The letter- Short story #3

T

he air was cold as I rubbed my hands together to keep warm. My short-sleeved shirt was by no means helpful in keeping back the ferocious frost winds coming from the air-conditioner in my office. Every so often, I would look up from my computer like a freestyle swimmer coming up for air. Work had started to become a burden, and I looked at the clock itchingly to see how close it was for my time to leave here. A thought then hit me like a slap in the face. With haste, I reached into a small plastic bag in my drawer and pulled up a handful of marshmallows, and began eating them one by one in front of my computer screen. No wonder the day seemed so long! I begin to rock my head as the words of Demi Lovato’s “Heart Attack” are mumbled from my lips. When I caught myself, I shook it off because I think I may have come across an article about cardiovascular disease and cardiac arrest, and one thing led to another, I guess.

             I looked at my watch…5 more minutes till freedom. Well, freedom from here, anyway. I was scheduled for an appointment with the dentist an hour and a half from now, and that may mean that I would have to drink soup when I get home, and I was not looking forward to that discomfort either.

Out of pure boredom, I opened the drawer to my office desk and started shuffling through the things that were in it, until I stumbled across an old looking envelope. I pulled it out and noticed that it was addressed to me. It had a stamp on it, on the top right-hand corner of the envelope, and the handwriting on the front was cursive as though written with a fountain pen. I could tell that this was written a very long time ago because the envelope had turned a little brown around the edges. That- and the stamp had a picture of a saloon on it, and cost one cent. This had to have been written a long time ago; I thought to myself, stamps cost nearly a dollar now.  I reached into the stationary cup on my desk and removed the letter opener. I must have just thrown this in the drawer from my inbox folder on my desk…I wonder how long ago this was written. I very slowly began to open this envelope and remove the paper that was on the inside. I began to feel like an archaeologist discovering some old sarcophagus of Tutankhamen, or somebody older. When I unfolded the papers inside, my eyes lit up at what was written in the address section:

Winston McDonald Marshall

Codrington Drive, Downtown Missouri

September 2^nd 1888

I could not believe what I was reading. How could I have allowed the hustle of my day to distract me from seeing this piece of work? Furthermore, the bigger question that was daunting to think about was how on earth did this letter get addressed to me? The name sounded a little familiar. I knew my grandfather was a Marshall, but I do not ever recall him mentioning this guy. Though, if he did, it would probably have been in one of the little stories he would tell me as I sat on his knee. I couldn’t possibly remember any names of the people in those stories, but I always believed in granddad.  I opened the letter and began to read:

          To my son:

I know that it has been a long time since I last saw you and your mother. I also know things are tough despite what little money I could send your way to support you. Now, you know that you have to read this letter to the family because your mother could only afford to send you to school. I trust that whatever you learn, that you come back and teach your brothers. They look up to you, you know. And I know that the Good Lord will one day make a way for you to make good for yourself, my son. I know that the Good Lord had called me to do His work out here in the Indian villages, and you know that I will not rest until Christ be fully formed in them like the Good Book says. Last year was a most interesting experience. I had just arrived off the train. I smiled to myself when I remembered how far we’ve come as a people. I was just a boy when the first train was invented back in 1825. Now, I’m riding one as though they were always around. I got off and walked in the direction of the village with nothing more than my Bible and blankets. I trusted that the Good Lord would provide food and water for me should I need it, so I started believing Him. The air about me was dry, and the sun was beating down on the desert sands. I knew that with this heat I would grow thirsty soon, but I kept on walking westward.

As I walked, I remembered an old friend of mine who I grew up with. We were really close, and we had a lot of plans for our future; to travel the world. When we were yet teenagers, I received the shock of my life when my best friend looked at me and told me that he was moving to Scotland. I had never even heard of the place, but I knew it was far away. We stood there in the dusty road and I held my head down in disappointment. He then put my hand on my shoulder and told me the same thing he always said when we were down. “Winston, remember what Uncle Johnnie used to say?” A tear rolled from my face and was quickly consumed on the earthy cracked road. “Keep walking.” I responded. “right. Now don’t you ever forget it.” And with that, he turned and walked towards his horse and rode away with his father to the docks.

I was just a boy then, but it seems like only yesterday that he left; but that moment never left my mind, and especially now that I was walking across this deserted wasteland and every inch of my body wants me to turn back and take the next train home. But I must remember the message that the Good Lord has for these people in these villages. By evening, I had come to some sort of oasis. There was water there, and I could tell that if I don’t drink it up now, the foxes would get it all. I went over a little slope and set my bag down by the edge of the water. I knelt down by the water and began to scoop it up to wash my face and drink. It was a relief to finally see water, especially now that the sun was setting. I looked around and saw a small cave; more like a hole in the side of the mountain. I decided that I would make camp here, and continue my trek tomorrow at first light. I went into the cave, spread my blankets and tried to fall asleep, but the nights in the desert are as cold as the days are hot. I think to myself that I should have brought more blankets.

I think it would have been an hour or so after sundown that I started to toss and turn in my sleep. There was something going on that I could not explain. In my dream I felt the pain and the suffering felt by a war-struck people. Just after you were born was the Sheepeater Indian war in 1879. There was blood everywhere. I found myself stumbling over the bodies of countless Indians and American soldiers. Arrows and bullets flew around me as I fumbled about as if in a trance. Drums were beating in the distance, and I looked up and saw a horse coming straight at me…I jumped from my sleep with a start; the drumming still ringing in my ears. I looked out of the cave into the night, and realized what caused the drumming. Out in the distance, I saw a fire, and what seemed like people dancing. Where were they before, I did not know. What they were doing, I did not know. What I did know is that I had to go there- wherever there was. I got up from the ground and packed my things.

