around her and caught her. Together they sunk down to the ground in the most undignified manner possible. The only blessing in this was that they were behind a barrel in the alley and no one could see them, save for their sandals sticking out. Hopefully no one would be so curious as to check about two pairs of sandals. Hopefully people would just mind their own business...but this was Judea. Who was going to mind their own business?
“Selima are you alright?” he checked, trying to see into her face. She’d looked pale. Would Simeon murder him if something happened to his wife while in his care? ...Maybe.
A part of her was humiliated. She was acting so… horribly in front of Amiti. She had fallen, and the two were only shielded by a barrel. And yet, it was completely understandable. What they had witnessed was beyond words. Never had Selima seen something so grotesque in her entire life. And she birthed two children.
Selima closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She didn’t want to break down in front of Amiti. She didn’t want to break at all. Selima was a strong woman. Kind as she may be, she did not give in or let herself be crushed. She just needed a moment to collect herself.
You’re okay.
Selima opened her eyes again. They were glassy, but no longer were the tears pushing through. She looked at Amiti’s. “No,” She said quietly. “No I’m far from fine.” It was only when he asked that question did Selima realize the ridiculousness of her calling Amiti fine. Neither of them would be, not after that. They’d be traumatized for quite a while. A trauma that they would have to shove deep within, or at the very least Selima would have to. For who did she have to talk to? Simeon? As if.
No. No, I’m far from fine. It was odd to share a pain with someone. Selima was so used to shielding others, in particular her children, from it. Part of her wished she could do the same for Amiti. Erase the way the past thirty minutes from his mind. Take his pain and make it her’s instead. Did he have anyone to talk to? Or would he close himself off? Selima did not know Amiti very well, but the impression he gave her… well, could he close himself off even more?
She pursed her lips and slowly she stood up, using Amiti’s arm to keep herself steady. “Thank you,” She said. For not abandoning her. For staying here while she had her moment. And, Selima hoped, for not sharing her moment of weakness with anyone.
Selima of Simeon was to be perfect. But this experience showed, even for a brief moment, just how many cracks she had.
She looked down at her own clothes now, brushing the dirt off of her. That was the one good thing, neither of them were bloody. As if good could be used to describe any part of today. This was a complete and utter disaster. And what was she going to say when she returned to Simeon? They may not be in Jerusalem, but surely he would hear about today’s events. And he knew exactly where she would be today.
She dreaded returning to him.
She lowered her arm to her side and took one last deep breath. “It would… behoove us both if we don’t speak of this day.” Selima said quietly, a warning really. Simeon’s anger sometimes lacked logic, and Selima had no desire to have him… think that Selima spent all this time alone with Amiti, rather than the truth being that this was all coincidental. “At least… not to others.”
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A part of her was humiliated. She was acting so… horribly in front of Amiti. She had fallen, and the two were only shielded by a barrel. And yet, it was completely understandable. What they had witnessed was beyond words. Never had Selima seen something so grotesque in her entire life. And she birthed two children.
Selima closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She didn’t want to break down in front of Amiti. She didn’t want to break at all. Selima was a strong woman. Kind as she may be, she did not give in or let herself be crushed. She just needed a moment to collect herself.
You’re okay.
Selima opened her eyes again. They were glassy, but no longer were the tears pushing through. She looked at Amiti’s. “No,” She said quietly. “No I’m far from fine.” It was only when he asked that question did Selima realize the ridiculousness of her calling Amiti fine. Neither of them would be, not after that. They’d be traumatized for quite a while. A trauma that they would have to shove deep within, or at the very least Selima would have to. For who did she have to talk to? Simeon? As if.
No. No, I’m far from fine. It was odd to share a pain with someone. Selima was so used to shielding others, in particular her children, from it. Part of her wished she could do the same for Amiti. Erase the way the past thirty minutes from his mind. Take his pain and make it her’s instead. Did he have anyone to talk to? Or would he close himself off? Selima did not know Amiti very well, but the impression he gave her… well, could he close himself off even more?
