Mariah Magdalena, "Mother of God"

"Pssst!"
Mariah turned around but saw nothing. She kept walking.
"Psst!" Mariah paused but did not turn around. She sensed danger. Slowly
she turned around. Then she saw it. The ghost of Jesus. She screamed furiously
and dashed into the bushes surrounding the small garden. The ghost of Jesus
fled after her, finally commandeering her when she got to the barn. It took him
almost two minutes to keep her from screaming. She was bound to attract attention.
His right hand over her mouth, Jesus held Mariah firmly until she stopped shaking.
"J... j... jesus?"
"It is I, Mariah. What the hell is wrong with you?"
"But you're... you're dead..."
"Does a dead man have flesh...?"
"I don't believe this..."
Jesus released his grip on her. "Where the weed at?"
"I threw it away when I started running..."
"Shit!"
"Don't worry, Peter will bring some..."
"You're still hanging with Simon?"
"Jesus, he's your most trustworthy disciple?"
"Still..."
It was a complicated relationship. Mary heaved a long-overdue sigh of relief and
attempted to start laughing, but tears streamed down her face. "They said you were dead," she repeated over and over again, "they said you were dead."
Jesus leaned back against the wooden shack. "The way I figure it, I will never die." He exhaled and looked into the sky. Maybe God would speak again today. Maybe God would provide guidance for the de facto King of Judea, come to lead the children of Israel back to greatness. Yes, yes, but just a few short days ago his kingdom was not "of this world." Now, in possession of Caesar's must humble military secrets, the decision is his.