Making my way down to the village, the beating of the drums got louder. As I approached, I saw two giant men with poles in my path. Looking up at them, I noticed the tents. There were about twenty tents and all in a circle around this one large fire. So large was the fire, that I could almost feel the warmth from where I was at the entrance to the camp. I stared at the two guards before me. They were tall, strapping beings, bareback and with scars and tribal markings on them. They had a very mean looking disposition on their faces, and they seemed ready to tear me limb from limb with their bare hands. They looked down at me and one of them whispered something to the other. I couldn’t make out what they were saying, mainly because of the wild party that was going on, on the inside of the camp. The seconds seemed like minutes as I stood there staring at them. I wanted to know what to do next. I cleared my throat. “*ahem* Good evening, gentlemen. My name is Winston, and I was wondering if I could have a word with your chief about the Lord Jesus.” They looked down at me a second time, and then looked at each other. I wondered if they even understood what it was that I was saying; but then they stepped aside and motioned for me to pass through. I was amazed at how readily they let me in. After about two steps, I felt a tap on my shoulder. I looked over my shoulder to see a mammoth fist heading for my face.

I woke up to the sound of chatter. I was in some sort of tent. A bead of sweat rolled across my forehead, and I tried to move my arm to wipe my face, when I realized to my horror that my hands were bound and I was sitting on the ground of what seemed like a prison tent. I could not see anything, and wondered if it was because I was in a really dark place, or if my eyes were covered with something. I winced and wriggled my face, and came to the conclusion that my eyes were covered by some manner of cloth. I counted on my sense of hearing to gather my bearings. My heart was racing, but I took some breaths and assured myself that the Lord would never allow me to die without completing his purpose through me first. The chattering outside was definitely not in English, but it grew louder, and it seemed like two people were arguing about something- most likely what to do with their new visitor. I bowed my head. “Father, what is it that you would have me do now?”

Just then, I heard a sudden noise, like if someone were opening the tent and walking in. I turned my head to this noise that was behind me and started trembling. A hand touched my shoulder and my whole body jumped. Then, another hand removed the blindfolds from my eyes. Before me was a face that was strange, yet seemed familiar. The person had the body as one of the tribesmen, but his face was smiling and warm.  “It’s alright, Winston,” he said. My confusion at this point was beyond words. “you know who I am? How on earth-” He stopped me. “not on earth, my friend” he said chuckling. As if my confusion were a game to him, he went on. “do not be afraid!”. I now knew what it was that knelt before me. Those four words I have heard and read so many times before gave away this man’s agenda. “I see you’ve come across the Shoshone tribe. A very savage people, the Shoshone, known for killing people like you on sight. Good thing you were alone. Then again, He is always with you. You’re never alone” The sound of footsteps approached the tent and the man put back on my blindfolds and headed toward the door when something stopped him. It sounded like two other men came in, and from the sound of their tone, I could guess that they were questioning why he was in here with me. Amazingly, he spoke to them in their language, and they both grunted in submission. The next thing I knew, these four hands grabbled me up and dragged me up to my feet, and roughly escorted me out of the tent. As soon as I stepped outside, the drumming beat slowed down to a solemn beat that seemed like the last sound a man hears before being hanged. The smell of smoke wafted through my nostrils and I could hear whispers and murmurs as I was man-handled across the hard, stony ground. I was brought to a stop and it was then that I realized that my shoes and socks were gone.

With a swoosh, my blindfold was ripped from my face, and I squinted because of the brightness of the fire. In front of me, there was a rather large tent, and two guards just like the ones at the entrance. I kept still, but tried to move my eyes to catch a glimpse of my immediate surroundings. Behind me, were people of course, but they were all silent and standing still. Then, the tent opened in front of me, and everyone knelt except the guards that were holding me and the ones by the tent door –well, opening. I was barely able to see the garments on the person I thought was the chief when I felt a sudden lash hit me at the back  of my knees…  

I looked up from my reading and moved the mouse on my computer. The computer screen lit up and I squinted at the brightness of it. I looked outside my office window and noticed that it was dark. Oh shoot. I missed the appointment. What time is it? Drats! Six forty-five? Man, I’ve been here long. I figured that if I had already missed the appointment, I might as well continue reading. I folded the papers and packed them in my bag. I shut down the computer, and made my way out the office, down the road, and into a café which was nearby. I took a look at the menu and it was almost as if the menu itself told me what to order. I saw on the pages under the drinks section a Johnnie Walker red label. I chuckled to myself and ordered a shot of that and a blueberry muffin with a glass of cranberry juice and sat down to read some more. As I sat reading the pages, I could almost see the world through this man’s eyes. I could feel the suspense and anxiety as I read of how he conversed with the tribal chief. I marveled at how he was favored by the townsfolk after weeks of building their trust, from sleeping on the outside to obtaining enough favor with the chief to allow him his own personal tent after the first few months. By the end of the year, he was well acculturated and practically become one of the Shoshone people. He had even learned their language, and had begun teaching them his own, telling them about the love of God in the process, and using his bible as the only textbook. Everyone seemed to love Winston. Everyone that is- except the resident Shaman.

I was sitting around a campfire with about five children. They were still poking my skin and pulling at my hair all this time, as though they still didn’t believe I was real. I motioned for them to settle down, and began telling them the story of Moses. When I got to the part about the plagues, one little boy asked me if Pharaoh’s magicians could make it rain too. As strange as I thought this question was, I said that I believe that it was possible. He went on to tell me that his father, the Shaman was able to make it rain too. “oh really?” I asked.

