Marcus stepped out into the hot August air. The white cobble stones of the street glared beneath the sun’s attention. He greeted Julia as she passed in a cluster of maidens headed towards the Colosseum. “Join us, Marcus,” she called over her shoulder, but he set off in the opposite direction, faintly aware of the disappointed groans which ensued. As he stalked down the Roman Street, he took note of the splendor. Too his right posed a prominent statue of Neptune, the god of the sea. Marcus glanced up at the god’s stern face only slightly discomforted by its presence. Although he had been brought up in a Christian home, Rome’s gods had always been a part of the life he knew. As much as his parents forbade him to worship them, their influence was as potent as the God his family worshipped. He acknowledged the men lounging outside the tall walls of a public bath. Two were caught up in a debate, but he paid them no heed, as it was the custom in Rome. Ahead, the market buzzed with life. He ignored the pestering shop owners, but paused to sample the grapes offered at one booth. Everywhere he turned the city equivocally boasted its culture. A beautiful blond stood draped in the finest toga. She was deep in conversation with a wealthy partisan; both seemed oblivious to the beggar at their feet. Marcus shuddered at the filthy boy and picked up his pace as he passed the three. He went on through marble archways, until the cobbles changed to pavement and the buildings were abandoned for nature’s scenery. Two young boys toyed with wooden swords in the open field on his right. He laughed as the victor posed like a gladiator and took in the cheers of imaginary fans. Ahead he could hear the growing applause of real spectators as they encouraged the runners of their choice. The Colosseum had never held much enticement for Marcus, but the races were a different story. As a young boy, the races had been off limits to him. “You must show the other boys and girls that you are different because of your faith. You must choose Christ over culture, Marcus.” Oh, how he had longed to attend the games, until at last his parent’s say held no power over him. Now, every week Marcus would come and join in the frenzy of the crowd as they observed the athletic skill in the rink. He remembered with bitterness all of the things which he had been deprived of as a child, all for the “cause” of Christ. The enthusiasm of the crowd drowned out his ruminating. Marcus arrived upon the scene just in time to see a short muscular athlete pass up the competitors at break neck speed and win by a good length. The crowd went wild, and he screamed with the loudest of them.
At age eighteen, Marcus was just beginning to feel like his own man. No longer did the worries of his daily lessons bother him. Nor even his parent’s faith. He was free to make his own choices, and the promise of Rome spread through his veins like a wildfire. No previous city could boast of like privilege, nor would time create its equal. Rome was the future, and he wanted to be right there in the middle of it as it grew in power and prestige. His parents did not agree with him. They believed that one’s life should be centered on the God of Abraham. Marcus had been taught the same thing since his childhood. He had memorized the Ten Commandments, multiple scripture verses; he even worshiped every Sabbath and at one time thought he believed in God. Now as he stood staring at the throng about him, all were there for the same purpose, to satisfy their passions in the thrill of the race. He knew that when they departed, the mass would once again become individuals; each would lead his own life, and each had his own god to worship. Why must his be the God of his parents? This is why he loved Rome, it was the essence of every man’s dream. It was freedom. In this thriving city, Marcus knew that he could become wealthy, he could enjoy entertainment with the rest and he could even worship the gods that he desired and not feel ashamed that he had abandoned the faith of his fathers. Christianity was no longer being persecuted like it had been throughout all of history. It was now equal to the rest. He was thankful for that. It would have been much more difficult to deny his family had they been mistreated for their faith and he walked free. Now that all religions were just as tolerable, he could take his pick without a guilty conscience. Still, the thought tormented him that Christianity would soon lose its popularity, and when that happened he wouldn’t be one fed to the lions. It was safer to just worship with the majority. What difference did it make in the end anyway, whether he was to worship Jupiter, Jesus, or Neptune? He shook the disturbing thoughts from his head and focused on a particularly tall racer; he lost.
