Impaled by the Cross – an ISG Writing Exercise

On 27 April 2016, these three words were chosen:

  • Peak/peek
  • Prophesy (verb)
  • Cross

And these blurbs were written within five minutes….Enjoy!



“I don’t think that is how it works.” Martha said to Thomas.

“What do you mean? Of course that is how it works.” He replied sternly as he continued to mount the cross to the peak in the roof.

Martha was becoming exasperated again. Not surprisingly, at her husband.

“You cannot simply walk through town as you prophesy to people and then mount a cross to our house and call it a church.” She said trying to contain her anger as she watched this spray painted symbol of our lord and savior being added to the house she hoped their children would grow up in.

“Yes, I can. This way we don’t have to pay taxes. That and we can buy everything with Religious exception.” He sounded almost proud of this terrible idea.

She began to walk away, if she stood here watching any longer she would end up getting mad enough to want to kill him herself. This was a sin she was sure, using God for personal gain.

As she was half way to the driveway she heard a crack, then a scream and a terrible crunch. She turned to see Thomas impaled by the cross in the middle of their front yard.

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Rolen meandered through the forest pondering the old man’s words as the sun peeked over the Blinic Mountains. He rolled the cross of Ludin’s Coven over and over in his hand as he breathed in the calming scents of the newly blooming crescent flowers. A deer ran across his path and into the brush, stunning him to a halt. The old man had prophesied this. Just before he moved to step again, a woman turned the corner into the path and met his eyes.

They were like emeralds, her gold hair sparkled in the sun and her lips parted in the beginning of a smile. He knew he would normally smile back. Rolen couldn’t resist a beautiful maiden. But today, she brought cold fear into his blood. He ducked his head and rushed past her with the speed of a rain nymph, flying down the path and away.

Far from the love of his life, his heart, his soul. Who he would end up killing.

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Dustin’s black leather jacket was being blown back by the wind as stood at the edge of the cliff staring down into the crashing waves below. It would be easy to put an end to the torment. All he had to do was jump. He held onto the cross that was hanging around his neck and picked up his foot as if he were about to jump, when the moon suddenly peeked out from behind the clouds. The glow that encircled seemed to stop him dead in his tracks and he felt the searing pain behind his eyes. If anyone were there, they could see that his eyes were glowing green. Jumbled images flashed through his mind all tinged with fear. The images stopped as suddenly as they started. It was always the way when he prophesized. It was his curse. Never did anything good come of his visions.

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James peeked into the tent. It smelled like incense and old woman. He wrinkled his nose and ducked inside. A sound made him freeze, and he listened. The woman continued to prophesy outside. Now she was saying something about dark clouds and mysterious travelers. James shrugged and began his hunt.

The furniture was rich, upholstered with silk and velvet. The bed was piled his with feather cushions. The candles were in cups of gold and silver. James tried not to disturb anything, but as his search did not reveal anything for longer and longer, he began to get more desperate. Four giant trunks held luxurious clothes, and these were soon strewn about the room. Still the treasure did not reveal itself.

Finally, a shout made him look up. A shadow fell across the door. A voice was coming closer. That was Glimmer. She was saying something about a charlatan and wanting her money back. Light shot into the room when the flap was pulled away. James was staring into the wrinkled face of the old witch. Around her neck hung the cross.

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Rough transition into the year 36. Jake had paid to land on the peak of Mount Ararat about a thousand or so years earlier, just in time to watch the great flood go down, but here he was, near Rome and dressed in robes like the religious artwork always portrayed, but instead, everyone seemed to be in togas if they were roman, and arabian desert clothing. He’d gotten everything wrong. Plus that woman had seen him land, and was now telling everyone he was able to perform miracles. Which he wasn’t.

But then, he’d seen a colony of sick people with really bad skin, and he’d using simple medical tools he’d brought along in case he got hurt in order to heal them, and made himself some decent food with a plain old replicator, and sure, he’d shared it with the crowd. Plus, someone had seen him in his anti-grav boots while he tried to run away across the water. But, now, boom, he’d somehow gotten a following, and had gotten caught, and he really didn’t know this part of the bible well, but it couldn’t be good that he was about to be hung up on a big-ass cross on a local hill called Golgotha. No one had listened to his explanations. No one cared that he didn’t want to be anyone’s religious leader.

“Miracles!” They’d claimed.

“I am from the future! I don’t belong here…” he cried softly.

“He belongs with God! He will return to us, he has prophesied!” The woman, who’d started claiming he was a god, just wasn’t getting it.

“Quit washing my feet, lady!” Where was the real Jesus, for Pete’s sake? Damn. Everyone crying, moaning. This couldn’t be good.

He couldn’t go back now, if he wasn’t dead by morning.  He was sure no one at Time Travel Adventures LLC would be okay with this whole deification thing.  And they would never let him change it back now.


“So this is what we’re going to do now, huh?” Judas asked, tone sullen as he looked to Paul and Mark. “We’re all going to stand around and prophesy while our friend is up there on that mountain peak, nailed to that cross?”

“CUT!” the director’s  voice was sharp as it cut across the auditorium. Judas turned, a grin forming on his face despite the beard glue that was making his face itch and burn.

“Let me guess,” he said in a sarcastic tone. “You’re offended?”

The director ignored him, as per usual, turning his focus on the would be apostles. “Paul,” he began, “Mark. Come on, fellas. This is tragedy right here. You are standing in front of the guy who betrayed all of you. Yeah, he had his reasons, but he is still the reason your buddy is up there dying.”

Mark was nodding, ever the eager actor taking notes.

Paul was looking confused. “What do you want us to do? It’s not like we can deck the guy or anything. That’s not in the book.”

“Well, no, not physical violence, of course, but this is where you guys have to make him feel bad. You remember your Bible, right? Judas is about to go off and hang himself. You guys have to make him want to do that.”

“Dude,” Judas remarked. “Way to harsh my mellow.”

“Hey, can I get that thirty silver when he hangs himself?” Paul asked. “I need to pay my landlady.”

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1 Comment

Filed under Creative Writing, Writers Group, Writing, Writing Exercise

One response to “Impaled by the Cross – an ISG Writing Exercise

  1. Pingback: Writing Exercise: It was his curse… – Alanna Cormier

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