Concussion Protocol
Copyright© 2021 by Kim Cancer
Saint Euphemia
It was a clear morning. There was a sweet smell in the air. The guards marched me, from out of my cell, into the pit. The crowd roared. Their faces filled with scorn. The angry masses were jeering. They were pointing. They were throwing half-eaten food, fruit, rocks, and whatever they could.
But I was the happiest person there.
It was to be my execution, but, to me, it was my escape, my passage. I would be with Jesus. I was a supplicant, divine to the core.
I tossed my head back. I looked to the sky. My eyes set upwards, I could see angels hanging and flying above the arena. The chubby little angels were spirits of dead children, taken by plague. They’d accepted Jesus and gained entry into His Kingdom.
With ruby red cheeks and open arms, they awaited me, they called to me. One started strumming a small harp. Another danced and zipped playfully about the sky.
There was not a cloud in the sky. And from behind the little beautiful children, the angels, I could see Him. I could see Jesus, my Savior. His arms were outstretched, as they were on the cross. His arms were outstretched, in love, in kindness, in forgiveness. A golden aura silhouetted Him, and His long brown hair and white robes ruffled softly in the breeze. His guiding smile was my beacon. He was my light. The vision of His figure cut into the blue sky filled me with warmth and calm.
I was tied to a wooden post. The ropes were strung so tight that my limbs went numb. My blood ceased to flow freely to my limbs, and it rushed to my head. I was dizzy. But I wasn’t scared. Because I knew in my heart that Jesus was watching. I knew I would be rewarded for my deeds. Jesus’s love was my sentinel. His love was my strength.
To read the complete story you need to be logged in:
Log In or
Register for a Free account
(Why register?)
* Allows you 3 stories to read in 24 hours.