Title: The Day the Pigs Drowned

I had never seen anything like it in all my years.

The morning had been just like any other. The sun hung low over the hills, the scent of the sea drifting in with the breeze. My herdsmen were watching over the pigs—nearly two thousand of them, a fortune in swine. I had spent years building up that herd, making deals, hiring strong hands to tend to them. We weren’t rich, but we were getting there. Pigs were money, and money meant security.

Then, in an instant, it was all gone.

I was at the edge of town when I first heard the shouting. One of my herdsmen ran toward me, his face pale, his words tumbling over themselves.

"They're gone!" he gasped. "The whole herd! Into the sea!"

At first, I thought he’d gone mad. But others soon followed, and before I knew it, I was sprinting down the hill, my heart pounding. When I reached the cliffs, the sight below turned my stomach.

The sea was restless, foaming and writhing, littered with the floating bodies of my pigs. Their pink hides bobbed in the water, lifeless. My men stood at the edge, some staring in shock, others whispering among themselves. I felt like throwing up.

I wheeled around, looking for an answer. That’s when I saw him.

The man from across the sea.

He stood among the people, calm as if he hadn’t just bankrupted me in a single breath. Around him was a group of his followers, their faces a mix of awe and fear. And then there was the other man—the wild one. Or at least, he had been wild. I recognized him immediately. He was the madman who lived among the tombs, the one no chain could hold. The one whose screams haunted the night. But now, he was clothed. Sitting. Clear-eyed. Sane.

A miracle, they said.

I barely heard them. All I saw was the sea swallowing my livelihood.

I stepped forward, my fists clenched. "You!" I shouted; my voice raw. "What have you done?"

The man—Jesus, they called him—turned his gaze to me. There was no arrogance in his eyes, no defense. Just... something I couldn't name.

"The demons begged to go into the pigs," one of his followers spoke up. "He cast them out, and they—"

"And they drowned!" I snapped. "My pigs! Do you know what this means for me? Do you have any idea the loss you’ve caused?"

Jesus said nothing. He only looked at me. And for a moment, I faltered. There was something unsettling in his gaze. Not cruelty, not anger—just knowing. As if he saw something in me that I didn’t even see myself.

And then, beneath all my anger, something else stirred—something I didn’t want to admit. I was awed. I had seen that madman, heard him screaming night after night. And yet, here he was, whole, sane, human again. The power to do that? It was terrifying.

The crowd murmured. People whispered of power, of spirits, of miracles. Some rejoiced, some cowered. But I felt only the weight of what I had lost.

I turned to the other men of the town. "He needs to leave. Now."

Others nodded. Fear lingered in their eyes. Fear of what else this man might do, of what else he might take. And yet, as we asked—no, begged—him to leave, the healed man clung to him. He wanted to go with Jesus, to follow him across the sea. But Jesus shook his head.

"Go home to your people," he told him. "Tell them what the Lord has done for you."

And then, just like that, he left.

I stood there long after the boat had vanished beyond the horizon. The pigs were gone. My business ruined. And yet, something lingered in my mind, an unshakable question that I could not voice, no matter how much I wanted to:

If he could do that to a demon, what could he do to a man like me?

NOTE: It makes me wonder why this story is so important that it got mentioned in the three synoptic Gospel**Mark 5:1-20, Luke 8:26-39, and Matthew 8:28-34