Bible Heroes, Creative Writing Ficlet Project

“The sword of the Lord and of Gideon!” A thrill ran through Gideon as the bold shout resounded through the chill night air. Three hundred men all told made up the count of his tiny army. Split into three companies, a hundred men to a company, they had surrounded the Midianite camp by night. Now they stood in their places, blowing thundering blasts on their trumpets and shouting the battle cry in synchrony. As their commander, Gideon stood hearing the pitchers of his men break, and seeing the torches within blaze forth brightly with intense excitement beating within his chest. He couldn't help but wonder at the incredible change that God had wrought in his life since the day that the Angel had appeared to him. On that day, he hadn't even known immediately that the man he'd been speaking with had been an Angel. He hadn't realised until afterwards. When he'd brought to the stranger he'd assumed to be a prophet something to eat, the man had bidden him pour out the f...

The Samaritan hummed a lilting, ancient tune, as he trudged along the well-worn, dusty road beside his donkey. Lifting a hand, he covered his eyes, shielding them as he squinted into the distance. The searing heat of the midday sun that was baking the earth bone dry was almost unbearable. Although he could make out the hazy outline of a city on the horizon, there was still a ways to go before he reached Jericho. He fanned himself, sweat trickling from beneath his headdress and down his face as he took a swig of water from the skin pouch hanging from his side. Patting his faithful old donkey reassuringly, they continued to trudge on together. He had climbed off his beast in order to relieve her burden. Now he paused to give her a swig of water also. The Samaritans, his people, were descended from diverse conquered peoples from throughout the Eastern regions brought in by the Assyrian empire. They had mixed with the survivors of the tribes of Israel and those from Judah and Benjamin that...

The carpenter raised his hammer, and let it fall heavily on the nail he'd lined up with precision. He smiled as it made contact: each smart tap, tap, neatly driving the flat-headed nail into the joint, securing the leg of wood to the heavy table he was working on. Selecting a set of larger iron nails, sweat beading on his brow, he hammered the next row of joins with more force. K-thunk, K-thunk. The repetitive rhythm was calming, reassuring… painful? A sudden searing flash of a future in which cruel nails would be driven into his flesh and bone, securing wounded legs to bloodied wood… The hand of the carpenter that reached for another long nail, held between his lips, froze in mid-air. An unrelenting thump, thump. The cruel hammer, disregarding the writhing agony of their victim as cold iron pierced sinew and broke through flesh, securing human wrists and feet to rough wooden plinths. The carpenter shuddered as each heavy thump resounded, echoing through his mind, as though he ...

Rahab smiled softly as she held the sleeping babe to her bosom. Her newborn son– Boaz– was the son of a prince of Judah, Salmon by name. She still hummed the tune she had sung to the babe as she had bounced it and rocked it to sleep. Tears of joy sprang to her eyes as she looked upon the fat-cheeked, rosy little baby in wonder, her heart full of emotion. How could she have ever known that such happiness would ever be hers?  How could she have ever known that  she – once a harlot, scorned and mistreated by men, many several times her age– would ever be loved? She had grown up in Jericho, almost a street-rat. Her father had been a hopeless drunk, and her family had fallen into desperate poverty as a result. Her mother had tried to keep the family going, but the little money they came across would be squandered on drink by their witless father, leaving the family almost begging in the streets. The children were left in rags, in the worst rooms the city could offer. This state of ...