Then suddenly, there was a scream. Everybody’s head dashed to the source of the noise, and some people got up and ran towards it. I stayed put, and bowed my head. “Father, prepare me for what is about to unfold.” I then got up and walked calmly to the tent where the scream had originated. I gently pushed past the children and some of the adults that were there. When I opened the tent and looked inside, nothing in my life could have prepared me for what I saw. The shaman was on the inside with his staff raised in his right hand and two round objects which he shook in his left hand. He seemed to have been dressed in some manner of ceremonial robe, and there was smoke coming up from the floor by his feet as he danced and chanted. On the table before him lay a young woman, bound hand and foot to the four corners of the stone slab in the middle of the room. She was wriggling and writhing as though there was something inside of her trying to come out. Before long, some muscular hands grabbed me by the shoulder and pulled me outside. Two guards came and started to move the people, including myself away from the entrance of the tent. “Ey, what’s going on in there?” I yelled. Yet the guards remained still.

“It is a cleansing,” a little voice behind me said. “once a year, a girl is chosen to take on all the bad kotran from everybody and take it upon herself.” I was confused. “Kotran?” I asked.

“Yes, Kotran. All the bad that we do, and all the bad that happens makes up kotran. The shaman takes all from everyone, and puts it in a virgin girl and she is given to the gods as a sacrifice.”

“but I thought that we spoke about the gods already and how there is only one.” I was beginning to get more confused.

“yes, I know and many other villagers have realized that your God makes more sense, but the shaman still holds fast to the old ways.”

         I couldn’t stand it any longer. I got up and marched over to the guards. “MOVE!” I shouted, and they parted and let me through. A dark, musky voice grunted when I entered, “you’re too late, foreigner. She’s ready to be offered and there’s nothing you can do.” With that, he brought down the knife and it pierced the chest of the young woman and she gasped, and then stopped moving altogether. I dropped to my knees as the scene before me unfolded. Was he cutting out her heart? I wasn’t sure until he held it above his head. My mouth remained open with disbelief and awe, as I watched that human heart give two final beats, before he threw it into the fire. “it is finished” he said. My blood started to boil as I stood to my feet. “that was an innocent girl!” I cried as he walked towards me. “you murdered an innocent child for what?”

“this is a tradition going back generations, foreigner. You have no right to come here and force your God on us.”

I was about to speak when the chief walked in and inquired about the ruckus. The shaman and I both made our cases, and he demanded a trial. We were to both present our ways before him, and if I won, I could stay and the shaman would be put to death. If I lose, then all the villagers who now follow Jesus would be put to death, and I would have to watch, then go back to my family. I thought the terms were a little unfair, but I thought that if God could come through for Elijah with the 450 Baal prophets, then he could come through for me. 

“Excuse me, sir. We’re about to close.” I looked at my watch and gasped to see that it was heading for ten o’clock. “so sorry, ma’am” I said. “I would be out of your hair shortly.” I could not believe so much time had passed; but I was so anxious to see what was going to happen next, that I couldn’t wait to get home first. I had to read the rest there. Just a bit longer, I thought.

At dawn the following day, we were put to the test. We knelt in the middle of the camp on both knees facing the chief’s tent. Everyone else hurried and made their way behind us in rows and sat down. The chief emerged from his tent and the villagers all fell silent while the shaman and I put our right fists over our hearts. After the chief sat, he asked if anyone had anything to say. I lifted my head and spoke in the language of the Shoshone saying “where I am from we have a saying... ‘home drums beat first.’” With that, the chief nodded and motioned for the shaman to rise and present his magic. He remained on his knees, but started to hum loudly in a low tone. The humming was loud, too loud for any human to produce. Then, one child started screaming and covered his ears. Then another…then another. A clay jar broke. The shaman continued humming without stopping to breathe. I was beginning to think that he was getting some “spiritual help” and this just furthered my suspicions. One of the screaming children spoke with the voice of a hundred men in perfect English and said “Winston, you will never win. I rule here; I always have”. The voice sent shivers down my spine and was truly startled by it. I looked back and saw that the villagers were scared stiff by what had just happened. The chief raised his hand and the shaman stopped his humming, and the screaming stopped with it. He then pointed at me and I stood respectfully to my feet and turned to face the people. I lifted my head to the sky, and the next few seconds seemed to be so peaceful that I felt almost as if I was floating. “trust Me, my son. Trust Me like Elijah trusted me.” I nodded my head in submission and then pointed at the shaman’s tent. “by this shall you know who is the real God of this world; the God who calls things which aren’t, as though they are.”

A hush fell over the crowd as a hooded figure emerged from the tent dressed in a brown cloak. Murmurs started to row amid the crowd as people struggled to figure out who was under the cloak. “it’s an angel,” one little boy “like the one that spoke to Mary”. I smiled. The cloaked figure made its way ever so gracefully to the front of the camp to the still bewildered chief.

“what is this nonsense?” the shaman demanded. “clearly this fraud disguised some poor person and rehearsed this whole sho-.”

“Silence, you!” the chief yelled. The hooded figure made a gracious spin and flung the cloak off. It landed right in the face of the shaman. When everyone saw who it was that stood beneath the cloak, they marveled and began to shout and cheer. Some even broke out in singing and dance. The shaman hurriedly tore the cloak from his face and saw the young woman that he had sacrificed the day before standing before him. Before he could say a word, he was dragged off to the chopping block. I was the only one to follow him there, for everyone else was busy rejoicing and giving thanks to God for the return of the young girl. As the shaman was positioned to be beheaded, he looked at me. “ask your God to have mercy on me!” he moaned. “you have to ask him for yourself, but I know that he will. My grandmother would always tell me ‘the vilest offender who truly believes, that moment from Jesus a pardon receives.’” I stood and watched as he bowed his head and whispered. When he was finished, I stepped back a few feet and watched as the axe came down and his head rolled from his body. I made the sign of the cross on my chest, and the two guards did the same…

          I hurried through the remainder of the letter and finished what I was eating. They had a huge party after the shaman’s execution and Winston was put as the teacher and priest of the village. I got up and left where I was and was walking home. I couldn’t resist the suspense, and I looked at the final page of the letter, and tried my best to make out what it was that was written every time I passed under a street light on the pavement.

