The Legion

I've been so busy this summer that I haven't posted in over two months...although I've been trying to work on a post, the endless succession of work and chores and work renders blogging sadly impossible :( Thus I have decided to post some of the retold Bible stories that I wrote between 6-10 grades! I've never shared them before but since I was desperate and feeling somewhat whimsical today, why not? Since I can copy-paste, look for an update at least once a week :)

<><><> Part One: The Legion, from Mark 5 <><><>

Sudden silence woke me just before dawn. I had fallen asleep, just hours ago, to the shrieking winds and pouring rains of a violent storm. This abrupt stillness brought me instantly wide-awake. I lay still listening until the final faint, exhausted breath of storm wind died away. As the wet blue light of early morning seeped through the window cloth, I threw back my thin blanket and crept outside into the lonely morning air.
In the pale light droplets of fresh rain glimmered on everything in sight. They were calm and beautiful, unlike the wild and frightening deluge of the last few hours. Never in my life had I seen a violent storm—even a mild storm—stop so suddenly and completely.
I walked silently down the steep bank that led to the Sea of Galilee, a shining crown wrapped across the horizon. A few battered boats, looking weary of the winds and glad to finally be at peace, rested on the silvery water. As I drew closer to the sea, I watched the growing light distinguish waves from the shadows and bright patches on the water.
A bird screamed far out over the Sea of Galilee, the sound floating faintly to my ears. The sun was just rising in the east, like a brilliant jewel on the crown of the sea. It shone whitish-yellow and turned the sky to gentle orange. Black stood the fishing boats against this sunrise; our family fishing vessel among the silhouettes rocking on the waves. I stepped onto the sandy beach with my lungs full of clean air. Smiling happily, I listened to the muted calls of seabirds and the shift of wet sand beneath my feet.
As I came closer to the fishing boat, however, the low grumbling of Father’s voice resonated over the calmness of the morning, seemingly loud and out of place. I knew something was wrong; Father never grumbled, even when a storm prevented him from launching our boat early enough. Father glanced at me as I strolled toward him. His bushy eyebrows knitted together over eyes darker than their usual golden brown. “Samuel! Help me with the nets!”
My stomach lurched. The nets—I hadn’t repaired them last night as Father had asked. Instead, my friend Ezekiel and I had chased the storm up and down the sands, running ourselves breathless until stopped by the darkness and violence of the night. Lamenting my neglectfulness, I snatched one corner and tugged the soggy rope-weave onto the sand. The small hole of yesterday was larger, more ragged. Between missing the day’s fishing because of the storm and finding his nets in tatters, Father would surely not be pleased. Without daring to look in his direction, I began mending the net. Inside I wondered what punishment lay in store.
Father’s menacing shadow hovered darkly across the sandy net. My nervous fingers slipped and I threw the net down. “I’m sorry! Ezekiel and I were playing and we—“
Suddenly Father’s head swiveled sharply toward the Sea of Galilee, his concentration broken as my excuses fell on deaf ears. I stood up and gazed in the same direction, shading my eyes against the fiery sunrise with one hand, wondering what Father saw. No boat should be on the sea after such a fierce storm, that much I knew. Yet what else would my father see upon the waves?
To my astonishment, a simple wooden boat floated into view, dipping and rising with the tide. A group of men stood beneath its torn sail, all of them soaked with rainwater but excitedly gesturing. I froze at the edge of the water, incredulous—they had survived that storm at sea through the entire night! For a moment Father also stopped, stunned and silent, before splashing out to meet the boat in the last few feet of its journey to shore. Two of the men stumbled from their boat to the sand and caught some up in their hands, laughing and shaking their heads in disbelief. One man, however, caught my interest as he sat quietly and calmly in the rear of the craft, apparently less astonished to gain solid earth.
Then the rest of the men, excepting the quiet one who remained in the boat, swept me along with them as they leaped out to join their two companions in shouting gratefulness to God. As soon as they had finished their praises, they began telling Father about their night on the stormy waves. As we followed the group up the steep ground away from the sea, their voices gained volubility, the paths of their multiple narrations circling and crossing like the flight of the birds overhead. I trailed behind, my heart pounding with the contagious joy and excitement and wonder.
“Samuel, they spent the entire night out on the lake, and not a one of them was drowned! These men are followers of that Nazarene, Jesus, who teaches that he is the Son of God—the very man who is now in boat! No, but he is coming this way now! So much I have heard, I must ask—“
Father’s speech died, his mouth frozen and lips grayed, eyes fixed seemingly on my face. I opened my mouth to question him, but realized at the same time that he was staring beyond me, body tensing as his dark eyes narrowed and grew wary. The eyes of the men were transfixed beyond me as well, their tumultuous speech instantly stilled. Sudden as a fork of lightening, Father inhaled sharply, turning swiftly toward the sea and snatching my wrist. “Quick, Sam—“
“Stop!”
A horrible, inhuman hissing formed the single word. The sound of it hung in the now ominous morning air, heavier still because the birds had ceased singing. Everything had ceased. The hissing struck our ears again, one voice yet seemingly with thousands wailing and echoing in its inflection. “Stop. You will go no further, but listen to what I say.”
My hands clenched instantly into fists, nails piercing my palms. With a terrible, overwhelming fright I realized to whom the voice belonged—Legion. Legion. Legion, the demon possessed man of the tombs, the Legion, with his hissing, many-toned voice and inhuman keening shrieks. Night by night, his unearthly voice wafted from the burial places of the dead. A great scream rose in my throat that I was too frightened to voice, making me gasp for breath. In the deathly silence, I heard the Legion laugh madly, as he must have done during the fearsome storm.
Suddenly Jesus, the quiet man who had walked slowly behind the rest of us, came into view. He walked calmly toward my petrified father and the group of still-frozen men. From behind I heard a sudden rustle and a high screech. Freed by the knowledge that Legion’s freakish yellow eyes had finally left my back, I stumbled into Father’s arms. I peered over his tanned forearm, my horrified self unable to keep from looking.