The races came to a close and his usual comrades fell in on either side as they exited the stadium. “Where to now, old friend?” asked Manius, throwing his arm around Marcus’ shoulders. “Why do I always choose? I’m placing it in your hands, worthy Manius.” He smiled at his friend. Marcus was taller than most men, reaching six feet three inches in height, but still he looked up into the face of Manius whose own length added two inches more. As they approached the center of Rome, the sun was fading and the taverns were coming alive with jovial music and shouts from within. Marcus moved to bypass the entrance of one but the arm across his neck prevented him from doing so. He looked up into his friend’s grinning face. “Well, you told me to choose. Or are you still holding on to your parent’s “self-righteous morals”?” If Manius had only known what had been raging within his thoughts all day. Marcus looked at the doors and then down the street toward home. It was time for him to choose. He let himself get led into the riotous bar, unaware that tacit consent is still consent. The rest of the group followed close behind him hindering a retreat. As they entered they were enveloped in the dense atmosphere. Marcus forced his aversion down and embraced the culture around him. As the group reached the bar, frantic voices from the outside overpowered the noises within. In a few moments, the music and reveling stilled in contrast to cries beyond the tavern walls. Men filed out the doors to satisfy their curiosity. Marcus couldn’t take it any longer. He jumped up and stalked towards the swinging exit, his friends called for him to return. “What are you doing, fool? You don’t know what’s going on out there!” He stopped at the door and looked back at Manius. “I should never have come here, I have to see if my family is safe.” Just as he turned to leave, a body came flying through the doors. He screeched and jumped back but it took him down with it. Marcus rolled the lifeless girl off of him. The wound to her stomach poured forth a river of blood. He screamed for his friends help, but as he looked up he was met with terror stricken, pale faces. Marcus scrambled to his feet and tried to still his trembling body. “We have to get out. I have to g-go home.” He slapped at the red which had soaked into his shirt. Feeling all alone he stared at the swinging doors. Marcus knew that if they waited, whoever was out there would soon steal their lives just as they had this innocent little girl. “Get out!” he called to the stoics at his back.
Outside, night had gained its hour. Lighted torches warned of the approaching enemy. The air was thick with panic as a chaotic mob rushed passed in every direction. What were they fleeing? Who was attacking? Where was Rome when she was needed? Marcus raced into the darkness down the familiar path which would lead him home, if his home was still there. Ahead, a line of soldiers impeded his way; he slipped undiscovered into the bushes lining a courtyard. It was a friend’s h
ouse and he could cut across to his own property. Hidden by the shadows, he tried to calm his heavy breathing as he crept closer to the torches. He froze as the scene before him came into focus. Alaric sat high upon a dark steed and ordered his men to ravage the city. Ranks of the military marched heavily passed his hidden form. They were sweeping through the houses killing all within. The glow of the flames disappeared down the main street. Like a disease they spread across Rome stirring fear and silencing the screams which they inspired. Those who fought were cut down and those who ran were pursued to a worse end.
Marcus stepped through his open door frame and found his parent’s cold, lifeless bodies. They lay as if asleep. His father’s face was calm and in his hands the family’s worn Bible rested. Marcus bent over in agony as the tears poured forth. But the weeping that reached his ears was not his own. He started and looked around the room for the source, until his eyes rested on the small form huddled in a corner. Marcus made his way cautiously over to it. He found that it was a young boy. Reaching out he tried to whisper comforting words but none came to mind. All that he could do was pull him into his arms and cry. They both jumped when the voices outside the open door grew closer. Marcus searched the room for a weapon of any kind. He remembered the dagger beneath his bed and ran to retrieve it. When he returned, the boy’s eyes were as large as saucers; he sat frozen and stared at the doorway. Marcus followed his gaze to the shadow which filled the opening. He lunged for the boy as the soldier advanced. Raising his arm in defense he screamed “No!” The name of Jesus came to mind but never reached his lips. He covered the child with his own body and then all went black.
2008
Mark stepped out of his apartment into the busy streets of New York City. He took a left and headed towards the subway. In the crowded station it smelt of body odor and oil. He noticed his friend Julie as she exited through the sliding doors with three other girls. They all looked as though they had just stepped out of a fashion magazine. “Oh Mark, how fortunate that we ran into you,” she said as they approached. “Good evening ladies,” he gave a mock bow. They giggled. “It just so happens that we are headed to the movies. Will you join?” She pleaded with her eyes. “I’m sorry to disappoint you but I have a prior engagement. Maybe next time,” He moved with the crowd and entered the car before it escaped. As he sat on a blue plastic covered seat, he watched the outside walls fly by in a blur of gray. America with her growing technological advances, he wondered if there was anything that his nation wasn’t capable of with enough time and money. Mark doubted it. The car stopped at Broadway and he got off. He made his way out of the station, shouldering the plebeians until at last he met with the fading sunlight. His friends awaited him on the corner. “Here he comes!” shouted one. Mark led the way and his comrades fell in behind him. Three blocks down, the group reached their destination and stepped into the dark atmosphere of the Moulin Rouge. As they entered, the sun’s last rays disappeared behind them.

