Her name was gone, her clothes laid at the end of his bed, the men rushed in, soon she knew she would be dead, years of shame rushing to her end, the stones would strike, self righteous furor would batter her body to match her near dead soul.

To the teacher they cried, here she knew that his moral code would demand for her to die, here some stranger would be her lord, holding in his hands her sentence to die, the secret was her life was gone as her body sold for pieces of gold, her life but a tattered thread blown around from bed to bed.

In the cold air, her soul laid naked and bare, her shame covered her with palatable loathsome despair. He sat quietly writing in the sand, their screams muted until the deafening silence began.

“Woman?” he said with no malice in his voice, “Where are they that accuse you? Have they all gone?” She looked to see lovers turned accusers but each had gone away. Before her was her unknown Lord who held no stone.

“Then neither do I condemn you,”this man Jesus declared. “Go now and leave your life of sin.”

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