          One day after class, the girl who had been raised came to me and asked if she could talk to me about something. “you’ve come to ask me about your father’s execution, haven’t you?” this question came as a surprise to her because she didn’t think that I knew who she was. “yes, that too.” She said rather shyly. “what else is the matter, my dear?”

“well, you’ve always spoken about your son back home…”

“yes?”

“and I was wondering…if I could meet him one day”

“ of course, child. In fact, he’s turning twenty in a few days’ time, and I was going to surprise him by returning home.”

“yes, you told me that already, but I was wondering if I could be part of the surprise.”

          My heart melted inside of me. I smiled at her as she blushed in front of me. “go pack your things.” I said to her softly. No words could express the joy and glee that came across her face. She ran home to get ready, and the following Friday, we rode to the train station where I got off to start this wonderful journey. If I’m lucky, this letter will get to you just in time for your birthday too.

          You know that I am always praying for you and the others back home. I want you to know that as long as I am able, I will be sending letters to you. I am also sending letters to the mayor of the town so that we could arrange for some peace between these two sets of people, and with God’s help there will be peace.

          I love you, Charlie. Keep walking!

“Charlie!” I exclaimed. That was the name of the guy that granddad was talking about. He was always going about with his Charlie stories, and I just figured that it was just a man that he knew or that he made up. Actually, he was the older brother of my granddad, and that’s why my father used to call him Uncle Charlie. Everything was beginning to tie together in my head now, and everything around me started to spin. Now I know that the calling on my life had been around for generations. God had been using us to do His work for centuries, and here I was thinking that I was unique. I folded the letter and headed up the steps to my apartment. As I unlocked the door, one last thing bothered me… who sent me this letter?

Train ride- Short story #2

I

was sitting in my office one afternoon. There was a slight chill of cold-sweats as the air-condition hit my back. I found myself constantly glancing at the clock, and longing for the end of my working day to come. While waiting, I was chatting on FaceBook with a friend I trusted. I had relayed to her what had happened to me in Mumbai. Only her, and a few others, though...I don't think that anyone else would have believed me, and quite frankly, all who needed to know, knew for it was because of them, those little children, that God whisked me off to the other end of the world in the night.

That was a year ago. I wondered if anything like this had happened to anyone else besides me. I spoke to my pastor about it, and he told me of a guy who was teleported to talk to an Ethiopian man or something along those lines. He showed me the reference in the Bible, and I was in awe as I read it. "This thing is a lot more real than I thought", I pondered to myself. A Chinese man passed my office as I was typing. I waved at him, knowing his English was as good as my Chinese. I looked at my watch, and jumped. Oh shoot, IT's time to leave this place. Where I work, they don't pay you overtime, so it didn't make any sense lingering for the slightest second.

I packed up and left the office!

I exited the building, squinting as I pushed open the door. The light from my office and from staring at the computer screen all day was no match for the sun that beamed down onto my face with a blinding vengeance. I put on my shades, and headed for the back gate of the complex where I exited. I walked a few blocks down, and turned right, onto the train station. I re-adjusted my daybag onto my shoulder and tapped my back-pocket for my wallet, where my card was, to pass the toll booth. I passed the card over the sensor *beep* and a slight click let me know that I was allowed to pass through the toll booth. I headed down by the platform, and waited for the train to arrive. I checked my watch. Then, as though it were waiting for me, the sound of the train echoed through the station, and people started scrambling to get their books into their bags, and such like. We all stood on the platform, just close enough to board the train first, and just far enough to avoid being killed by the oncoming train.As the train screeched to a halt, the doors opened before me, and, as if in a trance, I ignored all the other commuters pushing to get onto the train. I came in and sat down, feeling rather drowsy, as if on drugs. As the doors closed, I felt a huge relief hit me like if I had just completed crossing the Grand Canyon. I allowed my head to lean against the wall, and I felt my eyes feel like pianos were tied to my eyelids. I allowed them to close.

Then suddenly, there was a bright flash of light, and I was no longer on the train. I was standing...somewhere, I didn't know. I was surrounded by light. That was all that was there. Myself and light. I began to feel a little disoriented, though not sleepy anymore. There was nothing but light as far as the eye could see, and I didn't hear anything. The light was blinding, and the silence was deafening.

"Son" a voice called, piercing through the silence. It didn't sound like my dad's voice (though it's been so long, I'd be surprised if i remembered what it sounded like) but this voice was different, like nothing I have ever heard before. It sounded like a thunderous voice, but instead of fear, I felt a pang of warmth fill my body instead. I knelt on one knee and bowed my head to the ground of light beneath me.

"My Lord", I whispered with my heart knocking on my chest like a woodpecker. "Did I die on the train?"

"No, you're still on a train, Stefan, but it's not the same train you boarded."

"Figures!" "You will get back on that train when you're finished doing what you're supposed to do. I will give power to your words, and you will spread My Gospel where I say"

"Yes, Lord"

The light flashed, and I covered my eyes.

