God is making you feel like a worthless being… by Olude Peter Sunday | Fiction | PAROUSIA Magazine

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  God is making you feel like a worthless being…

        “You heard him vividly saying, you knew you were a sinner looking for a way out, you knew the way. But that your sins are just too lovely for you to suppress them immersed into many prayers and all gone. You hate and love them, despise and didn’t rebuke them. But seriously you wanta let it go. And he nailed your mouth becoming too heavy whenever you try seeking for this free forgiveness, to tease that Matthew 77 guy close to you to help you go to God in persistency, knocks and the likes like faith and cleansing, but it won’t do. Like those sins were sweet, like lotions of lollipops in the throats of three years toddlers. And now, the only prayer you could seek and blow like plain candles, blows them to God light and loose is only that He should break your heart watery. So you might be so sober and powerless enough to not imbibe on iniquity and give up all for him. Powerless of all guilt and weak of those former conscience, but he tells you he isn’t concerned that all he cares about is his calibre of now and ancient ordinance, just more than your logics of repentance. And without you breaking those stony things off you, purposefully, you are hell for good”.

          You kept on the hearing mood, gazing untake-away from his moving lips, not surprised since from the looks of him, you knew he was spiritually filled, though, having this feeling like he understands nothing on this matter. You never heard him speak about addiction not to leave at all, but  still, you were listening good. Perhaps because like David, you dare not snub his servant. He paused. You coughed, and he continued.

        He says that is what he heard from the Lord yesternight of you. And also that you are always ashamed of raising up your hands among the congregation when  he orders those who are ready to yield up all for Christ to do so”.

 “Hmmn”. You heaved your deepest sigh of relieve ever, and made to talk, he speaks ahead.

         “Em, Bro Gbope. The world had over powered you. They had planted these things you do think are sweet in your veins. You have to cast it away once and forget them if you know you need peace. It’s not like God is wicked, but you have to make a decision for yourself as a human. A willful repentance. Does it seems hard to do among the congregation right there, so here is here for you. Just release your heart off those fleshy things. The greatest of all joy is found in the spirit. But that which is of God. You can see us an ample sample, so, look on us! As Paul said. Are you ready to give him all of your heart?”

          Now, your heart are in disarray, and you laugh within, soliloquising, you begin to think like a fish.

     “Is this how easy for a mad man to see himself? Does he knows a mad man loves his beauty to a point? And if my bird perhaps flies today in repentance, won’t its colourful wings be cut off the other day?” How come it isn’t so possible to serve two masters? Why can’t God turn our hearts unconscious of our sins before a day’s next morning?” This went on inside of you and uncomfortable, you were like if this man of God could answer this  questions to your pleasure, this is how your sickness for years would have been healed”.

      And then, it’s not like you wanted to surrender here, though you wanted to, but still, you are one way cleaved to that part you called enjoyment. knowing well you detest disappointing, especially this true-talk revelation, you gave way to fake a salvation. Feeling sober and didn’t, You say, Sir, you are ready. It’s the work of the enemy, you’ve been caged for so long and all that. He told you to just repeat after him with all hearts surrendered. Just as he got to that sensitive part, “wash all your guilt away”, you could feel every part of you run cold just as those feelings adapted by a dead man from the grave. You repeated with a half heart, the other pulling the initial half heretofore. Just in time, you pulled your whole self to your domain, your comfort zone. Even there, your organ was already itching. And, you would have shut him up despite the agreement in the first place. You wondered if this is where you started loving disappointment. Or, a rebellious you.

             Many things are still loaded there on the forefront of your mind trying to solve them on the road, resolving that since that was your second day attending the church and no member knew your location already, you are quitting. Almost smacking your head on a stagnant vehicle a step further, you realized you weren’t really alive. A fair grown up lady in a woolly blue cardigan and a black jean chuckled adjacent you, and as you sent a scornful gaze at her out of burning contempt, she walked fast. You wondered if an hotplate had been slipped under her foot all of a sudden. She even staggered upon a pile of rubbish beside the road.

