Betrayal

My friend, my love battered bloody through the streets of Jerusalem by the angry mob.
I feel every blow.
This was a mistake.
He falls at my feet.
“I forgive you,” he groans, and falls.
I should not have pointed him out.
I kneel to help him up, but I am pulled back by two Roman soldiers.
“Thank you, Iscariot,” says one, the other tossing me a bag.
Clink.
I pour out the silver coins into my hand.
Twenty-eight.
Twenty-nine.
Thirty.
He asked me to do this. He wanted to die.
I throw down the coins and scream “WHY?”
Silence.