410 A.D.

Marcus stepped out into the hot August air. The white cobble stones of the street glared beneath the sun’s attention. He greeted Julia as she passed in a cluster of maidens headed towards the Colosseum. “Join us, Marcus,” she called over her shoulder, but he set off in the opposite direction, faintly aware of the disappointed groans which ensued. As he stalked down the Roman Street, he took note of the splendor. Too his right posed a prominent statue of Neptune, the god of the sea. Marcus glanced up at the god’s stern face only slightly discomforted by its presence. Although he had been brought up in a Christian home, Rome’s gods had always been a part of the life he knew. As much as his parents forbade him to worship them, their influence was as potent as the God his family worshipped. He acknowledged the men lounging outside the tall walls of a public bath. Two were caught up in a debate, but he paid them no heed, as it was the custom in Rome. Ahead, the market buzzed with life. He ignored the pestering shop owners, but paused to sample the grapes offered at one booth. Everywhere he turned the city equivocally boasted its culture. A beautiful blond stood draped in the finest toga. She was deep in conversation with a wealthy partisan; both seemed oblivious to the beggar at their feet. Marcus shuddered at the filthy boy and picked up his pace as he passed the three. He went on through marble archways, until the cobbles changed to pavement and the buildings were abandoned for nature’s scenery. Two young boys toyed with wooden swords in the open field on his right. He laughed as the victor posed like a gladiator and took in the cheers of imaginary fans. Ahead he could hear the growing applause of real spectators as they encouraged the runners of their choice. The Colosseum had never held much enticement for Marcus, but the races were a different story. As a young boy, the races had been off limits to him. “You must show the other boys and girls that you are different because of your faith. You must choose Christ over culture, Marcus.” Oh, how he had longed to attend the games, until at last his parent’s say held no power over him. Now, every week Marcus would come and join in the frenzy of the crowd as they observed the athletic skill in the rink. He remembered with bitterness all of the things which he had been deprived of as a child, all for the “cause” of Christ. The enthusiasm of the crowd drowned out his ruminating. Marcus arrived upon the scene just in time to see a short muscular athlete pass up the competitors at break neck speed and win by a good length. The crowd went wild, and he screamed with the loudest of them.
At age eighteen, Marcus was just beginning to feel like his own man. No longer did the worries of his daily lessons bother him. Nor even his parent’s faith. He was free to make his own choices, and the promise of Rome spread through his veins like a wildfire. No previous city could boast of like privilege, nor would time create its equal. Rome was the future, and he wanted to be right there in the middle of it as it grew in power and prestige. His parents did not agree with him. They believed that one’s life should be centered on the God of Abraham. Marcus had been taught the same thing since his childhood. He had memorized the Ten Commandments, multiple scripture verses; he even worshiped every Sabbath and at one time thought he believed in God. Now as he stood staring at the throng about him, all were there for the same purpose, to satisfy their passions in the thrill of the race. He knew that when they departed, the mass would once again become individuals; each would lead his own life, and each had his own god to worship. Why must his be the God of his parents? This is why he loved Rome, it was the essence of every man’s dream. It was freedom. In this thriving city, Marcus knew that he could become wealthy, he could enjoy entertainment with the rest and he could even worship the gods that he desired and not feel ashamed that he had abandoned the faith of his fathers. Christianity was no longer being persecuted like it had been throughout all of history. It was now equal to the rest. He was thankful for that. It would have been much more difficult to deny his family had they been mistreated for their faith and he walked free. Now that all religions were just as tolerable, he could take his pick without a guilty conscience. Still, the thought tormented him that Christianity would soon lose its popularity, and when that happened he wouldn’t be one fed to the lions. It was safer to just worship with the majority. What difference did it make in the end anyway, whether he was to worship Jupiter, Jesus, or Neptune? He shook the disturbing thoughts from his head and focused on a particularly tall racer; he lost.