        But you just attended this church yesterday, and he contacted you today there is a serious discussion and said what God said, you were brooding.

Well, since you left home after your freedom as a certified printing press artist, who only forwards money to your parents account to assisting your siblings and checking on them monthly. Being twenty  years old, you thought money wasn’t your problem, claimed your freedom and left home to living  alone.

           You forgot you have to be responsible for your admonition and guidance in this paths you are deteriorating in. You forgot you have to be accountable to moulding and mothering yourself, furthering and fathering your soul. This question you just threw like a bombshell to your own heart if you are at a crossroad? You left unprepared. You just realized.

          A few steps to make a turn to your habitat, someone touched you, and  the scales in your eyes faded, he came clear, it was Badmus. Dog’s head by nickname. The most dullest boy in class, your secondary school days. He was circumcised in the name of akin things to dunce like being slow as well, during  a Christian religious studies lecture by a bully and it spread wings. You looked him down, he had grown so tall and huge. Neatly dressed in a carnival-like cream top with black snake patterns and a yahoo-like trousers fastened with a designer rope. You see he is much okay. He told you many things. He was married. You heard him talk about having a black boy, white girl. He ventured into carpentry and now a boss of himself like you. He was vomiting foul languages like I swear to God, those crazy ladies back then were mad for my likening, and that he no sabi God for now. You could one more time feel your organs itch like you were already working on them. You heaved a big sick blue sigh from a heavy heart. He asks about you, you couldn’t say much. You are fine, you are well, you are good. Exchanging contacts and leaving bouncing in a stylistic striding manner they called fads, you watch. It is not a new thing anyway, you just nod him to yourself he is a child of the world. The road is busy, there were  too much horns, mostly from the unserious motorcyclists, which you ever have been wondering if to them was a play, due to their attitudes to striking the horn to make noisy breaking sounds while the way was as free as a bird. The matured ones are the vehicles. They wheeled calmly like saints. You made that last turn home looking weak and then summoned courage, begins striding fast. You wear a look like if thou faintest in the day of adversity thy strength is small.

         There was a lot of kids outside playing hide and seek. One was moulding a castle with his foot, on his face was where you will know what seriousness really means, others were police and thieves, some played on the pavement. You tinted a laugh, knowing what a demon you became of rehearsing that daddy and mummy stuffs at your kidding days, seeing two bairn, the son of mama Lasisi and Àdùnní the daughter of Ì̀yá Eléso riding themselves at one corner. ‘These children yaff sick o”. You wrought an aside. The only language those acting kids said too much there, was ‘let us say’. But you smiled at technology, yours was indoor. The hens and chickens were roaming about, bumping their heads into different kinds of spoilt fruits and chopping them endlessly till the thing began jumping up dancing to the tunes of their beaks. A chicken resembles yours, childishly you felt you should chase its rival away to let it eat all. You nursed the thoughts of feeding your hens. Beside the cage, you opened up the block you carved like a house, carried the nylon weighing feeds and released it. You felt since your chickens are matured, you should keep feeding them grower.

          You felt usual and dropped the nylon on the block, dashed in, praising God you met no one on the passage. Sometimes the passage was a home of terror. You would think of going out until the commotion subsides. But well, you also know a face-me-slap-you house is like a brawling woman, always said to be full of strive. The scripture says ‘it is better to dwell in the corner of an housetop than with a brawling woman. You knew your housetop will soon arrive, a mansion. But children keep arousing wars for their parents.                                            You opened the door, your room being the last at the left. The first thing you did was sink in bed, you switch on your data and as if someone would hear these words, you say softly, okay Google XXX. You pray Google suspends this site someday and see no choice on you.

