good samaritan

My professor for Creative Non-Fiction told us to retell a well-known story.  Assigning, said story to be, ‘The Good Samaritan’ found in Luke 10: 29-37.  He told us we had to add ‘analepsis’ which are a fancy way of saying, flashbacks.  My classmates and I were told to switch the story around and then reflect on what was lost because of this change.  I added my own little analepsis for my version.  This is what I came up with:

‘The Good Samaritan’

As he poured the oil and wine on my wounds, I cringed.  The pain was inevitable.  No matter how hard I tried, I let out a groan.  I was frustrated, hurt, embarrassed.  There on the ground I lay, as a Samaritan (above all) bound up my wounds.  A man who should have just walked on, ignored me, and left me for dead was showing me compassion.  I deserved to be thrown in a hole and left there to die.  Yet, when he picked me up and put me on his animal, I felt a sense of relief.  I was not going to die.  Someone had found a sense of kindness toward my situation and had come to my rescue.  I managed to murmur a ‘thank you.’  The man smiled softly at me, as if saying, no need to thank me—but, I did.  He deserved so much more than just a thank you.

When I was a kid, there was this other kid in my neighborhood.  I do not remember his name, but I do remember him.  He always seemed to wear the same clothes every day.  I knew he had more clothes, but he always wanted to wear the same pair—both top and bottom.  I thought it was silly.  With a friend we would tease him for his silliness.  Who wears the same clothes over and over again, when they have variety?

One day, he had been running to catch up with us.  My friend and I were the cool kids in our neighborhood and he liked to tag along.  As he ran, he tripped and fell.  My friend and I turned around and laughed at him.  We pointed our fingers and made a ridicule out of him.  Instead of helping him, we walked away laughing.  I still remember the tears running down his cheeks.  His face had been dirtied by the dust of the ground, so his tears stained each cheek.  They ran down like no tomorrow.  I should have helped him up.  I wish I had.  After that incident, I never saw him again.  He never came trying to catch up after my friend and I.  In fact, I do not remember seeing him at all.

‘Take care of him, and whatever more you spend, I will repay you when I come back.’  I heard the man tell the innkeeper.  We were at an inn.  I saw the man give the innkeeper two denarii.  My eyes welled up.  I felt ashamed of myself.  A man, I did not even know, was both caring and proving for me.  My mind returned to the events that happened earlier the previous day as I lay on the bed provided.

I was beat and stripped of all my belongs as I was on my journey from Jerusalem to Jericho.  Robbers had come out of nowhere and had smacked the wind out of me.  I have no idea how long they beat me.  Before I could react they had taken everything and they had left.  Then there I lay, half dead, hoping someone would show me mercy.  A priest approached, my whole heart rejoiced.   I was so incredibly lucky.  A priest would surely help me.  However, as I tried to extend my hand out toward him, he passed by quickly; on the other side of the road.  I am pretty sure he did not even look at me.  He kept him eyes forward, ignoring my presence.  Hours later, a Levite came and did the same.  I was left alone, once more.

Finally, the Samaritan man—he came, bound up my wounds, and placed both oil and wine on them.  He lifted me up and carried me on his animal, then brought me to this inn.  I will be forever grateful for the loving-kindness he showed me.  Forever, my heart will rejoiced in finding life again and showing him thanks.

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