The races came to a close and his usual comrades fell in on either side as they exited the stadium. “Where to now, old friend?” asked Manius, throwing his arm around Marcus’ shoulders. “Why do I always choose? I’m placing it in your hands, worthy Manius.” He smiled at his friend. Marcus was taller than most men, reaching six feet three inches in height, but still he looked up into the face of Manius whose own length added two inches more. As they approached the center of Rome, the sun was fading and the taverns were coming alive with jovial music and shouts from within. Marcus moved to bypass the entrance of one but the arm across his neck prevented him from doing so. He looked up into his friend’s grinning face. “Well, you told me to choose. Or are you still holding on to your parent’s “self-righteous morals”?” If Manius had only known what had been raging within his thoughts all day. Marcus looked at the doors and then down the street toward home. It was time for him to choose. He let himself get led into the riotous bar, unaware that tacit consent is still consent. The rest of the group followed close behind him hindering a retreat. As they entered they were enveloped in the dense atmosphere. Marcus forced his aversion down and embraced the culture around him. As the group reached the bar, frantic voices from the outside overpowered the noises within. In a few moments, the music and reveling stilled in contrast to cries beyond the tavern walls. Men filed out the doors to satisfy their curiosity. Marcus couldn’t take it any longer. He jumped up and stalked towards the swinging exit, his friends called for him to return. “What are you doing, fool? You don’t know what’s going on out there!” He stopped at the door and looked back at Manius. “I should never have come here, I have to see if my family is safe.” Just as he turned to leave, a body came flying through the doors. He screeched and jumped back but it took him down with it. Marcus rolled the lifeless girl off of him. The wound to her stomach poured forth a river of blood. He screamed for his friends help, but as he looked up he was met with terror stricken, pale faces. Marcus scrambled to his feet and tried to still his trembling body. “We have to get out. I have to g-go home.” He slapped at the red which had soaked into his shirt. Feeling all alone he stared at the swinging doors. Marcus knew that if they waited, whoever was out there would soon steal their lives just as they had this innocent little girl. “Get out!” he called to the stoics at his back.
Outside, night had gained its hour. Lighted torches warned of the approaching enemy. The air was thick with panic as a chaotic mob rushed passed in every direction. What were they fleeing? Who was attacking? Where was Rome when she was needed? Marcus raced into the darkness down the familiar path which would lead him home, if his home was still there. Ahead, a line of soldiers impeded his way; he slipped undiscovered into the bushes lining a courtyard. It was a friend’s house and he cou
ld cut across to his own property. Hidden by the shadows, he tried to calm his heavy breathing as he crept closer to the torches. He froze as the scene before him came into focus. Alaric sat high upon a dark steed and ordered his men to ravage the city. Ranks of the military marched heavily passed his hidden form. They were sweeping through the houses killing all within. The glow of the flames disappeared down the main street. Like a disease they spread across Rome stirring fear and silencing the screams which they inspired. Those who fought were cut down and those who ran were pursued to a worse end.
Marcus stepped through his open door frame and found his parent’s cold, lifeless bodies. They lay as if asleep. His father’s face was calm and in his hands the family’s worn Bible rested. Marcus bent over in agony as the tears poured forth. But the weeping that reached his ears was not his own. He started and looked around the room for the source, until his eyes rested on the small form huddled in a corner. Marcus made his way cautiously over to it. He found that it was a young boy. Reaching out he tried to whisper comforting words but none came to mind. All that he could do was pull him into his arms and cry. They both jumped when the voices outside the open door grew closer. Marcus searched the room for a weapon of any kind. He remembered the dagger beneath his bed and ran to retrieve it. When he returned, the boy’s eyes were as large as saucers; he sat frozen and stared at the doorway. Marcus followed his gaze to the shadow which filled the opening. He lunged for the boy as the soldier advanced. Raising his arm in defense he screamed “No!” The name of Jesus came to mind but never reached his lips. He covered the child with his own body and then all went black.
2008
Mark stepped out of his apartment into the busy streets of New York City. He took a left and headed towards the subway. In the crowded station it smelt of body odor and oil. He noticed his friend Julie as she exited through the sliding doors with three other girls. They all looked as though they had just stepped out of a fashion magazine. “Oh Mark, how fortunate that we ran into you,” she said as they approached. “Good evening ladies,” he gave a mock bow. They giggled. “It just so happens that we are headed to the movies. Will you join?” She pleaded with her eyes. “I’m sorry to disappoint you but I have a prior engagement. Maybe next time,” He moved with the crowd and entered the car before it escaped. As he sat on a blue plastic covered seat, he watched the outside walls fly by in a blur of gray. America with her growing technological advances, he wondered if there was anything that his nation wasn’t capable of with enough time and money. Mark doubted it. The car stopped at Broadway and he got off. He made his way out of the station, shouldering the plebeians until at last he met with the fading sunlight. His friends awaited him on the corner. “Here he comes!” shouted one. Mark led the way and his comrades fell in behind him. Three blocks down, the group reached their destination and stepped into the dark atmosphere of the Moulin Rouge. As they entered, the sun’s last rays disappeared behind them.