Sunday morning I woke up and gathered all my things together. This is ridiculous, I thought.  I was probably going to get in trouble with my boss for being late on the crucifixion report, and I really didn't have anything of interest to add to the story.  I figured I would swing by the tomb one last time, get some final words from the guards, and be on my way, away from this crazy town.

I wondered why I had even bothered sticking around.  Did I honestly think something was going to happen?  But then I remembered why I stayed: that look the Nazarene prisoner gave on the way to his death.  He smiled at me, as if he knew me as an old friend.

My thoughts were interrupted, though, by the shaking of the ground.  The quake came as suddenly as the one at the crucifixion.  Surely, this had nothing to do with the rumors that Jesus was coming back.  After all, it was just crazy superstitions.  I then passed two men walking away from the site of the burial site.  I recognized them as followers of Jesus the Nazarene.  I was surprised that they didn't look more disappointed after finding everything normal at the tomb.  "Is everything well at the grave?" I asked them.

"Yes sir," one named John said, "because our Lord is no longer there!"

The men left and continued their journey.  I stood still for a moment.  I continued walking, more unsure than ever about -- about pretty much everything.

Crossing the hill overlooking the tomb, I made out the figures of women, perhaps including the same women I'd seen at the burial.  I didn't however, see any sign of the guards.  Then, my walk became a sprint as I noticed that the stone was removed from the front of the tomb.

I saw that the guards were lying on the ground, unconscious.  Something must have happened.  "Is everything all right?" I yelled to the women standing beside the open tomb.

They smiled warmly at me as I approached.  "Everything is wonderful," one of them said.  "We came here early this morning, and we were distressed to find that Jesus' body was not here.  Then, I saw two angels inside the tomb.  They told me that he was not there, because he had risen!"

As much as I wanted to believe the woman's story, it seemed a bit much, even for tabloids.

"Then," she continued, "when I turned to leave the tomb, I saw a man standing outside.  I asked him where my Lord was, but it was Him!"

Her face shone as she told the story, and it was hard to not believe her.  Then she left, saying that she must go tell the others.  I wondered how I could print any of this without being mocked by the whole empire.  Who would believe it if I told them?  It was a great story, though, and I was determined to tell it anyway.  Something about the whole thing seemed like a plan that had already been decided.

I turned to leave and begin my trip back to the sea for the return voyage to Rome.  I looked a bit in the distance and saw the figure of a man on hill.  He held up his hand in a friendly wave, and in the sunlight I saw the scars where nails had been.

I smiled and waved back, still not sure what to make of all this.  But I guess my crucifixion report was going to have a happy ending.  Who says all news has to be bad?