She pursed her lips and slowly she stood up, using Amiti’s arm to keep herself steady. “Thank you,” She said. For not abandoning her. For staying here while she had her moment. And, Selima hoped, for not sharing her moment of weakness with anyone.
Selima of Simeon was to be perfect. But this experience showed, even for a brief moment, just how many cracks she had.
She looked down at her own clothes now, brushing the dirt off of her. That was the one good thing, neither of them were bloody. As if good could be used to describe any part of today. This was a complete and utter disaster. And what was she going to say when she returned to Simeon? They may not be in Jerusalem, but surely he would hear about today’s events. And he knew exactly where she would be today.
She dreaded returning to him.
She lowered her arm to her side and took one last deep breath. “It would… behoove us both if we don’t speak of this day.” Selima said quietly, a warning really. Simeon’s anger sometimes lacked logic, and Selima had no desire to have him… think that Selima spent all this time alone with Amiti, rather than the truth being that this was all coincidental. “At least… not to others.”
A part of her was humiliated. She was acting so… horribly in front of Amiti. She had fallen, and the two were only shielded by a barrel. And yet, it was completely understandable. What they had witnessed was beyond words. Never had Selima seen something so grotesque in her entire life. And she birthed two children.
Selima closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She didn’t want to break down in front of Amiti. She didn’t want to break at all. Selima was a strong woman. Kind as she may be, she did not give in or let herself be crushed. She just needed a moment to collect herself.
You’re okay.
Selima opened her eyes again. They were glassy, but no longer were the tears pushing through. She looked at Amiti’s. “No,” She said quietly. “No I’m far from fine.” It was only when he asked that question did Selima realize the ridiculousness of her calling Amiti fine. Neither of them would be, not after that. They’d be traumatized for quite a while. A trauma that they would have to shove deep within, or at the very least Selima would have to. For who did she have to talk to? Simeon? As if.
No. No, I’m far from fine. It was odd to share a pain with someone. Selima was so used to shielding others, in particular her children, from it. Part of her wished she could do the same for Amiti. Erase the way the past thirty minutes from his mind. Take his pain and make it her’s instead. Did he have anyone to talk to? Or would he close himself off? Selima did not know Amiti very well, but the impression he gave her… well, could he close himself off even more?
She pursed her lips and slowly she stood up, using Amiti’s arm to keep herself steady. “Thank you,” She said. For not abandoning her. For staying here while she had her moment. And, Selima hoped, for not sharing her moment of weakness with anyone.
Selima of Simeon was to be perfect. But this experience showed, even for a brief moment, just how many cracks she had.
She looked down at her own clothes now, brushing the dirt off of her. That was the one good thing, neither of them were bloody. As if good could be used to describe any part of today. This was a complete and utter disaster. And what was she going to say when she returned to Simeon? They may not be in Jerusalem, but surely he would hear about today’s events. And he knew exactly where she would be today.
She dreaded returning to him.
She lowered her arm to her side and took one last deep breath. “It would… behoove us both if we don’t speak of this day.” Selima said quietly, a warning really. Simeon’s anger sometimes lacked logic, and Selima had no desire to have him… think that Selima spent all this time alone with Amiti, rather than the truth being that this was all coincidental. “At least… not to others.”
Amiti was in less pain than he was in shock and disgust. And, to be truthful, judgement. There was nothing, nothing in the world that warranted taking one’s own life like that and to do it so violently and to involve so many witnesses in such a sacred, hallowed place. Whatever sympathy Amiti might have felt in a different circumstance was entirely absent in this one. He extended his arm down to her and braced his feet as she slowly used him as leverage to stand.
”Thank you.” She sounded a little breathless to him and he wondered if she was going to faint. He hoped she wouldn’t. What would that look like? The two of them a complete mess and him having to hold her in his arms and stumble out into the street with her - Simeon’s wife. What would people say? In fact, what would they say now?
The two of them were standing in a shadowed alley, a barrel their only defense. She was hanging on his arm and they were close enough that their hips were nearly touching. It had been necessary in order to help her stand, wobbly as she was. He regretted coming to the temple today, which was a regret he’d never had before. This was supposed to have been a restful, soul cleansing time. Now he felt heavy and unsure of everything.
