MARTYR CHILDREN. Pt. 2

In spite of their hunger, the lions stalk their prey, and take their sweet time in approaching the small band of people with the newly coined title of ‘Christians.’ In the meantime, these six or seven soon to be martyrs kneel together in a close-knit group, left and right arms resting on the shoulders of those immediately beside them.

Near about 70 years of age, and having lived decades longer than the average in my day, my eyes are not what they were, and I strain to see the scenario playing itself out far below me.

And then I see them.

…children!

There are two children among the small clutch of people in the center of the arena. One is a boy of perhaps 12. The other a girl of 9 or 10. And what once seemed like such a lively sport to me has suddenly “come home to roost.” I have several grandchildren this age. A swell of nausea overcomes me, and I have the compulsion to leave, but what is playing out on the field is far too compelling for me to just walk away.

I feel something arising within me, and I realize it is an unspoken audible which I find impossible to verbalize.

“Stop! Quit! Desist! Don’t you see what you are doing?”

(and)

“For God’s sakes, these are children!”

Now, one woman, almost oblivious to the nearness of the fearsome felines, seems to be involved in a heated exchange with a man I presume to be her husband. And though I cannot hear her voice, it occurs to me that she is overwhelmed with the thought of her children dying the most savage deaths to which anyone could possibly succumb.

*To be continued



by William McDonald, PhD. Excerpt from (Mc)Donald's Daily Diary. Vol. 70. Copyright pending

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