The Wrath of Death Part 3: Extract from the Novel (Empty Tomb by Rudo Muzondo) based on Ginimbi
No amount of wailing could cajole what had happened, it was irrevocable. The wind sighed softly and wailed as though it were shattered by the same tragedy. A few melancholy birds were pipping and wailing at the same rhythm as the winds. A hysteria of agonizing weeping and crescendos of tortured sobs that came from the crowd developed into a strange harmony of sadness.
Ginimbi noticed that he could move at the speed of a thought. His soul moved in the crowd from friend to friend, from one family member to another. He desperately tried to talk to them but the silver cord that connects the spirit of man to the body had been cut. His soul wandered around the crowd in unpardonable bitter anguish.
The thick smoke of the burning car obliterated the crowd. Blue lights ablaze, Ginimbi saw a police van that looked like a repurposed plumber’s van. Behind it, was a thirsty fire brigade car that looked as hopeless as the tragedy. There was nothing to quench anymore. All they could do was to put water on the lifeless bodies that were as unrecognizable as the Rolls Royce Wraith. The reeking smell of dead bodies and burnt tires was death to the nostrils. The atmosphere was pervaded and punctuated with stench, grief and despair.
He couldn’t stand seeing his body being put in a police metal coffin. His dignity was vandalized, his ego assaulted and his shame immortalized. Floating above the metal coffin, he followed his body to the mortuary. The mortuary walls were painted ghostly brown, the chairs were old and rustic. Everything seemed to have been designed to remind visitors of the wrath of death. The mortician had haunted eyes, cold gaunt look, his tightly pursed lips resembled a corpse. It was clear, he had interacted with too many dead bodies for long hence the resemblance.
The air conditioner whirled softly as if in silent mourning of the dead. Ginimbi stood by his body and he looked at it with somberness and terror. He tried to touch the body but his hands went through it. He realized he could pass through walls and objects. He was slumped in deep dejection. In and out of the mortuary, his soul sobbed in dire need for a second chance. He made many attempts to go back in his body and failed. That was the moment he truly understood how mortal and powerless he was before death.
His soul drifted from one place to another, hearing every conversation from his family and friends. Some remarks from his family broke his soul , they were like a mirage of a road to hell. He wished he didn’t hear the cold bitter piercing words.
The day of the burial, people from different walks of life flooded the streets and gathered in thousands to mourn their ‘national hero singing, “Mbinga Mbinga Mbinga.”
Ginimbi was a genius of sorrow, immersing himself in it, separating its strands, smoldering in its subtle nuances. The measure of sorrow weighed mightily on his soul, heavy was the grievous burden.
He knew the death angel was coming to collect his soul and there was nothing he could do about it.
He leaned forward, looking inside his already dugout grave. With every sob, he let out a low whimper that came from the core of his soul.
His coffin was a designer, imported and probably the most expensive anyone in Africa had ever been buried in. It didn’t matter to him, he didn’t care. All he wanted was his life back. He wanted nothing but to live again. He wanted life more than anything else, more than all the riches he had. Given a chance, he was willing to trade all his riches for just another chance to live again. The money couldn’t save him. It was all worthless, just vanity.
He remembered the notion, ‘No man is rich enough to buy life.’
He watched his distraught family and friends pay their last respects, giving speeches and body viewing. A million words could not bring him back neither a million tears.
He watched his body in terror as it was being lowered into the grave, his sorrow was abruptly interrupted by a peculiar whistling. As he turned to check, on his far right he saw the cadaverous death angel grinning coming towards him.
In attempt to escape, Ginimbi was gripped by an unseen force. Trembling, he screamed without a sound.
Thunderous haunting chuckles from the death angel shook the ground he was standing on.
“I am right on time”, it spitefully chuckled.
With a sardonic grin on its face, it sang a chilling nursery rhyme.
“Gi ni…Gi ni…Gi ni…Gi ni… little one It is time to go o, it is time to go o.
