The slender and heavy-bearded prophet stared curiously at me while I knelt before him. The furrows on his bony face frightened me greatly, for I had never seen such a tall and bony man.
My mother had brought me to this queer prayer house because I had formed a habit of talking in my sleep. She said a demon had possessed me, so I needed deliverance.
"Son, I see Death hovering over your little head." The prophet placed his hands upon my head when he had finished his long prayers. "You have less than six months to live. Son, you sit on the thin fence between life and death."
"Jesus," my mother screamed and burst into tears. "Save me prophet. Save my only son!"
I became furious when I heard these words, so I rose to my feet and left the prayer room. Although my mother, who had become terrified, screamed my name, I didn't listen. I knew that the prophet was a liar. And I was right. I clocked ninety yesterday.
Image sourced from Pixabay
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I love it....
I was suspicious when Mom first brought him to be exorcised of whatever demon had him talking in his sleep. Didn't expect the "six months to live" prophecy - or the wisdom of the child in walking away. LOVE the ending!! You are a master of saying much with very few words.
Hahahaha..... This happens in most African homes!!! I'm so happy I can relate😂