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The gold on the hill

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I wrote and performed fifty plays in the seventies. So will now turn them into short stories, and see how that goes. (Bog is Russian for God, Yeshua is Hebrew for Jesus, Golgotha is the hill Jesus was crucified on.)

THE GOLD ON THE HILL

Once upon a time, in a far away kingdom, there was a sad

old king named King Bog. One day his son, Prince Yeshua,
came to see his father in his throne room, to find out
what it was that was bothering him; and to see if there

was something he could do to make him happy again.

“Father, why are you always so depressed, despondent,
melancholy, miserable, moody, lackluster, lugubrious, and
not only that, but sad as well?”


King Bog sighed heavily, resting his head on his fist.
“Alas, my son. It is a miserable thing, to be a king.”


That was obviously news to the prince. “Miserable? How so?
Haven't you got this lovely castle?”


The King was unimpressed. “Um, yeah.”


“The cattle of a thousand hills?”


“Uh-huh. That’s a lot of cattle, isn’t it?”

“Lands, riches and treasure beyond measure?”

That one annoyed the king. “Now you‘re trying to bore me poetically, are you?”


“Let’s get personal. Loyal servants and a son who would lay down their lives for you?”

King Bog got impatient, waving his hands irately. “Yes, yes, yes! I have all that and more. Yet... there is one thing that I lack, which breaks my heart with grief.”


That totally mystified the prince. “Why, whatever could that be?”


The king looked at him, and decided. He pointed. “My son, gaze out of that window, and tell me all that you see.”


The prince went to the window, and looked out. It gave a panoramic view of most of the kingdom. “I can see those cattle on the thousand hills... mountains... valleys... Rivers…”


His father snapped at him. “Enough geography! Look more closely, examine it in more detail.”


“O.K... I see forests... fields... farms... villages... people…” He became puzzled. “people... Hmm. You know, come to mention it, I do notice something... odd... about our subjects.”


That encouraged the monarch. “Yes?”


“They all seem to have the exact same expression on their faces. A frown.” A metaphorical light bulb lit up over his head. “Now I know what bothers you. It's our subjects. They are all so poor, so down trodden, so poverty stricken.”


Down in the village square, a group of villagers raises their faces and arms to heaven in unison and sadly cries out. “Woe is us!” Then their arms and heads droop.


Prince Yeshua turns back to King Bog. “Yes Father, now I understand. Isn't there something way to alleviate their sad and sorry condition? Isn't there some way to help them?”


“As a matter of fact, there is.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out something. “This is the key to the Royal Treasury. I want you to go to there and take it.”


“Take it?”


“Yes. Take all of it. Every last bit of it. The gold, silver, gems, jewels, stocks, bonds, all of it. Every last penny. Leave nothing behind.”

“Right!“ The prince takes the key and eagerly starts to rush out, but then stops and comes back. “I forgot to ask you. Take it where?”


“I want you to take it all to Mount Golgotha, and bury it there.”


“Bury it? How is that going to do any good? I'm afraid that doesn't sound like much of a plan, Father.”


“That's because the plan isn't over yet.”


“Oh. There's more?”


"Of course there’s more. I have been planning this for ages. Now then, once you bury it, I want you to send those 12 friends of yours, the... um, er, what do you call them... Epistles?”


“Apostles, Father.”

“Ah yes. Those guys. Send them throughout the kingdom, through all the land,telling everyone they meet that the gold is buried there. It is free of charge to all. All they must do is dig it up.”


“You're right Father! That's a wonderful plan! It just has to work.”


“Then why are you just standing there? Get going!”


“Oh, yeah, right!” And so the son left for the treasury.


King Bog sat back in his throne, thoughtfully. “Yes... That should do quite nicely.”


But will it work quite nicely? Let's see what effect this momentous news has upon the citizens of the kingdom. Let us look in on that village square when the sad, and occasionally grouchy people, gather.


A gossipmonger has a juicy tidbit to pass along. “Hey, wow man. Didja like, hear the latest rumor? They say, like, that old King Bog has, like, you know took all his gold and buried it on Mount Golgotha.”


A fellow in a derby heard that. “Oh yes, I heard it all right. Don't believe a word of it, of course. Can you imagine that old skinflint doing any such thing?”


A lady with frizzy hair disagreed. “Oh, I believe there's gold on Mount Golgotha.”


Several people stared at her.


The man in the derby inquired. “You do?”


“Oh yes. And Mount Fujiyama, Mount Sinai, Mount Rushmore, The Matterhorn, or any other mountain for that matter.”


The crowd debates this.


A professor looking sort proposes. “Oh, I believe there's a little bit of gold inside all of us. We must, seek it inside of our selves.”


That totally annoys one man. “Stuff and Nonsense! There's no such thing as gold! If there was, well, how come I've never seen any?”


A man nods. “Good point.”


A lady disagrees. “But it’s not polite to point.”


Just then an excited man rushed into the square. His clothes look dirty and torn, as if he has been digging in the dirt. He does a quick bone jerk shuffle dance, and waves a large bag, with a dollar sign on it. “GOLD! Gold! I done found me the gold on Mount Golgotha! Hot diggety dog! I'm rich! I'm rich! Fantabulously Wealthy!” He runs out of the square again, still excitedly shrieking. “Ha ha! Whoopie! Gold, gold, gold, gold!"


The whole crowd stares at him. Then in unison, they all call out to him. “Fanatic! Weirdo!”


A man snorts. Cheese and crackers! Can you believe how gullible some people are?”


His wife agrees. “Yeah, some people will believe any old fairy tale.”


The villagers chant in unison. “You can't fool us with foolishness like that!”


And so good King Bog still waits, for all who will, to come get their free gift of gold from Mount Golgotha.

King Bog holds out his arms in invitation, and speaks one word. "Come."
 
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Member
Your Own Work

This is really good, and what I like best is that you wrote it yourself, MAJ.
God bless you, my friend:love:
 
Member
Then prepare to receive more of my plays from the mid seventies. While I origionally wrote 49, I will only put up around 30, since it is hard to remember them that well thirty odd years later. And yes, some of them were very odd years.
 
Member
MAJ, you are a blessing, brother. I love your sense of humor and your zest for life. I love your ability to speak the truth with creativity. God bless you, and I will continue to read your stories as you post them.
 

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