I tried not to guess where I was because I know that I would be wrong. It was night, and it seems as though I had been at the last stop on this train, because one, it wasn't moving, and two...no one else was on it. When I stepped out of the already opened doors, I discovered that maybe no one had been on that train for a very long time, for the entire station was abandoned. My clothes had changed again just like the last time, and I was beginning to feel like some sort of secret agent on a mission for the Intelligence Agency, but obviously, my employer is more important than them. My short-sleeved, green plaid shirt and brown slacks were replaced by black t-shirt, and black leather pants. My daybag also was gone. It would appear that I didn't need it for this mission. What happened next let me know that I would need both hands.

As I walked through the semi-dark train station, I heard a rustling in a corner ahead of me. I could almost feel my pupils dilate as I peered into the shadows to see what it could be that would make that noise. Then, I heard a cry - A baby's cry- The baby started crying just after the rustling noise, so I deduced that the baby just woke up or something. I walked over to the little bundle left there on the cold station floor, and picked it up. I looked into his eyes that seemed to soften upon seeing me. Ssshhhh! I whispered, and the child stopped crying immediately. Shocking. He was making little cooing noises, and reached for my face. There were scotch marks on his body, and the cloth he was wrapped in was rather dirty. I could not possibly imagine the circumstances surrounding why he was left there, but it did not matter now. What mattered was getting this child to safety.

I came up the steps of this forsaken station, and started walking along the road. One car passed, then another...then another. I walked carefully with this child, ever so often looking into his face. I stopped under a street lamp and held him up to the light. I stared into his bright green eyes, and found myself lost in them. "What shall I name you, little buddy?" He giggled. I thought of a man that I heard about in Sunday school many years ago, that named his son Isaac because he couldn't help but laugh to himself when God told him something which was almost too good to be true.

"Isaac shall your name be, little buddy, just because you laughed." I snuggled him back into my arms and prepared to walk again, when I heard a crashing sound.

"What do you mean, negative?" a painful cry shouted

"Calm down, Harold"

"Calm down? Melinda, this is the third time in three months"

"I know, honey. I know. This is frustrating me just as much as it is you"

"You think so? How can I face my family? My colleagues? They'll tease me and laugh at me! You know they will...sinful fools, the LOT OF THEM!!!"

"Honey, calm down. You'll wake the neighbours"

"I don't know how long I can take this. I'm going outside for air"

With that, the door of house #405 swung open, and a man in pyjamas stormed outside. He sat on the step under the light, and clasped his head in his hands and started crying. I walked over to see what was wrong.

"Sir, excuse me. Care to share with a stranger what's wrong?" I asked softly.

"I'm no sir. Sirs are men. I'm no man..." he wept without even holding up to see who he was talking to.

"Well, I haven't been around here that long, but you look a lot like a man to me." I said chuckling to myself. The man jumped to his feet and glared at me angrily as if I had told him something wrong. His face was stained with frequent tears as though they had scald his face on their way down. He stomped over to me and grabbed his crotch. "Then tell me" he growled "why can't I produce children?"

The seconds that passed seemed like hours as his face was uncomfortably close to mine. I inched back a bit for the baby's sake. I felt bad for the man. I found it rather un-cool that here he was lamenting on being impotent and here I was standing there with a child in my arms. I see now the reason for his resentment towards me. He spun around and flung his hands in the air. I then realised what the noise inside the house was all about.

Just then, Isaac started crying. The man, Harold, I think, burst into fresh tears as he heard the baby cry. "Come in", he said between sobs. "Your child must be cold"

As I stepped towards the house, the rain started to pour with a vengeance. I was grateful for the hospitality, but I couldn't help but sense that I had come at a bad time. Anyone who knows God, knows that He loves to show up and do stuff at times that seem most inconvenient, just to prove that he is God. I stepped into the house and felt the warmth of the dimly lit corridor that I passed through. A lady stood in the kitchen, looking at me. I felt her eyes as they made their way down to the child that was cradled snuggly in my arms. "Oh heavens, you must be starving!" she exclaimed as she started fidgeting about the counter. "I'm sorry, though. All we have to offer you is toast and milk." I thought to myself that that must have been the weirdest combination of food and drink that I have ever been offered, but since she did offer, I felt a familiar growling as my stomach protested against me. "That'll do just fine"

"I'll get some blankets from the room upstairs" Isaac shifted his position in my arms and yawned -That yawn that made you forget all the world's troubles and just smile at the marvelous little creature that you're holding. I could have been in the middle of a warzone, seeing that yawn would have put my mind at such ease. "Thank you for your kindness, ma'am" I started to make my way to the front of the house where the gentleman sat. He looked around at me. He just sat there, staring into the fire- pensive. As I approached him, my bare feet softly tiptoed across the wooden floor. The lady came up behind me holding three folded blankets. She seemed rather fussy to see the baby, and this further confirm my suspicions that they were trying to get some of their own. She came in front of me all smiles and showed me the blankets. "Which colour do you prefer, the pink, blue or the white one?"

"Blue, please" Isaac opened his eyes and gazed up at me.

"Hey buddy,...look who brought us blankets!" As if he understood me, he turned his head towards the lady. I repositioned him so that he could look at her properly. She looked into his eyes -those beautiful eyes- and it seemed as though her heart melted.

"wow, he has some beautiful eyes." she said, making her way closer to his face. "...and what do we call you, precious?" I smiled.

"His name is Isaac, and he is in dying need of a bath and some of that milk you have there, ma'am."

"Please...call me Melinda. This is my husband, Harold." I shifted my gaze to the man at the fireplace. "Good evening, Harold" I said with a smile. He groaned in response.