             That is why you love and hate them, despise and didn’t rebuke them. Like an upthrust being defined as the upward force totally immersed in a liquid. But now you became both immersed and displaced in iniquity. The lady’s sound was ouch and erotic. So, to be lust and unfound, you dipped in the pin mouth-like chord in your phone and fix your headphone lightly on your head, for moans alignment with actions.

          Now you knew everything around your body were changing with these sounds they were making. You were with them, like begging the man to seriously make you go a round, feeling you could imitate the part where the female spreads up her legs apart and receiving tremendously beneath what is not, later changing to the position of which she tightened her pumped fleshy-apple. Receiving it still. Just in a rush. But safely and surely, surely, yes, surely. Yes! You knew she likes the faster mood, she shouted ‘faster! Go!’ He went deeper. But your problem is that you do too, and you love that word. You sure have no lies about that, except need be for you to deceive someone else, who knows nothing of these thoughts you are deep into. Most of her big body part shakes in the continuous state, from hard simultaneous ejaculation and is moaning into another world, he reaches the orgasm by removing his piece, she shouted ‘Ah! It was slow. You dropped the phone. Signifies a time to play on your organ. Though you knew all the tonic sol-fa that would finally go with it. And it’s been nine months since you began plugging the adapter overconfidently, in it the tunes they perpetually moan along with, everyday. Getting wet in practice is not a new thing. Practice makes perfect, this is devilish perfection and you knew too well than no one.  You entered the bathroom and begin iniquity. You were sweating profusely, picturing things, you wonder where you can fuel seven hells, and give this fire in your body something light. So you flashed back thinking of your classmate that was beautiful with figure eight, short with endowment, the popped out back of your immediate sister who wears fluorescent dresses, and carries, the candy mouth of the prostitute who forwarded her nude to you on hangout and promised to suck you so well someday. You felt it would feel better riding it through them. You displaced your usual fluid, trying to play again, but was broken, shedding tears went sinking back on the bed. Someone told you the only way is salvation and early this morning it was like that’s it really.

         Bob Dylan was singing, it sang again. You took up the phone and realized there was a missed call already. You never heard that, you wonder. You picked up. It was your girlfriend. She was saying you need to talk, you asked about what. She said you’ve stopped calling her, and she was worried about you. You calmed her down, you need a time for yourself. It’s not that she is forgotten of you. She said okay, called you baby, saying she loves you, she really do. You took the emotion from there, replied just vividly, you do too. Your mood couldn’t blush, but your libido was lust. Lost. You wonder who on earth would repair your hormones set ablaze by circumstance. You lost its control last year while you fell into the deeper part of the relationship. Maybe it demands a long time commitment which you want to loose now on holiness neck. She had demanded sex, she said she confide in you, but you were buying time. You felt breaking up, but how dare you  know of what to begin about such presentation. Your mistake was folly, why you went into something this demanding. Tears were running down freely like mild waterfalls on you, and suddenly it was like a loosed sea, you burst out uncontrollably.

        You visited the backyard’s bush and shouted there like Korean actors, releasing a bit of your HBP.

Turning back inside, on your bed, loneliness dried down your throat, so you felt opening your books might help. Though you knew your unseriousness after your freedom and customers were flowing and bringing you the types of boodle you actually wanted. You left the thoughts of furthering your education. You felt okay, despite how brilliant you were back in school, being the social prefect.

       Scaling the books you arranged alphabetically on top of the green trolley, you saw Jake Taper’s the hell fire club, got mad at yourself for seeing that. You drove out the poetry chapbook beneath. A book you got from an outing, back in your school days. The small bag was popping out its head, you pulled it deep inside knowing eighty thousand naira is not a money to joke about. What you had contributed for almost a year. You collected it whole yesterday. Flipping over faster, stopped at affliction II by George Herbert, you flipped once more and began to read. The title up there was ‘Sighs and Groans’ still by George Herbert. But you read aloud as if you were expecting a visitor who was going to reprimand you for reading silently upon his arrival.

