WARNING: THE STORY YOU ARE ABOUT TO READ IS NOT HISTORICALLY ACCURATE IN ANY WAY, SHAPE OR FORM (mostly due to the author’s laziness, haha), NOR IS IT ESPECIALLY THRILLING.
Hey guys! *waves* Today, I was lazy. Today, I decided to share a bit of flashfiction I wrote the other day because a story inspired me. Today, I decided to finish that bit of flashfiction, making it quite… choppy.
Sorry.
But the original story was a good one, and I’ve never really tried my hand at Biblical fiction much before (I did a few stories for school once), so this was a refreshingly new experience.
So! Enjoy, and feel free to inform me of facts I messed up. 😉
Prompt
Judges 9:3-21 (Google it if you need to. ;))
Story
“Run!” The woman’s shrill cry pierced Jotham’s sleep like a blade. “Run, all of you! They’re coming!”
“Who?” The deep voice of Jotham’s older brother bellowed like an angry bull. “Abigail, who’s coming?”
With a bound, Jotham had rolled away from his blanket and stumbled to the wall, listening for Abigail’s soft answer outside.
But it never came.
A scream shattered the air, quickly muffled and followed by a grunt as firelight seeped through the cracks in the walls and let Jotham make out the silhouettes of men.
Lots of men.
Panic flooded him as something thumped against the bottom of the wall. “One down,” a harsh male voice said, “and sixty-nine to go. Where is Jether?”
Jotham’s breath caught. That was his oldest brother, Jerubabbel’s firstborn.
“In another home, but leave him to me,” a second, more sinister voice answered as yet another scream echoed around the town. Bells were ringing, women’s wails bouncing off the walls, firelight burning bright.
“Yes, m’lord,” the first voice answered, and wood splintered.
His heart in his throat and his whole body shaking, Jotham darted away from the wall. A death cry sounded far too close for Jotham’s comfort, along with someone saying, “That’s four.”
Oh, Adonai, how could we have forsaken you?! Jotham’s thoughts screamed as his fingers, clumsy with fear, tipped a basket full of grain onto the floor. If you ever loved your children, please please PLEASE save me! Hide me! Help my size to save me!
He clambered into the basket, piling grain up to hide half of him and hoping the shadows of the basket and apparently-empty room hid him from sight. He didn’t have much choice – the men had come.
“How many are even supposed to be here?” One man asked, sweeping his torch through the room as his dark eyes took in the scattered grain, tipped basket, and crumpled blanket.
“Only one more,” his companion answered. Something dark gleamed on his sword in the torch’s light.
Jotham yanked a hand up to his mouth as he closed his eyes and pushed back the bitter bile that rose in his throat.
Blood.
They were killers – hunters. Sniffing out all of Jerubabbel’s sons.
“Who?” Torch Man asked, striding over and kicking at Jotham’s blanket.
“The youngest,” the second man answered with a sigh. “He’s about twelve winters old and the runt of a rotten brood.”
“Need we even kill him? If he is such a runt, surely he poses no trouble to Abimelech.”
Jotham squeezed his eyes shut even tighter. Abimelech was behind this? He was the son of a concubine of Jerubabbel’s – was this why he fought? To gain the judge-hood of their father?
Was he killing his brothers for a crown?
Only one thing was for sure: this was no family reunion.
Adonai protect me!!
“Remember Moses,” Sword Man answered, his voice ringing ominously.
I wonder what it feels like to be impaled. Jotham barely kept himself from tensing his back and causing the basket to rustle or move. He dared not even breath, expecting searing heat to explode in his chest as that bloody sword took his life. Save me save me save me!
“No one’s here,” Torch Man said, after what seemed like Sabbaths later. “The pig must have fled.”
“We can’t leave a single son alive,” Sword Man warned, his voice so close Jotham jumped. He bit his lip and prayed with all his might that he hadn’t just given his hiding spot away. “Abimelech will kill us if we do.”
Something scraped on the floor, tinkling. “This should do as a token,” Torch Man answered. “We don’t need his head, just some sort of trinket to prove we caught him and killed him. Here.”
He really didn’t want to, but Jotham found his eyes sliding ever-so-slightly open, watching as Torch Man ran some sort of pendant – the necklace his sister had made for him – through the blood on Sword Man’s blade. He held it up next to his torch. “That’s enough proof, Telem.”
Sword Man – Telem – hesitated, then nodded. “Come,” he ordered, striding to the door. “We have work to do.”
It was only after the screaming subsided and the weeping began that Jotham dared to exit his basket. He crawled forth slowly, sure that men with bloody swords would burst through at any moment and slice his head from his shoulders. But no one came. The house was as still as a grave, heavy with the misery of the survivors.
Before his brain had registered what his body was doing, Jotham found himself outside, kneeling beside his older brother’s body. Jason, the first one to be killed and sixty-fourth son of Jerubabbel – one of Jotham’s only full brothers, and one he loved dearly.
Had loved dearly.
A sob choked Jotham’s chest as his face crumpled and he buried his face in his hands, rocking back and forth on his haunches as his narrow chest heaved in convulsions. Was this what the disobedience of Israel bought? Pain and death, blood and tears?
With tears dribbling off his chin, Jotham raised his head and stared long and hard at the ephod his father had made, shortly after defeating Israel’s foes. Had it really only taken a few years for one of Israel’s “greatest” judges to fall? To be taken from coward to warrior to arrogant ruler?
I’m so sorry. Jotham closed his eyes, looking away from the ephod as his grief made his throat burn. I’m so, so sorry.
He sat there beside his brother’s corpse for a long time – until the sun was warming the back of his head and his well of tears had been drained. His head hurt, his limbs hurt, but his heart hurt worst of all.
Snuffling and wiping his nose, Jotham glanced upward at the innocent blue sky, smiling down on the chaos of the night. What do I do now, Adonai? he asked. If you’ll take even one Israelite back, let it be me. I will serve you – for now I know what serving Baal and Ashtaroth does to a people.
A sort of peace settled over his being as his gaze was drawn to a distant mountain.
Speak, a tiny voice whispered in his heart. Speak.
Words floated through his head and Jotham clambered to his feet. He swiped at his nose, his eyes on the peaks. It would be a hard climb – he’d never summitted a mountain before. He’d always been too weak.
But when the LORD called, anything was possible.
So Jotham set his sights on the mountain, and began walking.
Wrap Up
Yeesh, I forgot what a sad story that is. XD Seriously, Judges kinda makes one sick and also makes it very clear how horribly wrong things go when you don’t follow God.
*coughs* Samson, Micah, the Levite, etc. *cough cough*
Anywho, let me know in the comments what you think! This was written purely because the story piqued my interest, and I didn’t bother with researching historical facts – I took what was in the Bible and used that. 😉 Feel free to correct me on stuff!
But most importantly, remember to take courage, PURSUE GOD, and smile while you still have teeth. 😉
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