"Give him time. He'll come around", she whispered. "I already have the water running for Isaac's bath, and some old clothes that my sister left here when she visited with her baby a year ago. Somehow, I just couldn't get rid of them." she said, looking away embarrassed.

I put my hand on her shoulder. I didn't know what to say to a woman in her situation. So, I guess a warm smile had to do. I gave her one. She returned one to me. I lifted the child to her, and she took him with a look of disbelief on her face. I guess she wondered how I could trust her with him after having just met. I did. I admit that I felt a mother's love coming from her even though she had no children.

She took Isaac and went upstairs humming the song "Precious Jesus, meek and mild look upon thy little child". I walked over to the fire place and stood by Harold. He finally looked at me "ya know, it's a sad thing when a man cannot have children." I can tell that this was hurting him greatly. I opened my mouth to speak, but he continued. "especially when there're so many undeserving people out there with six and seven children, treating them badly, using them to get back at other people, not being able to afford them, and yet depending on the government to provide for their nonsense." His voice began to intensify. "The government shouldn't be paying for their nonsense. The GOVERNMENT DIDN'T..." he stopped himself, and took a breath. I sighed to myself. By now, I knew that God wanted me to give this baby to them. But what was this business of giving power to my words?

Just then, I heard a crash coming from upstairs. It sounded like someone had broken into the window where Melinda was. Harold and I froze for just a second, then I looked over at him, and he put his finger on his lip. I nodded. He walked over to the coffee table in the middle of the room, and reached under it. I heard a soft click, and the table started to hiss as the top slid open to reveal a weapons stash. My eyes opened wide in amazement, as Harold reached in and grabbed a pistol and silencer and tossed both of them at me. As I caught them, he took out another one and started to screw on the silencer. I did the same, and began to crouch behind the kitchen counter. He hid behind the wall and peeked around the corner at me, who was only a few feet away. I nodded, and we waited. We heard footsteps coming down the stairs. I kept a firm gaze on Harold, so I would know when to move.

When the sound of the footsteps reached the bottom of the stairs, Harold jumped from behind the wall. I remained hidden because of what I saw next. His eyes immediately filled with fear, and he raised his arms. "For goodness sake, man. SHE HAS A CHILD!!!" he shouted. He started to step backwards as the shadows on the floor moved slowly towards him. One, two...three? He was outnumbered. There were two men in masks, and Melinda. She had Isaac in her arms wrapped in a towel and they both looked okay, but her mouth was gagged. One of the men was behind her with a gun pointed in her back and the other one moved towards Harold, and motioned for him to lie on the ground. I knew I had to act fast. I jumped from behind the counter, right behind Melinda's captor, and fired a silenced shot in his hip, and covered his mouth to muffle the screams. The other captor seemed to hear nothing, as he proceeded to tie Harold's hands. I took the cloth from Melinda's mouth and put it in her captor's mouth, putting another shot in his right elbow. The other captor looked up and saw me standing with a gun pointed directly at him. He slowly stood to his feet. "Take off your mask!" I demanded. He slowly reached for the top of his head and removed the mask that hid his face. "Now...sleep!"

For a second, he gave me a rather bewildered look, and then collapsed on the floor. I put the safety on the pistol and untied Harold. He got up in disbelief and ran to his wife and embraced her with Isaac in her arms. "I don't know how to thank you" he said. "You can thank me by taking care of Isaac" I said smiling. I was waiting for the right moment to tell them, and no time seemed more perfect than when they were all together. Melinda's mouth dropped. "You're serious? I thought this was your child. Is this not your child?" "Nope," I said, shaking my head. "I found him in the abandoned train station"

Melinda burst into tears. "Harold", she said "It's what we've always prayed for, a son" Harold seemed as though he didn't know what to say or do. "...but he still won't be ours...really ours" he frowned.

"That's alright", I said "you will have more next year this same time." Immediately, the two of their bodies made a slight jerk as if something had shocked them, and I knew that's what God meant by adding power to my words. They looked at each other and smiled like two teenagers, and I raised my eyebrow, knowing what was happening next. "Let's take out the trash, shall we?" I said. We all laughed.

After an hour or so, the ambulance was there, as well as the police making notes and writing reports. The two captors were in the police vehicle, fully awake. Harold and I stood on the other side of the road, talking. I took the time to tell him about Jesus, when he asked me how i put the man to sleep. He seemed excited when he heard that Jesus is who healed him, and that he can be saved only by believing.

"You mean all we have to do is believe?"

"yes"

"That's great...wait till I tell my wife"

"You and your whole family can be saved. Just believe." He ran across the street to tell his wife and new son the good news. I stood there and watched as he got more and more excited. After about two minutes, they looked across at me. I raised my hand to wave at them, and an ambulance whizzed past me, and they were left waving in amazement.

I blinked as the ambulance passed me and opened my eyes to find myself back on the train I started in that afternoon. The whirring from the siren meshed into the screeching of the train coming to a halt. I smiled to myself, and wondered if the time that I spent by Harold and Melinda was the same amount of time I was on the train. I checked my watch. If that was the case, this train would have made a full three rounds. It didn't matter. I was heading home again. I bowed my head and thanked the Lord. Then, I got up, and left for home.

[End]

Freedom.

They say that we are free, but I can still hear the shackles.

The shackles around my ankles bound.

They say that we are free, but I can still hear the crack…

of the whip on my back, as I fall to the ground.

They say that we are free, I believe them when they say,

But yet I see no evidence that even points this way.

Something has me enslaved, something big, something strong,

I find myself reminded of this, whenever I do something wrong.

The thing that has me bound, like the Grinch has a big grin,

That thing that has me bound, ladies and gentlemen…is my sin!

