Page 101 - full

100 Amit Bobrov
“I have died, Boyo,” he began darkly. “I died and came back
to life. There’s no doubt about it. A blade pierced my flesh and

as sure as heaven, I remember myself lying in a pool of blood.
Then ...” he paused.
“Then what?” I asked, looking to the ground, unable to bear
the intensity of his gaze as he spoke those words. “Then an old
man appeared out of nowhere, he just materialized behind
my killer. I listened, trembling in awe and fear as the old man
struck my killer with thunder and lightning, destroying his body
completely. I can see his face even now in my mind, smell the
brimstone and witness the smoke. I thought him a demon and

called out to God with my final ounce of strength. But he healed
my wounds, Boyo — healed them,” Raymond repeated.
“Did he say anything?” I asked, in awe of his story.
“Aye, Boyo. He said unto me the wisest of words,” Raymond
answered and breathed deeply. “He said that angels hide as
common men, watching us, serving justice or mercy as God
sees fit. ‘Why me?’ I asked, and what he told me I cannot repeat

Boyo, though I can admit our meeting was not by chance but
of fate.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, fervently.
“I cannot say,” he replied.
“Well, go on with your story then!” I pleaded. “Please,” I
added.
“On that day I swore my life to Christ, and this is why I was the
only one to return, Boyo,” he said with a far-away look.
“Where was I?” Raymond suddenly asked, as if waking from

a sleep.
“You had bathed in the river,” I said.
“Yes, yes. I had bathed myself then returned home the
second time, seeking my Lianna,” he said and grew silent, his