That night, you had just arrived from the city. A hero, you displayed to all villagers. You were praised. Your name was on the lips of everyone; from the smallest to the greatest.

Why?

You had bribed them all. You bought their hearts with petty things which the villagers valued more than anything else. You even promised to do more when visiting next time.

These made them hail you. Your name. This made them sing your praises.

You didn't stop right there: the church became your next target after you had outdone yourself at the marketplace.

Dressed with a well tailored, ironed black suit, a white bow tie and a white shoe to match, you grappled your car keys from your desk and moved right to where your Volkswagen model car was parked.

Eventually, you arrived at the local cathedral. You alighted from your car and the sight of the people made you scrunched your nose in utter disgust.

They- the villagers, despite dressed in their best attires, still looked scruffy, unkempt and malnourished.

" What the hell?" you muttered and hit the door of your latest car in annoyance. Indeed, the sight made you want to puke somewhere.

The church cathedral was full to the brim. You located an unoccupied pew at the extreme and sat upon it.

The priest or Father, after seeing that the Black Englishman from the city had arrived and was seated at the last pew, he took it upon himself to call you out.

He- the Father, sent some members that sat at the first roll to move back and locate a seat for themselves while you were led by thousands of ushers to the front seat.

He said: " Mr Aka, our only Englishman from the city is here! You all should stand up and welcome this mighty man of valor. The one who does not hold back his hand...

That was when the praises began. You, in your fullness and powerful aura that surrounded you, kept on nodding your head and beaming in foolishness.

He continued: " The one who spends like there is no other day. The one who is highly lifted and esteemed by God. The one who...

You stood from your seat! You unzipped the briefcase and glittery, clean, new bundles of notes were seen.

The choir sang more. The priest didn't stop what he was doing even though he had repeated same words, many times.

The congregation were no longer singing for God but for the money. The bundles notes gave them, bundles of joy.

Everyone hurried to the front roll in order to partake of the "blue moon blessings" that had appeared before them that day.

Some ladies made sure their cleavages were revealed in provoking manner. They sucked their lower lips and winked at you as you walked to the altar.

The priest left the microphone for you even before you asked for it.

To be continued...

Blenn Dan

I am available for any ghostwriting gigs.

I write on all genres of fiction.

Romance.

Fantasy.

Suspense.

Thriller.


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Email: blessingchurch 082@gmail.com

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