‘This does not bode well,’ says the liar to the soldier.
The soldier says nothing.
‘You know,’ the liar says and coughs up a flock of blood drops, ‘I am the son of God.’
The soldier says nothing.
‘I am,’ the liar says. ‘I have been told.’
‘Verily you are,’ says the soldier. ‘And I am Virgil.’
And the procession moves on, up the hill, on top of which most of the crowd is already waiting. The liar looks up toward it, hoping against hope that the voices in his head have told him the truth.
Jordan Wellington Lint
Chris Ware