a story I wrote....thoughts please?

THE DREAM
The judgement was given – guilty. The sentence was death. I was charged and escorted from the court, to wait my final hours alone. I knew that there was no other way, because the verdict was true and I deserved to die.
For the first time in my life, I wept as guilt swept over me and despair settled as I gazed sullenly at the walls of my cell.
Footsteps approached the locked door, and the guard entered quietly. We had become friends during the term of my imprisonment, and he was saddened by the news he brought. He was to take me to the killing station, and we were to leave now. One last look around and I stepped out onto the path. The shackles around my ankles and wrists clattered as I walked. The guard and I spoke as we slowly stepped along the wooden walkway that wound through the prison complex. We both knew that when the time came, it would be his turn to walk this path on the way to his own death, so he didn’t hurry me. I stumbled and he supported my weight as I regained by balance.
Approaching the top of the walk, and I turned and went to the lookout post. I wanted to remember this view. It wasn’t beautiful, but from here you could clearly see the sky and the horizon, and briefly entertain dreams of a better life. My friend called me out of my reverie, with the reminder he would be punished if we were late, and so would I. Bitterly I replied “What, are the going to kill me for dawdling? I don’t care now.” But my appreciation of his friendship made me walk back and head towards the fate that awaited me. In silence we continued, each captive to our thoughts.
Suddenly, I stopped. I had heard someone call my name in a voice that broke my heart.
Names weren’t used in the prisons – just numbers, so I knew it couldn’t have been the guard. Again, I heard my name, and awkwardly began to run towards the voice. The guard ran by my side, unsure of why I would run to the killing station, but afraid to ask.
Upon reaching the outer door, he unlocked it and with tears in his eyes, said goodbye. He wasn’t allowed past that gate. Only those sentenced to die could pass through, so I continued alone. As I reached to top of the stairs, I heard the voice that had been calling to me, and looked down to see a man talking to a group of people. I stared, and tears streamed down my face. The man turned and saw me, and there was love in his eyes. He excused himself from the crowd saying, “There is someone I must speak with.” Then to me he simply said, “Come.”
I turned and stumbled down the stairs, to fall at his feet at the bottom. He reached down and helped me to stand. A sense of acceptance overwhelmed me, as I searched the ground and my dirty feet, too ashamed to look into his face. Gently, he led me to some seats nearby, and told me how much he wanted to live with me always. Rivers of tears streaked my dusty cheeks, as my heart broke when touched by his compassion and love. Everything I had ever needed was with this man, and yet I knew that I couldn’t stay, because I was on my way to die as had been ordered by the judge. Reading my thoughts, he reached out his hand, and wiped the tears from my eyes, and whispered to me “I will go.” Blinking, I withdrew from him. Stunned, I thought I had misunderstood, but as He stood the unbearable sadness in his eyes told me that he was on his way to take my place. This man, I had just met, was going to die in my place. I couldn’t understand, and tried to protest against it. In my mind I heard him say, “All I ask is that you accept my gift to you. I love you.”
I followed as he walked to the killing tree. What else could I do? I watched in silence as they forced a crown of thorns on his head, and nailed his wrists and ankles to the wooden planks, and hung him there to die. My guilt overwhelmed me, and I turned, vomiting. Who was he, that for no reason except love, he took my punishment and died my death?
For the next few days, I wandered lost. I had come to face my death and now even that had been taken from me. The only thing left for me was to try to understand and accept the love and life that the man had offered me as he died. I awoke on the third morning after his death, to the sound of his voice. I knew I must have been dreaming, for that was impossible. But kind hands sat me up, and as my eyes opened, I found I was looking into deep pools of love, that I had seen just once before. He softly asked, “Will you accept the gift I’ve given you?”
Saltwater welled in my eyes again. I bowed low, and begged His forgiveness, and accepted His gift of life. The hand that had caught me at the bottom of the stairs days earlier, reached down again and he said, “Stand with me.” For the first time in my memory, I felt loved and at peace and wanted to live. My joy welled up, as I looked into my savior’s eyes, to know His truth was real.
Suddenly, I thought of the guard who had been my friend. I longed for him to know about this, and wondered if somehow I could write it down. But would he believe my words, when he believed me to be dead? A book was placed in my hands. It was old, and dust covered its title. Gently brushing at the words, I recognized it as a bible I had been given when I was young. Jesus spoke to me, “It has already been written, every word. He has a copy, as did you. The truth has never changed. I only ask the you accept the gift, and believe what the Word tells.” With that, I realized that I had always known, but never believed. In His wisdom, he reminded me of His love, and told me I was already forgiven.
With a sense of peace and hope, and surrounded by love, I awoke.

Thanks Steady Rock Shame about it in this case, was this story is actually a dream I had in the early hours of one morning (with a little 'poetic license' to make it readable)... Wish I never had to wake up from that one.