Come Hell or High WaterA Story by Sami KhalilSuch is life. Bad things do happen to good people.
Come Hell or High Water By Sami Khalil They would leave on a ferry to reach their destination. A congregation of local Baptists, had found the perfect spot to do lapping baptisms, in the bayous of Louisiana. Onlookers could see seagulls speedily dip and dive, catching some fish, crickets chirping and frogs hopping from spot to spot, in this “Sportsman’s Paradise.” There were many rumors of downstream colonies of gators, but not where they were. After singing joyful noises to the Lord, an itinerate preacher, who came from Mississippi, would pray, then baptize the flock to whoever’s needed. It gave them indescribable feelings of joy, keen not on forgetting God’s blessings. Then he would deliver a feisty sermon on hell and brimstones. Even the bayou witches, like the famed Marie Leveau, could not escape that wrath. One day, an unfortunate incident happened that changed the course of the conversation. It was storming hard that day, rain pattering faces, turning the water muddier and muddier, limbs ripped by heavy winds. Some minds wondered from peace to anxiety. The inviting place became hostile. An alligator sneaked up on them, biting the preacher, dragging him to the abyss, suffocating the poor soul on the way to no avail. That picture spoke a thousand words, tucked away in sad truths. Distressed, attesting to the viciousness of gators, the congregation saw signs of revenge on their suffering souls. With blood pumping, boiling in the veins, some adult hunters, came back in small boats, hunting and killing every gator found in the narrow channels. If salvation is near for the believers, damnation is nearer for the reptiles.” Be fruitful and multiply,” was for humans only, not them. These dangerous muddy waters are fiddling with fury. They cleansed the swamps finally, playing to the drums of victory under the silvery moon. Even the local newspaper reported that victory. Safety has returned. So, the congregation went back to their honored ritual, after great patience and cowering. The sun was bright, soothing winds scattering Southern comforts, jazzy themes playing mind tricks when a new chosen preacher was mocking death, preaching the baptism of the living, invoking the Spirit of God. Then a shadow of a crop-duster appeared roaming above their heads, with signs of distress. It crashed into them, shattering to pieces, killing them instantly. No one could bail them out. It was a death by misadventure as the local paper stated all over.
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Added on June 7, 2018Last Updated on July 13, 2018 |



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