“Don’t mention it,” he said, meaning that fully and sincerely. Mention this to literally no one. All of it. The whole thing. Neither of them were here, they didn’t see a man kill himself, they weren’t involved in any sort of display and they most certainly weren’t comforting each other in this side alley. Amiti realized he was still holding onto her and abruptly let go.
Selima took the opening to dust off her robes and Amiti stepped back to do the same. Heaven above but they looked frightful.
“It would… behoove us both if we don’t speak of this day.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” Amiti said brusquely. He wasn’t unkind in it but definitely forceful in the opinion.
“At least… not to others.”
“We don’t need to speak of it either,” he promised. With a dramatic flare of his arms crossing in front of himself, as if he were sweeping the bad events by parting them like Moses had parted the Red Sea, he shook his head. “So far as I am concerned, we saw none of this. We weren’t there. We can cleanse our minds and our souls of it in diligent prayer.”
A deep sigh escaped through his nose then as he looked her over, his frown deepening. “You are a pious woman, Selima,” he told her seriously. “And I am a respected official. It would be...it would be life ruining, possibly if any of this were known...our involvement. I think, in this one instance, that Yahweh would forgive us if we lied.” He hated even suggesting it but honestly, what other choice was there? “People would believe us.” He reached out and rested his hand on her upper arm, dipping his head just the littlest bit so that they were eye level. His brown eyes searched her blue eyes. “Please? If anyone asks, it’s best for both of us if this didn’t happen.”
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Amiti was in less pain than he was in shock and disgust. And, to be truthful, judgement. There was nothing, nothing in the world that warranted taking one’s own life like that and to do it so violently and to involve so many witnesses in such a sacred, hallowed place. Whatever sympathy Amiti might have felt in a different circumstance was entirely absent in this one. He extended his arm down to her and braced his feet as she slowly used him as leverage to stand.
”Thank you.” She sounded a little breathless to him and he wondered if she was going to faint. He hoped she wouldn’t. What would that look like? The two of them a complete mess and him having to hold her in his arms and stumble out into the street with her - Simeon’s wife. What would people say? In fact, what would they say now?
The two of them were standing in a shadowed alley, a barrel their only defense. She was hanging on his arm and they were close enough that their hips were nearly touching. It had been necessary in order to help her stand, wobbly as she was. He regretted coming to the temple today, which was a regret he’d never had before. This was supposed to have been a restful, soul cleansing time. Now he felt heavy and unsure of everything.
“Don’t mention it,” he said, meaning that fully and sincerely. Mention this to literally no one. All of it. The whole thing. Neither of them were here, they didn’t see a man kill himself, they weren’t involved in any sort of display and they most certainly weren’t comforting each other in this side alley. Amiti realized he was still holding onto her and abruptly let go.
Selima took the opening to dust off her robes and Amiti stepped back to do the same. Heaven above but they looked frightful.
“It would… behoove us both if we don’t speak of this day.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” Amiti said brusquely. He wasn’t unkind in it but definitely forceful in the opinion.
“At least… not to others.”
“We don’t need to speak of it either,” he promised. With a dramatic flare of his arms crossing in front of himself, as if he were sweeping the bad events by parting them like Moses had parted the Red Sea, he shook his head. “So far as I am concerned, we saw none of this. We weren’t there. We can cleanse our minds and our souls of it in diligent prayer.”
A deep sigh escaped through his nose then as he looked her over, his frown deepening. “You are a pious woman, Selima,” he told her seriously. “And I am a respected official. It would be...it would be life ruining, possibly if any of this were known...our involvement. I think, in this one instance, that Yahweh would forgive us if we lied.” He hated even suggesting it but honestly, what other choice was there? “People would believe us.” He reached out and rested his hand on her upper arm, dipping his head just the littlest bit so that they were eye level. His brown eyes searched her blue eyes. “Please? If anyone asks, it’s best for both of us if this didn’t happen.”
