I should not have been alive any longer when brother Juda had handed my death sentence to me, but I still was… somehow. Perhaps, some would call it a miracle, but to me it seemed more like a curse. For me to be alive, but unable to move, both in body and spirit; how could that be anything but a curse?

I was stuck. Trapped; nailed on the rough wooden surface of this torture device, this cross. And trapped within the darkness of my own mind, where the ever present voice of a wailing infant haunted me. That wailing voice, filled with so much agony, had tormented me ever since my birth. It pained me, hurt me time and again inside my chest to hear it, but it would never stop. Why was that child crying so much?

Why was it so painful to hear its cries?

I had no answers to those questions. In fact, I had not even known whom that voice had belonged to, the majority of my life. When I had been younger, it had only been the sound, a loud crying that called out to me within my dreams, and by doing so pierced through my very heart.

The pain, ever present and so unbearable, could never be stopped. Whatever methods I used – soft soothing whispers or loud yelling and shouting – there had never been a way to stop that voice’s crying. It just could not be silenced. Because of the cries within my head, I had never known the peacefulness of silence. I yearned for it desperately, prayed fervently to try to make the noise go away. But it was futile. And thus, like a cruel joke of fate, the pain remained forever, both in that child’s voice as well as in my heart as if the two of us were tied together by the threads of destiny itself.

But today, on this faithful day, when brother Juda lured me into his carefully crafted trap and crucified me, a revelation happened. Today, I had finally recognized the owner of the cursed voice that stood in synchronization with my own heart. A face and a name could be placed on the child who had been haunting my dreams. His name was Judas.

Yes, Judas was his true name, even though he called himself Juda.

The similarities of the infant’s cries and Juda’s voice could not be concealed to my sensitive ears, despite the passing of years and the deepening of the baritone. I had recognized who Juda was instantly from the moment he penetrated me… and dare I say even before that?

And it was in this instant that I had decided. The pain needed to be stopped.

That was likely the moment, when something finally clicked inside my mind. No more did I want to hear those sorrowful cries. The regret of past lives with which Judas’s soul cried out. No more would my heart bear that anguish. Not when the source of this hurt stood right in front of my nose and could be eliminated in a snap.

Yes, it was easy… so easy to kill my pain and make the world go silent for once.

If only that child would die.

Slowly, I broke through the prison of my mind. And as I awakened, there was only one thing that I desired. A silent world. I took in my surroundings, a plain room with white walls, while trying to block out those incessant wails in my head and that painful stab in my heart. I remembered what Juda had done to me. I had felt the Devil’s ghost standing beside him as he sent me to this place.

That voice… why would that voice never quiet?

“Die Judas… die.”

I wanted to tear the various wires and tubes from my body. I wanted to take off, leave the hospital, and head for the monastery.

“Die Judas… die.”

But the doctor came in and she injected a fluid into me with a sharp needle.

Forcefully, I was once more returned to darkness.

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