The man who’d given my life back to me was gone. I ran. I headed for my bike. I kicked it into life. I rode for the hills. I rode fast and wild and without fear, because when you have no reason to live, death is a joke. But my bike missed him almost as much as me. I was so used to him riding pillion on my bike and in my life that I’d forgotten how lonely it is riding solo. I stopped and screamed and had a conversation with God that I deeply regret. At a minute to midnight I arrived back at the house we were staying in. From the first minute of the next day a curfew had been added to the normal restrictions. We sat together, too scared to speak in case we fought, or collapsed. No-one slept. The weight of it was palpable. Shame filled the rooms. His mother cooked and made us eat. Everything was broken. Except her. First thing Sunday morning, she tapped me on the shoulder and motioned for me to follow. She and her sister led me through the silent streets of the pre-dawn world without a word. We arrived at the tomb and saw the soldiers guarding it. As we approached, they raised their guns, gesturing for us to leave. They looked terrified. But not as terrified as they looked the next minute, when a ball of fire struck the ground where they stood and the door to the tomb burst open. The light formed itself into a being of living light, at least twelve feet tall and laughing. The soldiers dropped their weapons and lay flat. The being spoke to us. “Do not be afraid, for I know that you are looking for Jesus, who was crucified. He is not here; he has risen, just as he said. Come and see the place where he lay. Then go quickly and tell his friends: ‘He has risen from the dead and is going ahead of you. You will see him.’ Now I have told you.” He looked down at the soldiers, stamped a foot, and they ran for their lives. We went to the tomb and saw that it was empty. No Jesus, just the cloth that Jo and Nick must have wrapped him in. 123
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