It was the creepiest melody Gini had ever heard. Immersing its deathly presence, the graveyard temperature dropped. Drenched in grief, in the blue of the oblivion, nobody got chills.
Surrendering to its intimidation, Ginimbi realized that death wasn’t the worst thing but a tormented immortal soul was.
His soul whimpered and begged the death angel, “let me be gone, let me die and perish with my body”.
Moving closer to Ginimbi the death angel spitefully whispered,
“The ‘gods’ threw a dice and I played chess. You never died, it was an illusion neither were you buried”.
In shocked stillness, Ginimbi was tongue tied.
“In that grave is a stray dog that I magically transformed into your image. I temporarily separated your soul from your body, your body is awaiting you, it will reunite with your soul soon. You will live but not in this world anymore. Your spirit and body have crossed over and are captured in the pandemonium world. My world.”
In disbelief, Ginimbi remained frozen. Even words deserted him.
“The problem with you humans is that you are ignorant of things of the spirit. You lack spiritual eyes, you have eyes but you do not see.
Had you only called the name of the son of your creator, you would have survived. Had anyone offered a prayer the first few minutes of the accident, you would have been saved. I wouldn’t have been able to capture you. You were given grace, you were taken out of the car alive and I only took your soul a few minutes later. Had you said a prayer, you wouldn’t have died unless if it was the will of your creator. If it was the will of your creator to die, he would have taken your soul himself.
I can only reap souls through magically staged death.
Proudly, It adjusted its phycophomp .
“I have my agents everywhere, humans who practice magic and mysticism. I work with sorcerous, witch doctors, witches, wizards, occultists, fetish priests and high level warlocks. They are the ones who brought about your accident. Your enemies, who were jealous of your success are the ones who consulted my agents to get you off the face of the earth. Man’s evil prying calls us to this realm.
You gave us legality through vanity, and fornication. We can only operate through sin, we look for weaknesses and we strike. Even so, you humans carry grace, it’s not always a win. Oftentimes you are shielded by the grace of your creator. Your creator hates sin but he still loves the sinner. Even when you are in sin, it’s not always easy to reap souls. We have been hunting you for some time but we couldn’t, grace was sufficient and it saved you. Every human receives a certain measure of grace from your creator. I am a predator, I look for the ones who have fallen out of grace. I roam around earth looking for who I can devour.”
Proudly, It winked sardonically at Gini.
“Had you only paid attention to the horrific dream you had, you would have been able to cancel the accident in spiritual realm before it manifested in the physical. You put your faith in your Rolls Royce Wraith for security instead of putting your faith in your creator. A little prayer would have saved you. Everything happens in the spirit realm first before it happens in the physical. Whatever has been canceled in prayer will not manifest unless if it is the will of your creator. You maybe wondering how I know all these things about your creator. I am a Nephilim, a brood of a fallen angel, senior demon, a principality, a brood of a viper.
I am a serpent, I am sleek and I slither, deceive, possess, kill, steal and I destroy.
I am a soul reaper.
I harvest souls and make them captives and I slave those whom I capture. You will work for me as from now on.”
It looked down as if it was seeking council from its own shadow.
“We are crossing over to the other world now. Let’s go my guy”.
Jelly kneeled, Ginimbi crushed like the last snowball of a dead winter.
The angel of death made a signal and the ghastly gleam ancient Raven appeared. It acted submissively just as the stern decorum of the countenance it wore.
Terror stole his words, a nameless dread engulfed Ginimbi.
A certain commanding force pulled him and he found himself on the raven. In a state of hypnosis, he involuntarily held on to the angel of death.
In an eerily voice, “Where we are going, you will seek death but you will not find it, you will long to die but death will elude you. Be afraid Ginimbi, be afraid.”
Terror stricken, Ginimbi heard a high pitched hysteria scream but he didn’t even realize it was his own.
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