Amiti was in less pain than he was in shock and disgust. And, to be truthful, judgement. There was nothing, nothing in the world that warranted taking one’s own life like that and to do it so violently and to involve so many witnesses in such a sacred, hallowed place. Whatever sympathy Amiti might have felt in a different circumstance was entirely absent in this one. He extended his arm down to her and braced his feet as she slowly used him as leverage to stand.
”Thank you.” She sounded a little breathless to him and he wondered if she was going to faint. He hoped she wouldn’t. What would that look like? The two of them a complete mess and him having to hold her in his arms and stumble out into the street with her - Simeon’s wife. What would people say? In fact, what would they say now?
The two of them were standing in a shadowed alley, a barrel their only defense. She was hanging on his arm and they were close enough that their hips were nearly touching. It had been necessary in order to help her stand, wobbly as she was. He regretted coming to the temple today, which was a regret he’d never had before. This was supposed to have been a restful, soul cleansing time. Now he felt heavy and unsure of everything.
“Don’t mention it,” he said, meaning that fully and sincerely. Mention this to literally no one. All of it. The whole thing. Neither of them were here, they didn’t see a man kill himself, they weren’t involved in any sort of display and they most certainly weren’t comforting each other in this side alley. Amiti realized he was still holding onto her and abruptly let go.
Selima took the opening to dust off her robes and Amiti stepped back to do the same. Heaven above but they looked frightful.
“It would… behoove us both if we don’t speak of this day.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” Amiti said brusquely. He wasn’t unkind in it but definitely forceful in the opinion.
“At least… not to others.”
“We don’t need to speak of it either,” he promised. With a dramatic flare of his arms crossing in front of himself, as if he were sweeping the bad events by parting them like Moses had parted the Red Sea, he shook his head. “So far as I am concerned, we saw none of this. We weren’t there. We can cleanse our minds and our souls of it in diligent prayer.”
A deep sigh escaped through his nose then as he looked her over, his frown deepening. “You are a pious woman, Selima,” he told her seriously. “And I am a respected official. It would be...it would be life ruining, possibly if any of this were known...our involvement. I think, in this one instance, that Yahweh would forgive us if we lied.” He hated even suggesting it but honestly, what other choice was there? “People would believe us.” He reached out and rested his hand on her upper arm, dipping his head just the littlest bit so that they were eye level. His brown eyes searched her blue eyes. “Please? If anyone asks, it’s best for both of us if this didn’t happen.”
This was an odd position Selima found herself in. They had done nothing wrong. That man sinned. That man committed suicide- unthinkable! And they witnessed the terror, but they did not partake. They ran from the chaos, from the blood but… they didn’t do anything wrong.
And yet the scandal it would be if it was known they were both there. Selima, a woman married, and a man about to marry having met in the holiest of sites only to… witness something abhorrent. Word would spread around all of Judea. Rumors and gossip, all of untrue, would bring ruin to the reputations the two familys carefully crafted. And to Selima reputation was of the upmost importance. You are a pious woman, Selima. That was true. It was reality, yes, but also something that she wanted everyone to believe. Just as she wanted everyone to believe her husband was who to strive to be like, and her family had no problems.
Reputation was everything, and so when Amiti asked this of her how could she say no? And yet, the words Yahweh would forgive us if we lied caused Selima to flinch ever so slightly. That was a bold claim, and one that couldn’t be backed. And yet, despite the… audacity of the claim, it didn’t make Selima want to talk about what happened. The fury that would run through Simeon should Selima tell him…
“I won’t speak with this to anyone, Amiti.” Selima responded quietly. “Not a single person. You have my word.” But if someone asked her about it, was she to lie? That… didn’t sit right. It made her heart squeeze and guilt swell up inside her. And yet in this case, lying was much easier to do. It would protect her husband and her family, it’d protect herself. And she supposed.. It’d protect Amiti.
She took another step back and gave him a weary smile. There wasn’t anything left to say. “I should return to Simeon. If I am gone too long he… may wonder what I’ve gotten up to.” And quite honestly Selima just wanted to go. She wanted to put this behind her. She wanted this to be a memory- a nightmare, something… something that wasn’t her present. She needed to leave.
