The day was unusually cold...pt.2: Mary

The day was unusually cold. A shrouded figure stood shivering alone. If the sun was up, no eye had yet seen it, nor this dark figure which stood weeping as she gazed around and the remnants of her home. In her hand she clutched a worn and dirty piece of cloth. The same cloth that had wraped her son. The same son that, according to Joseph, was standing on trial.... for blasphemy! Blasphemy?? Jesus Christ, nor her son but the son of the living God!
"Why, father." it came out as a whisper.... "WHY?" she screamed letting out all the force inside of her, and yet her tiny son, John, slept on. Why had God let the Romans -the word sounded as a curse, even unspoken -they woke up her, Joseph and even John began screaming. They tore apart her home, even after Joseph said that they didn't know where Jesus was. Apart from grabbing that piece of cloth, she had stood perfectly still clutching her son, unable to move or speak.
They had finally moved on, and Joseph to warn Jesus, only to return despondant and say that he'd already been taken to the high priest for questioning.
Bringing freedom to her lips and now legs, the news which caused Joseph to return to the crowd, now left her feeling frantic. She had to see Him.
She ran barefoot through the streets, until coming upon a crowd she grabbed a man by the arm.
"Where is he? What have they done with him?"
"Whats it to you woman? Jesus deserves to die!"
She ran on, incredulous.
"Peter!" she cried out as she saw him running towards her. "Where is he, Peter?"
Peter shook his head unable to speak as the tears streamed down his face. He took her hand and led her past the crowd to the soilders barracks. In the middle of a square stood a bloody whipping stone. Mary heard a sob rise in his throat as he gripped her hand more tightly. A cold shock came over her, but Peter kept on walking.
"Stop!" yelled a Roman gaurd. "You, man, aren't you one that was just talking with Jesus?"
"yes" it came out first as a whisper. "Yes, I am! If you won't let me, at least let his mother see him! What harm can the woman do?"
After a pause, one gaurd turned to the other. "let the woman come with me, she is weak anyway."
So Peter, stood still, as the officer roughly grabbed Mary, and forced her into a small dark room.
"Jesus" she whispered, heart fluttering. She fell to the ground and looked up into the deep brown eyes of her son, now mangled and bloody, with a purple robe and thorns twisted into his head.
"Out! all of you." the gaurd barked at some other soilders. "You've pestered this man long enough, let him die in peace."
They filed out sullenly, but the gaurd remained silently at a distance.
"my son" whispered Mary.
"Mother." the word barely formed on his lips. Mary had cried many times in her life, but never any like this time. Her whole body shook with tears.
"they can't do this to you." she pulled herself forward towards him and stretched out her hand to touch him, but did not.
"Mary." Jesus said louder this time. Just one word, conveyed so much. With his eyes he was telling her: "trust me Mary, this is not your will, or even what I desire, but what must be done, to obey my Father."
Mary, felt the utmost shame. Who was she to question God? No, one. What right had she to question the will of the Father?...
"Get up, GET UP!" yelled the gaurd angrily. "they are coming to get him, you must not be seen." this time it was a whisper.
Mary's eyes conveyed graditude as she stumbled into a shadowed corner.
The officers came and took him away, and left the room still and empty, all except for a dirty crumpled swaddling cloth, lying bloody on the floor where Jesus had sat.