Thirst

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I always knew I would be sentenced to death. The advantage of such knowledge is that I can focus my attention where it is warranted: on the details.

I thought my trial would be a parody of justice. And indeed, it was, but not in the way I expected. I had imagined a hastily expedited formality, but I was given the works. The prosecutor left nothing to chance.

The witnesses for the prosecution paraded past, one after the other. I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw the newlyweds from Cana, the first beneficiaries of my miracle working.

“This man has the power to change water into wine,” declared the husband, deadly serious. “And yet, he waited until the end of the wedding to exercise his talent. He enjoyed seeing how anxious and humiliated we were, when he could so easily have prevented it. Because of him, we served the good wine after the inferior one. We were the laughingstock of the village.”

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