Destiny
This is an awful story I wrote a little less than a year ago. I was not happy with it at the time because I felt that I could do so much better. So I had commenced to write another story relative to it, but I never had the time to finish the second edition (maybe one day).
Ivan Murphy jumped. For a few seconds he fell through the humid air over the small island on the coast of the Philippines, the inhabitants infamous for their cannibalism. Ivan grabbed the tab on his parachute and felt his body suddenly jerk back. As he flitted through the air, descending, he realized he had reached his destiny. Ever since he was a boy, he had longed to share the gospel with these people who only knew war. To share with them the light of Jesus Christ, just as his favorite missionary hero John Paton did.
He was finally getting close enough to make out the shapes of trees. Ivan scanned the area for people. About thirty feet from the ground, he saw what he was looking for. Natives. But they didn’t look so happy to see him.
The plentiful surroundings hid most of the natives from his sight. Brush and coconut trees were prominent, along with bamboo.
“Hello! Hello, my friends!” He eagerly waved to them, thinking how strange it would be if he were the one to see a white stranger falling from the sky. He hoped it wouldn’t confuse them, but it was the only way to arrive here, for no one dared to take him by sea, lest they die also. The natives edged closer to the opening, with pernicious stares on their faces.
Once he landed on the ground, the parachute enveloped him, so he couldn’t see what was happening, but soon he found out as sharp spears began to poke him. He quickly retreated from the coverage. The cannibals were closing in on him.
“Hello!” He smiled toward them. They continued to watch him stoically. One barked an order in a strange tongue, and the rest started to prod Ivan with their spears.
Ivan tried to take in the area, but he noticed little but the greenery, and the back of the native in front of him. Hopefully, they would take him to the village to show him to the chief. That would be good, because then he could share with them the gospel of Christ somehow, he might even be able to stay for a while. Maybe they wouldn’t eat him, just yet. He just wanted to make some sort of impact.
To Ivan’s surprise he was led to a small cottage and tossed inside. No meeting with the chief or nothing. Just encaged in a dark cottage. Strange.
When no one came to get him, Ivan found himself praying. He prayed and prayed. Eventually it was dark, and slumber fell upon him.
Suddenly he was nudged awake. A little child was next to him, talking to him in another language. The child had huge scars on his small face, which told stories of suffering. His eyes seemed to plead with Ivan. But there was nothing Ivan could do. So, he reached his hand and placed it on the boy’s shoulder and began to pray.
During his prayer, he was startled when the door was pushed open. Four men rushed in and took him by the shoulders. Ivan gave one glance to the boy, until he was taken away.
Music and chanting swarmed all around, and soon Ivan realized that he was what they were so excited about. They were about to kill him.
He looked back and saw the boy. Perhaps his death wouldn’t be all in vain. Maybe one boy had been touched.
