Second Person in First Person, with my own Ending

by Marshall - age 14

I ambled down the hillside, grateful that I was shaded for a moment from the hot morning sun. Around the path’s bend, I spotted a large crowd milling about on the grass below. In answer to my inquiry about the congregation, a bystander carrying a basket of bread exclaimed, “Why, don’t you know? We are waiting for the great prophet to come to preach today.” His statement stopped me in my tracks. I had heard of this man–this so-called miracle worker. And he was coming here today?

The bystander looked up at me with entreating eyes. “Come, friend, and join us.”

Hesitantly, I followed the smiling journeyman down the hill and to the front of the crowd. The blazing sun reflected off the waves of the little sea, and the blinding light danced in white ripples. Resting in the shade of a sycamore tree, I enjoyed a cool drink from the well and idly watched this anxious throng. My curiosity was the only thing keeping me here. But these people–why did they wait?

Suddenly there was a commotion on the shore and the multitude pressed forward. I found myself on my feet, straining to see. The people were running now, and shouting, “He is come! He is here!” 

I watched in amazement as this said miracle worker walked into the valley, crowds of people surrounding him. I couldn’t believe it. Ever since I had heard of him, I had thought of a royal personage, dressed in the finest of clothing. But that wasn’t the case. He was dressed simply, and if I didn’t know better I’d think He was just a normal guy. But that wasn’t the case either. Hundreds surrounded Him, and He was probably the most famous man in the whole valley.

 All of the sudden, I had a quite unexpected urge to go and see Him, and feel of His presence. Slowly, and very nervously, I pushed past the enormous crowd to get a better look. When I finally got close enough to be able to touch this seemingly mysterious man, something very surprising happened. Out of all of the who knows how many people, He looked at me. His words were simple, but they seemed to literally pierce my heart. The Man, ever so kindly, said, looking right into my eyes: “Come, follow me.”

My Marshall Walton, age 14

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