Buried Alive (for miracle)

ed A

mir

sod

he officer in charge, to whom we explained everything, leaving no detail untold. We told him everything, We poured out our hearts, our fears, our worries, our desperation. But, do you want to know what

was buried alive by this said king?" He raised an eyebrow, his tone skeptical, as if questioning our sanity for even thinking such a thing. "The police don't work that way," he continued, his words a stark remi

rely above a whisper, as if fearful of being overheard. "We don't even have the guts to drive down to the palace to try to interrogate him, just because of what we heard," he admitted,

sadness and frustration. "Sir, the grave is there, and you can go ahead and dig it if you need concrete evidence," he said, his voice laced with a hint of irony, as if the

vacant, his body battered. "The King did this to him," I accused, my finger pointing towards the palace, my eyes blazing with fury. "So, what are you saying?" I demanded, my voice a challenge, a dare to the DPO to deny the truth

t our gaze. "I see," the pastor said, his voice dripping with skepticism, his eyes narrowing as he rubbed both palms together, the sound of his hands a so

sorry, sir," he said, his voice barely above a whisper, his words a weak, inadequate response to the pastor's unspoken accusation. The silence that follow

ice we had faced. We walked towards his car, the silence between us a thick, heavy fog that seemed to suffocate us. As we settled into the vehicle, I couldn't hold back my emotions any longer. I wept like my husband had just died, my sobs racking my body

confidence was a beacon of hope, a ray of light in the darkness that had engulfed us. I nodded, my sobs subsiding, my tears drying on my cheeks, as I clung to his words like a lifeline. We drove in

my voice barely above a whisper, my words punctuated by sobs that shook my body. I was desperate for a solution, for a w

gentle but unyielding command. "Just let me handle this my own way, I know exactly what to do

I wiped my tears away with the back of my hand. I didn't know what the Pastor had in mind, but I knew I had to trust him, to believe that he would lead us

h vibrant flowers. As soon as he dropped us off, he drove off, leaving us standing in the driveway, his words trailing behind him like

s alone and uncertain. I turned to Sammy, my eyes searching his face for answers, but his expression was a mask

ed with shelves overflowing with tomes and papers, a large desk sitting like an island in the center of the room. I settled Sammy onto the couch, his eyes fi

mock us, its hands moving with agonizing slowness, as we grew more and more anxious. We had expected him to return shortly, but as the darkness deepened and the night wore

tell me that I wasn't his wife, their tone implying that I was some kind of imposter. But I stood my ground, explaining that the Pastor was a helper, a friend who had taken us in durin

of worried voices, the air thick with the weight of our collective fear. Where was the Pastor? Why hadn't he returned? And what did it mean fo

ith the possibilities, my imagination running wild with worst-case scenarios. Had I dragged the Pastor into our mess, putting him in harm's way with my own foolish decisions? Ha

danger? The thought was too much to bear, my conscience screaming at me for my thoughtlessness. I felt like I had made a grave mistake, one that could have far-reaching

nce a beacon of hope in the midst of our turmoil. I, however, was a picture of despair, pacing up and down the living room, my feet tracing a path of anxiety,

ouldn't comprehend the depth of my distress, their words of comfort falling flat in the face of my desperation. I felt like I was drowning, suffocating un

tmare. But every door I opened in my mind led to more questions, more fears, more uncertainty. I was trapped, stuck i

ning the worst, my heart sinking at the prospect of something terrible having happened to him. "Was he kidnapped?" I asked myself, my mind conjuring up images of the Pastor being taken against his will, held capti

ng that something sinister was at play, that the Pastor's disappearance was more than just a simple case of being out late. I thought of his words,

lence of the night, the darkness that seemed to closing in on us, and the weight of my own fear and uncertainty. I

r. Their arrival was sudden, unexpected, and sent a chill down my spine. One of the church members, who had stayed behind to keep us company, cautiously opened the door, asking them who th

h worst-case scenarios. Who were these men? What did they want with us? Had they come to harm us, to take us away, or to deliver some terrible news? The questions swirled in my head like a mae

o these men were, what their intentions were, and why they were asking for us. But the church member shook his head, his expression grim. "N

description, and had come specifically for us. I felt a sense of dread building up inside me, my mind racing with thoughts of who these men could be, and what they wanted with us. Were they fr

d a smile onto my face, trying to appear calm and composed, despite the turmoil brewing inside me. "No, nothing," I replied, my voice steady, but my heart racing

ghts of the Pastor's disappearance, the King's involvement, and the danger that we might be in. I felt a cold dread creeping up my spine, as I realized that we were at the mercy of these men

gain? Hadn't we been through enough already? I thought of the Pastor's disappearance, the uncertainty we had faced, and the da

bate or refusal. My heart sank, my mind racing with thoughts of what this could mean. What did the King want with us? Had we done som

The thought sent a chill down my spine, as I realized that we were at the mercy of the King's whims. I had no choice but to comply, to follow

ust like you buried my husband?" I barked at them, my words tumbling out in a torrent of anger and fear. The memory of my husband's disappea

ers who had stayed with us, the neighbors who had come to offer support, and even the children who had been playing in the compound all gathered around, sensing that so

r hand, and that we were at their mercy. I felt a surge of defiance and determination, knowing that I had to protect my children and m

h a mixture of concern and confusion, his eyes scanning the scene be

, they work with the King," I spat out the words, my anger and bitterness boiling over. "They buried my husband alive two days ago, just because he preached th

age. The guards, however, remained unmoved, their faces still impassive, their eyes still cold

hem silence us like they silenced my husband! We will not be intimidated, we will not be defeated!" I cried out, my words e

der. And then, the rest of them started turning and looking at each other, their faces filled with conf

tell your King that you met some believers of God here, and they told you people that you can't leav

th fear and anxiety, began to slow down, my breathing becoming more steady. I felt a sense of gratitude towards thi

rked a sense of courage and defiance in the crowd, and they began to murmur their agreement, their voices rising in a chorus of support. "Yes, tell the King that we won't let them take

ng, his eyes gleaming with a sinister intent. He approached us, his hand reaching out to grab my arm, his grip like a vice. But I was not going t

es set with determination, their voices raised in protest. "You can't take them away!" they shouted, their fists shaking wi

withdrew, their faces pale with fear. And then, we saw him - the Pastor, standing tall and proud, his eyes shining with a fierce determination

hought we'd lost you too!" The Pastor's face softened, his eyes filled with compassion. "I had to travel out of town to report the case," he explained, his voice calm and steady. "I had

cont