With a small nod to her head Selima left the cover the pair were behind, and went back to the streets. Only when she was alone did she close her eyes and take a deep breath. It was shaky, but her composure was kept. Oh how she wished she could forget this day.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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This was an odd position Selima found herself in. They had done nothing wrong. That man sinned. That man committed suicide- unthinkable! And they witnessed the terror, but they did not partake. They ran from the chaos, from the blood but… they didn’t do anything wrong.
And yet the scandal it would be if it was known they were both there. Selima, a woman married, and a man about to marry having met in the holiest of sites only to… witness something abhorrent. Word would spread around all of Judea. Rumors and gossip, all of untrue, would bring ruin to the reputations the two familys carefully crafted. And to Selima reputation was of the upmost importance. You are a pious woman, Selima. That was true. It was reality, yes, but also something that she wanted everyone to believe. Just as she wanted everyone to believe her husband was who to strive to be like, and her family had no problems.
Reputation was everything, and so when Amiti asked this of her how could she say no? And yet, the words Yahweh would forgive us if we lied caused Selima to flinch ever so slightly. That was a bold claim, and one that couldn’t be backed. And yet, despite the… audacity of the claim, it didn’t make Selima want to talk about what happened. The fury that would run through Simeon should Selima tell him…
“I won’t speak with this to anyone, Amiti.” Selima responded quietly. “Not a single person. You have my word.” But if someone asked her about it, was she to lie? That… didn’t sit right. It made her heart squeeze and guilt swell up inside her. And yet in this case, lying was much easier to do. It would protect her husband and her family, it’d protect herself. And she supposed.. It’d protect Amiti.
She took another step back and gave him a weary smile. There wasn’t anything left to say. “I should return to Simeon. If I am gone too long he… may wonder what I’ve gotten up to.” And quite honestly Selima just wanted to go. She wanted to put this behind her. She wanted this to be a memory- a nightmare, something… something that wasn’t her present. She needed to leave.
With a small nod to her head Selima left the cover the pair were behind, and went back to the streets. Only when she was alone did she close her eyes and take a deep breath. It was shaky, but her composure was kept. Oh how she wished she could forget this day.
This was an odd position Selima found herself in. They had done nothing wrong. That man sinned. That man committed suicide- unthinkable! And they witnessed the terror, but they did not partake. They ran from the chaos, from the blood but… they didn’t do anything wrong.
And yet the scandal it would be if it was known they were both there. Selima, a woman married, and a man about to marry having met in the holiest of sites only to… witness something abhorrent. Word would spread around all of Judea. Rumors and gossip, all of untrue, would bring ruin to the reputations the two familys carefully crafted. And to Selima reputation was of the upmost importance. You are a pious woman, Selima. That was true. It was reality, yes, but also something that she wanted everyone to believe. Just as she wanted everyone to believe her husband was who to strive to be like, and her family had no problems.
Reputation was everything, and so when Amiti asked this of her how could she say no? And yet, the words Yahweh would forgive us if we lied caused Selima to flinch ever so slightly. That was a bold claim, and one that couldn’t be backed. And yet, despite the… audacity of the claim, it didn’t make Selima want to talk about what happened. The fury that would run through Simeon should Selima tell him…
“I won’t speak with this to anyone, Amiti.” Selima responded quietly. “Not a single person. You have my word.” But if someone asked her about it, was she to lie? That… didn’t sit right. It made her heart squeeze and guilt swell up inside her. And yet in this case, lying was much easier to do. It would protect her husband and her family, it’d protect herself. And she supposed.. It’d protect Amiti.
She took another step back and gave him a weary smile. There wasn’t anything left to say. “I should return to Simeon. If I am gone too long he… may wonder what I’ve gotten up to.” And quite honestly Selima just wanted to go. She wanted to put this behind her. She wanted this to be a memory- a nightmare, something… something that wasn’t her present. She needed to leave.
With a small nod to her head Selima left the cover the pair were behind, and went back to the streets. Only when she was alone did she close her eyes and take a deep breath. It was shaky, but her composure was kept. Oh how she wished she could forget this day.
