After the doctor in white scrubs had confirmed the virility of his stethoscope on papa’s naked chest and a pretty orderly had tested her own aptitude in bookkeeping - then calling out the time of death - I thought about papa’s last wish, even though he had been too weak and weary to make it audible. The message became overwhelmingly palpable afterwards, in my self-allotted recess in Manner Falling from Heaven orphanage home, when I sat by the window to study the glow of the moon and how the night clouds rolled beneath it, and the dazzling collection of stars around it. I felt it along the lines of my palm as I clasped the window pane, and in my ears, too; and in the pregnant space between me and all that the galaxy held. And no matter how many times I tried, I could only comprehend papa’s last message in these five words:

“Love God. Love His creations.”

To read the complete piece, kindly follow the link below.

http://www.pencillite.com/2017/04/creations-of-god-short-stories-iwundu.html?m=0