Back in my chamber I cast a quick look around me. With all the expensive things in my treasure box, all the crowns and jewels and stuff, there is nothing here I wish to take on the road with me. For a chance to stay alive I must be light on my feet, and these objects, which I have accumulated over the years, are nothing but a burden. They will slow me down into a defeat. 
The only things I am sorry to leave behind are my inkwell, and my quill. Perhaps I should leave a few last words, meant for Absalom, so he may find them when he breaks into my chamber to make it his own. 
I find this idea incredibly tempting. And yet, staring at the blank papyrus I find the challenge of writing more daunting than ever. How can I admit to him, and to any other stranger who may lay a hand upon this note, what it feels to be undermined, to be betrayed by the one dearest to me? 
I cannot do it. Instead I scribble something that obscures and reveals what I feel, in equal measure. “Lord, how many are my foes! How many rise up against me!
What my son has leveled against me is a deeply personal offense. By now it has become a public spectacle, committed in front of the entire nation, so everyone can watch my humiliation, and my fall. 
Words quiver on my lips. They scramble over the papyrus, bleeding ink. Choked with tears I try to sing them. “If an enemy were insulting me I could endure it. If a foe were rising against me I could hide. But it is you, a man like myself, my companion, my close friend, with whom I once enjoyed sweet fellowship at the house of God, as we walked about among the worshipers.
I blot the corner of my eye and remind myself, There is little time left. Even so I choose to spend a few more moments here, simply to take care of my writing instrument. I wash the ink off it with water from the jug. I wipe it carefully, feeling the lovely tingle of the feather upon my skin. And in parting I pass it between my lips, kissing its sharp tip. 
And I murmur, Thank you. I am so grateful for the inspiration you have given me. I am blessed. If I am captured tomorrow I will die a happy man. So few are as lucky with their weapon as I have been.

David in The Edge of Revolt


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