            “O do not use me

   After my sins! look not on my                      dessert,

But on your glory! Then you will reform

And not refuse me: for you only art

The mighty God, but I a silly worm;

O do not bruise me!

O do not urge me!

For what account can your ill steward make?

I have abused your stock, destroyed your woods,

Sucked all your storehouses: my head did ache,

Till it found out how to consume your goods:

O do not scourge me!

          O do not blind me!

I have deserved that an Egyptian night

Should thicken all my powers; because my lust

Has still sewed fig-leaves to exclude your light:

But I am frailty, and already dust;

O do not grind me!

O do not fill me

With the turned vial of your bitter

wrath!

For you have other vessels full of blood,

A part whereof my Savior emptied hath,

Even unto death: since he died for my good,

O do not kill me!

But oh reprie…..

        You never knew this is how you would doze off”.

And now, you were dreaming early. Wondering how you got deep into the clouds. Wandering, an Angel came in sight. He says young man bring your hands, you gave and you couldn’t fathom how a seconds fly would land you both somewhere close to hell. Even a rocket couldn’t be faster. It was like a Barry Amen late for an interview.

            “Oh nooooo! You shouted feeling the fiery heats from the helm of the flame. “How close could it burn a soul into ashes?” You asked the Angel. Immediately, he pointed his hands up, a strong iron as thick as 20 mm formed from no where. It fell just ten steps in your front and burned into no sight, you couldn’t behold its ashes. You began to quake. The angel dipped a finger into one of your ears and you began hearing horrible sounds of men.

         “Yeh! My bodies are almost burned all, yeh! Save me! The worms are big under me! Let these scorpions not remove my last teeth! Oh! Aaah!” One said.

     “What have I done! Why have I gave in to resolving here! How can my back get a second relieve! No! Help! This is hell! This fire is more than burning me, I’m a dead life, oh! What cost me to have pray forgiveness! Another wailed. Everybody there was agonizing.

         You said these are too much, this ground is not what humans could bear, you moved back. You were sweating profusely, shedding tears freely, and a part of your skin is shedding. Back on earth, only Caro white could make a skin look that way at a first shed. You moved back. He said nothing. You went silent, knowing what that means. You wonder why you would be so silly, to think it is hard to repent. And you were limited by salvation. Why would you secure this kind of room for yourself for a pleasure, a relationship that would never last, and you knew. You heard those screams again and felt it can’t be you who would make this place a permanent domain some day. Your imagination was ablaze. You likened the eternal pains to a hole, looking into an imaginary hole, and it never ends, the hole went deeper and deeper till you were broken in the agonies of imagination. How will such be everlasting, where you gnash and lament your very deed. Being punished for what you thought was right would have been painful more. You realized it is not okay to spin on, what one would regret not so long at all. You beckoned on him to take you back. You want to cry back on your bed, wail all you could weep in there on earthly room, and build your heaven from there with repentance.

        He threw you back into your sleep, but as you made to open an eye, what you heard last in your ears was a silent gun shut, and a faded voice, “bull shit of you! The money is under here”, and your very last breath. You saw yourself back in the clouds and everything around you came vivid and clear. Your head was swelling. The initial cloudy space was narrow, but this was broad and wide. A demon appeared chuckling devilishly, says “welcome sweetheart, you finally make it. It is not easy. You fainted.  You woke up in the midst of your final doom, he asks, “is it your fainting?”

Olude Peter Sunday

Biography:

Olude Peter Sunday is a Pencil artist, Writer and Poet. He hails from Ogun State. Nigeria. He had written diverse strong evoking modern poesy on passion, cultures, natures and others. His poems give sighing messages and calmness a cure. View one of his featured haikus in madswirl. He lies in a silent cave at his leisure permutating rubiks and sketching deep inks of fine chiaroscuros. Meet him on Instagram and tweeter as Olude S. Peter. To contact, 0906 729 7833. His email remains oludepeter@yahoo.com