CWRC Anthology

THE DESTROYER OF DEATH

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Christian Writers and Readers.

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Written by Oremodu Oluwabukunola Ruth.

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Copyright © 2022 by Oremodu Oluwabukunola Ruth

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Spectators spill into the arena, pushing the ones already inside further. Curiosity ripples through the air as people jostle against one another, searching for a place to stand. The sun glares down on them, stifling them with its heat. The scent of blood rises in the air, mixing with that of sweat as it carries through the atmosphere.

A woman doubles over and gags. Her husband beside her grunts, but offers no aid. He too is engrossed in the scene that's taking place.

A whip cracks through the air and lands on the bare back of the man who stands tied to a pole. The pole is fixed to a wooden platform on which the man and several guards are standing.

The man, a missionary, gasps and arches his back. Another lash lands on him and he writhes, fresh tears flooding his eyes.

Pain, an old yet new friend. Old because this isn't his first time experiencing it, yet new because this is his first time passing through this level of pain.

After several lashes land on him, the missionary hears the whip being dropped on the platform. Breathing a sigh of relief, he rests his head against the pole.

But his relief is cut short when he sees a guard walk past him to a table loaded with pain-inflicting objects. With a sneer on his face, the guard picks up a cane that has nails jutting out all over.

This guard, who is the head guard, holds up the cane for the crowd to see. A hush falls over the arena as everyone watches with bated breath.

Will he really flog the man with that? Will the man even survive it?

The head guard glances back at the missionary and sees tears rising in his eyes.

He scoffs.

“This,” he begins, his voice resonating round the arena, “is the fate that would befall anyone who dares to believe in any other god than the ones our ancestors passed down to us.”

A man in the crowd folds his arms and shakes his head. Another spits on the ground before using his sandal to drag sand over it. While a third heaves a sigh, his heart filling with sorrow for the missionary.

Two years ago, this missionary had swooped into their village, claiming that there was only one true God.

They'd agreed with him. The Supreme deity was Olodumare. But no one could approach him directly, so they went through several mediums.

“I follow Obatala.” The Kabiyesi had thumped his chest with pride, his eyes on the missionary who sat on a mat before his throne. “While my Olori here worships Oya. They are ways through which we access Olodumare.”

The missionary had smiled and shaken his head. “Jesus is the only way to God the Father.”

“Father? Who is this Father you speak of?”

“God the Father, who sits enthroned in Heaven. All these gods you serve cannot save you. Only Jesus can.”

“Jesus?”