It’s big, and it’s fierce

It’s ugly and it’s nasty

It’s terrible and crafty

It’s sick, and it’s deadly.

Like a dragon, it breathes its fire upon me

Like a python, it sinks its poisoned fangs inside me

Like a prison, it swings its door shut before me

Like a jail, its rusty bars, they surround me.

Sometimes I feel like I’m no longer encaged

I’m finally free from this monster and its rage

I am finally free from this misery and strife.

But for some strange reason, sin is still in my life.

All my efforts to unchain myself are rendered invalid

All my efforts to be good just come out retarded

On the outside I’m one thing, on the inside I’m a next

And all this time, I just getting massah vex.

But then…I hear

A voice oh so near that beckons me to the cross,

A lamb that was slain, for me, not in vain, who paid in a terrible cost.

I lifted my eyes and saw a great light,

For once in my life, I didn’t feel any fright

A soft voice told me “do not be afraid,

The debt you were fined, was already paid”.

The judge who condemned you was otherwise convinced

And you have been set free by me eversince.

“but, who are you?” I asked, shading the light from my face,

And as I lifted my hand, the shackles fell from their place.

The door swung open before my very eyes

I fell to my knees, my face to the skies

“Hold on”, I declared. “There must be a mistake

I’m sentenced to death, to be killed at daybreak.”

Not anymore, said the voice from heaven, down to me

Who the son has released, has indeed been set free.

A nail-scarred hand gave my hand a slight pull,

I’ve dealt with your sin, it is all paid in FULL!

I stood to my feet

I remained there in awe

I knew it’s my fault

For I broke the Law

“I know what you’re thinking” his voice seemed so nice

“I’m the Lamb of God”, he said… “the Man, Jesus Christ.”

Short Story #1

I

 sat there, typing...the slow, melodious tunes of the 1980's hit 'Even the Nights are Better', softly ring in my ears as I lip-sync the lyrics to myself there’s a slight panging in my chest as I come to the realization that I have no one to sing that song to. I quickly shake it off. I remind myself that no good thing shall He withhold from them who walk uprightly...

I sighed deeply to myself...

Just then...the temperature in my room rose, and rose, and rose. The ground beneath me turned to sand, and as I covered my eyes from the bright light forming before me, a mighty rushing wind came through what I thought was my bedroom, and my surroundings started to change. The things in my room faded and, within moments, I wasn't in my room anymore. In fact, I don't even think that I'm in the same country anymore. Judging from the heat, and the fact that the sun was directly above me, I'd say that I was in Africa or Philippines or somewhere far from home.

“How did I get here?”

“Where am I?”

"GOD!??"

"Mumbai", a voice from behind me said. "What de -..." I stopped myself from speaking. I turned around and saw before me something that I never dreamed of seeing...at least, in my lifetime.

"Do not be afraid", the figure before me said. I knew it had to be an angel. His face was so...wow. It was shining! He was wearing a brown coat which blew in the wind. "You’re in Mumbai, India"

"India!" I said, believing that I had drifted off into some strange dream "What is God's plan for bringing me here?" I asked feeling a bit excited. "I was so excited; I had hardly even noticed that my clothes had changed into a coat and some sheik-looking garb for pants, with some manner of cloth-like scarf wrapping my neck.

"There's a family here that hasn't yet heard the gospel of Christ", the angel said. "I know that God is the doer of the impossible, but I do not even know what language they speak in India, far less, Mumbee" "Mumbai!" the angel corrected "right...Mumbai"

The angel took his two fingers and touched the sand on the ground. He took it, and rubbed it on my lips. I stood there, staring at him as he did this. "This is too real to be a dream", I thought to myself. "You're not dreaming", the angel said. I could not believe that God told Him my thoughts as I was thinking them...WOW.

When he had finished, he stepped back and said to me "you're ready now, Stefan" I opened my mouth to speak, "میرے بھائی، آپ کا شکریہ!" I said...I slapped my mouth in astonishment. Was I...actually speaking, Urdu?

I didn't even know that was the language there...

Whatever that angel did to me, it worked. I all of a sudden knew more of this language than I did of my own. I gently brushed my fingers across my lips and looked at them. My fingers glittered like if I had wiped them in diamond sands. I looked up at the angel, but he was not there.

"As expected", I muttered to myself. "Why do they always do that? UGH!"

I pulled the scarf over my forehead and mouth, and braved the winds to this village that seemed rather deserted. I took shelter in an abandoned shed, and closed my eyes...

*poke* *poke*

I woke to the irritating, jabbing sensation of something sticking me in my side. For a split second, I thought that I would wake up in my room, but I was still in Mumbai. "Definitely not a dream", I thought. I looked to my left, and saw a little Indian child with a stick. I couldn't tell for sure, but after I had rubbed my eyes, I realized that it was a little boy.

"Mister, Mister!" he yelled. I was able to understand every word he said. I groaned and pushed myself up. "I'm up, I'm up! What time is it" "It's night time, Sir!" he said, tugging at my sleeve. He was a darling little fellow. Looked a little malnourished, and he had bruises and scars across his skin.

"Mister, you must help me!" it seemed he realized that time was getting away, but for what? I didn't hesitate to ask, as it seemed urgent. So, I got up and followed him. We went through some ebbs and turns in this village as I tried to keep up with the little fellow. I prayed in my heart that God would prepare me for whatever lies ahead. As I approached the only hut in the village with a light on, I began to smell a stench. My mind flashed back to when I found my cat, Sparkles dead in the basement. I knew right then that something or someone had died.

He came to the entrance of the hut and opened it for me to enter. As I pulled back the curtain, my entire countenance fell. I felt my heart sink to my feet as I stared at what was before me.

