Omni_Sparrow: Sail on to where?

hmn. Very Funny

***

When he stepped out into the corridor of the twelve-room hostel, he immediately knew he’d made a mortal mistake. He was greeted with the cold muzzle of a gun against his neck.

“Don’t try anything foolish, Python.” The voice was very familiar and eerily close. Before he could answer, two more figures emerged from the shadows, one held his hands while the other frisked him for the weapon. He was disarmed and shoved towards the main door.

“It’s been a while Steve,” it was Python, addressing his arrester. Steve and he had attended the same polytechnic where they both were influential members of rival cult groups. They had been on each other’s neck for years till Python left the polytechnic for the University. He wondered the cruel fate that had thrown Steve up as the mercenary that was to lead the manhunt for him.

“Yeah man,” came the steely voice, “good to see you again man.” He finished as they led him outside the house into the compound.

There, he saw they had come with quite a team. He counted twelve of them clad in purple round-necks with bandana, and he felt bizarrely honoured. He would go in a streak of honour and his legend would reign forever among succeeding generations of cultists. Death was the famed equaliser for all men; the manner of death is the only distinction a man of courage can get from mere men.

“Thanks for the honour Steve. You brought the whole house for me!” he chuckled and smiled.

A back-handed slap landed on the nape of his neck and a succession of blows forced him on his knees. When he muttered enough strength to look up, he saw they had formed a perfect circle around him.

“Certainly,” he said to himself, “the end had come.” He scanned the environment for a break, a hole he could explore. But he found none. The circle was close-knit and every one of them held one weapon or the other, the least being a portable axe. Four of them held guns.

“Guys, show him to the gods.” It was Steve who gave the order.

Six of the boys detached from the circle, lifted him up and threw him into the sky. When he reached maximum height, gravity took toll on his mass and he began the free fall. He landed with a thud, his 6-ft frame giving a ‘gbam’ sound against the concrete floor. As if on cue, the rest of the boys began to sing, a chilling song that reminded those within earshot of the Zulus performing a night-time ritual.

They didn’t allow the pain overcome him before they lifted and threw him up again. When he hit the concrete, this time with a cacophony of breaking bones and an unmistakable groan, he began to feel his life race out of him. Every bone in his 86kg mass revolted in pain and he found himself unable to move.

By now, the boys were jogging round him, singing and dancing, their axes raised to the heavens. It was a ritual they must carry out. To appease the gods of cultism, to remember and avenge the murders of their cult fellows the Python had personally sent to eternity. To satisfy their thirst for blood, the Python’s blood.

Few victims survive more than four throws but he survived five. But by then, his life struggled with death like in a lopsided wrestling match. Eternity rushed at him like a raging sea. He stayed strong; never for once uttered any word. He felt the tightness in his chest and his breath came in sudden bursts. His back ached from the several blows it had taken on the concrete floor while his heartbeat increased so much he thought his heart was running away from the pains his body system had become.

His assailants stopped throwing him and stayed back, watching him struggle with death.

For a few minutes, it seemed as if they’d leave him to die. But no, just when the Python was beginning to think so, he heard Steve’s clear command: “Put him out of his misery boys.”

The boys did as they were told. Two blows of the axe from each of the six guys pushed him into the warm embrace of darkness; into the same eternity he’d sent at least six others over the years. As he floated into eternity, he heard those words again as they poured out of Sister Titilola’s mouth:

“For the wages of sin is death, but the free gift of God is eternal life through Christ Jesus our Lord.”

He understood the words just then. With the darkness gaining ground over the rest of his life, he found himself muttering the words, “Forgive me Father, forgive me, I am a sinner. Please, forgive my sins, accept me Lord.”

As everything went blank, he found peace like he never felt all his life.

***

Just as her hall mates were getting increasingly worried, Sister Titilola stopped praying. Those whose rooms were close to hers could hear her sobbing lightly, like a young girl who had lost her best friend. Nobody understood what was going on. But she did. And He did too.

“Lord, may Your Will be done,” they heard her whisper amidst her sobs.

Soon after, her voice was heard in a medley of praises to the one God she served and trusted. Her conscience was clear, her task completed. She knew the God she served; she knew His stand:

“I will show mercy to whom I will show mercy…”









The End


Mod Fp thingz for the good of Nigeria and also for those aspiring to gain admission into Nigerian Universities, be warned.... To Theophilus sail onnnn.....

PEACE!!!!