Read Also: False gods #7
Chapter 8 : The Good Witch (Finale)
“Son, the greatest trick the Devil pulled was convincing the world there was only one of him.”
– David Wong
My soul was pierced and I contemplated taking the easy way out. Death seemed to be the only possible end to this misery, at least I’d find peace. Peace is the assumed condition of the immediate afterlife; it’s not like there are witnesses to testify to the serenity that death brings. I mean for all I know, it might even be worse than this pot of beans life. Personally, I fear that I’m going straight to hell where a mob of demons will chase my squalid soul up and down hot corridors as punishment for my reckless ways and twitter feeds. I used to dream this. I teared up as I took the first snort, giving way to a heavy heave as I stared at the dozen scoops of cocaine I intended to die by; the voices in my head had suggested that I end my life on a “high”.
It seemed like taking my life was going to get me God’s attention faster than my prayers would. Nkem’s death ached me but I had no remorse for my ungodly ways. Deep down, I blamed God. I wouldn’t have known Winnerman if God hadn’t handed me such a difficult life, yet he punishes me for a crime he set me up to commit. I’m the real victim here, a lowly pawn in the celestial chess game. They say he’s full of mercy and compassion, another cosmic lie! What a wretched man I am to have believed in Him. I took another snort; the reaper was in the room now.
The March sun shone brightly through my closed windows. Today made it exactly one week since Nkem’s death. I’ve been shut up in my apartment since my meeting with Winnerman. I tried calling several times and got no response. Yuwa no longer picked my calls too; I was all alone, I had no friends. Winnerman was my life, I had built my entire existence around him for over a year now. My family warned me about him and I refuted their “false” allegations.
“You people believe everything you read? Have sense na”, I used to say.
They didn’t want anything with me anymore. Asari you are done! Who was going to save me? Am I redeemable? Am I even worth saving? These questions and more flashed through my already occupied mind. The police trail was soon to catch up with me. Thank God for cocaine, it was time to binge on the powder and leave this miserable life. As I stared at the ceiling still revelling in my ‘high’, a call came in. It was a woman’s voice. She sounded familiar even though she tried to distort her voice, I knew I knew this person:
“Are you still ready to take Pastor down?”
“Who is this?”
“Turn on your TV now, it has started”
There it was, censored pictures of Winnerman and Nkem doing the most without clothes, and the caption read “Pastor Allegedly Murders Mistress in Bloody Rage”. The call had ended as I still was rooted to the ground. “Who is watching over me?” I asked myself. The presenter continued her address, “the tarty Winnerman is said to have absconded the police this morning when they visited his palatial residence”. Winnerman on the run? This cocaine must be really good, for it simply cannot be. Just then a message came in, it was Yuwa:
“Asari, I’m outside, open the gate”
I tucked my curtain to look at him and my estate gateman argued loudly, then in a rush of wind, a van filled with policemen came up behind and whisked him away. Another message came in as I felt blood flush up to my head and I was still trying to discern whether my reality was real.
“Asari, come outside”, the message read.
A Tinted glass SUV was parked and Pastor’s driver came out and opened the back door for me, to my amazement it was Pastor Winnerman’s wife. It then dawned on me that she was the voice on the phone, inexplicable!!!
What was the connection between Mrs Winnerman and Nkem? How did she get those photos? I wondered. She must have noticed my agitation. She replied:
“Asari, I can see you have a lot of questions. I can’t say I have all the answers but just be content to know that Nkem sent me those pictures the day she was murdered. Honestly, I didn’t expose my husband because of your obvious helplessness. I did it because the love of God compels me. You’re free to live your life and serve your God.”
“Thank you!”
My head swirled in surging perplexity as I alighted from her vehicle. I can’t remember how I got back to my apartment. One thing I remember was the question on my mind – how can God love me? I laid in my bed for several hours, sobbing uncontrollably into my pillow. The tears dripped from my eyes like water from a burst dam. The walls that hold me up… Brick by brick, they collapsed.
I could feel His warmth all around me. I could not explain this love. The longing for the eternal that I drowned in drugs, sex and alcohol was restored. It was a bittersweet feeling. I knew something had changed in me. It was never too late for me.
My question was – Does your love reach this far, God? And if it extends to heaven and beyond… why can’t it seem to find me?
His answer: “I, the Lord, made you, and I will not forget you. I have swept away your sins like a cloud. I have scattered your offences like the morning mist. Oh, return to me, for I have paid the price to set you free.” – Isaiah 44: 21, 22
Young, obviously talented. LOL! A depot of weird ideas… Honestly, sometimes, I scare myself. Unstoppable and Indefatigable. My hunger for God, INSATIABLE!!!