A woman lay before me. I knew that it would be some sick or dying person. It always is. No one ever rushes a stranger to a swimming pool with a pot of gold at the bottom.

I wiped the tear from my eye and knelt down next to the woman. She was cut and bruised from head to toe. She was slightly gasping for air, and holding at gash in her stomach. I started to pray. "God, you brought me here, and I don't know what to do. I don't know if I can heal this woman. I don't even know what happened to her. What am I supposed to do?"

Then...something hit me like a ton of bricks on a Mack truck.

I touched her head, and whispered in her ear "woman, be healed". To my astonishment, a wind began to blow into the room. Her hair blew violently, as the place where my hand was started to glow an orange glow. I removed my hand to see what was happening. One by one, the lacerations on her head started to close up. The skin on her stomach started to weave itself back together and the blood seemed to seep back into her body.

Right before my eyes, this woman became whole and stood to her feet. "There are no words to thank you enough, stranger" she said. "I thought I was going to die there, after those dogs attacked me, I thought I was gone."

"It's a good thing that little boy came to me when he did," I said, smiling at her. "Was that your son?" "What little boy?" she asked, with a peculiar look on her face. "The one right the--" I looked around, and didn't see a soul. "Right, of course it was..."

I muttered under my breath

"Who were you talking to back there?" she asked. "Oh, I was talking to God" now seeing my opportunity to share the Gospel "Which one?" she asked. I chuckled to myself "There is only one. Elohim" "Oh" she said, her head hung low. "I was brought up to believe in many" "How many?" I asked, noticing that the sun was rising behind me. "Doesn’t matter now, does it?" she chuckled, "none of them are able to do what your God just did for me"

I began to feel warmth at the back of my neck. "Mumbai gets really hot really fast", I thought to myself. As the sun began to shine on this young woman's face, I began to see how she really looked. Her hair was long and shiny. Her face was like polished bronze as half of it hid behind her hair. Before I knew it, I was staring at her beauty. Before the awkward silence between us could get any worse, she seemed to snap back out of a trance herself. "I almost forgot, what is your name?" "Where I am from, they call me Stefan" I said. "Wow, I'd love for you to tell me more about where you're from, but I have to get back to my children"

"What?!” I exclaimed. I took another quick glance at her body for any signs of childbirth. "You have children!?" "Yes, not my offspring, though. I run an orphanage", she playfully bit her index finger and side looked me. Then, before, I could refuse, she grabbed my hand and dragged me off. She brought me to a building that looked like a temple. She opened the door and began to call "Children, mama is here and she has brought a friend"

A head popped from behind a wall. "It's alright, Fharid. You can come out. Sanjah, you too!" she called.

They began to pop out from under benches and around walls until I was surrounded with little Indian children. They were all touching me and probing me, maybe to see if I was real. I'm not sure. "They’ve never seen a man looking like you before", she said, smiling at me. For a second there, I forgot I was black.

"Children, settle down. Our friend has a story to tell us about the God who can heal people." They all gasped and sat on the floor. They gazed in amazement as I told them everything from the creation, to the flood. From Abraham, to Jesus.

"So you mean that all the other gods aren't real?" a little girl asked, shyly. "Is that why our parents died? They worshipped the wrong gods?"

"No no no", I tried to stop them all from crying. "My God is all Love", I stood to my feet. Everyone stood behind me.

"I'll prove it to you!" I turned to the woman. "Bring me a jar of water". She went and brought me a small jar of water about as tall as a Sprite bottle. "Who's thirsty?" I yelled. Some of the children jumped! Others raised their hands. I called out to the first child. "Drink this!" the other children began to look sad that they weren't getting any water. I took the empty jar from the first kid and passed it to the second. As the jar touched her fingers, it refilled with water.

"See?" now all of you can have a drink.

When the last child took the jar, the others started cheering and chanting "Drink, drink drink!!!" I folded my arms and laughed. The last child shook the jar and held it above his head, and a single drop fell on him. "Okay, now it's empty", he said. "Not just yet, I didn't drink", I interrupted him. I took the jar from him and began to sip. Hmmm, I wonder if... I took the jar and turned it upside down over the woman's head, and water gushed out from the jar, completely soaking her. The children laughed and all yelled "Praise God!"

Then we both laughed, as she sent the children to their beds. She turned to me, dripping. "I hope you're happy!" she said, jovially. "Actually, I could do with a drink. I kinda gave you all my water." She laughed and I stepped closer to her. "This has been unforgettable, and I didn't even get your name" "It's Jasmine", she said. "and it has been unforgettable". Her voice softened as she lowered he head. She seemed to know that my time with her was coming to an end. "What's wrong?" I asked, lifting her chin with my fingertips. "You've done so much for me, for the children. I have no way to repay you." "You need not repay me, Jasmine. My reward is in Heaven." "with Jesus?" "Yes, with Jesus."

She tip-toed and leaned forward to kiss me, but quickly realized that she was in the room alone.

I found myself in my room, dressed in a vest and shorts, like how I was 24-hours ago. The voices of The Fray grew louder as I began to gather my bearings

"Was it all a dream?" I asked myself. "I know God is real, but did this all just happen to me?"

I got up and went outside to the living room. I took up the remote and turned on the television. Sitting on the arm of the couch, I flicked through the channels until a familiar voice came through the TV.

I backed up a few channels and dropped the remote. "I know that woman!" I exclaimed. Jasmine was on BBC news, relaying a story of how she took care of some 30 children in an old temple.

I knew there and then that it was really God that used me to touch those children.

A tear rolled down my cheek as I lifted my head to heaven. "Thank you Lord"

[End]