"What happened?"
The writer found himself on top of a flat rock, big enough to accommodate three people sleeping in a fetus position. He was, until the sudden loud cries of the two young men beside him cried, full of anguish.
He looked around him. His eyes were big with surprise.
"Where am I?"
He asked himself. The man beside him just looked at him while tears flowed endlessly in his face. The same thing was happening to the other man on this man's right side.
The writer stood up and looked around. He found himself on a mountain high, enough to see the hundreds, no! thousands of people kneeled and cried with their faces on the ground.
Far away near the sea down below them, stands a man shouting. No! Announcing something or had just said something that made the crowd react as such in their deepest anguish.
One thing he noticed, he did not know the place. Besides, all the people around him: men, women, young and old, and children were wearing clothes different from his. He was wearing his usual white shirts and black denim pants. The crowd around him were wearing those kinds of clothes in the earliest time of the world.
He could not understand anything. So he asked the man beside him as he kneeled just like him.
"What happened?"
The man beside him was a young man, almost a boy. Maybe both men were around their twenties.
The young man beside him looked at him, trying to control his tears.
"Moises just died."
He responded to the writer's question, then turned his head to the other man on his side who seemed to be protesting the attention of the man to the writer. They were talking in a different language which the writer could not understand and figure out the origin.
"At least, he understands english."
He felt relief as he said to himself.
The writer gazed his look again to the man talking to the crowd down below them and standing by the seashore.
Once again, curiosity ruled him, so the writer asked another question. The first response to his question was already weird to him. But he knew, Moises is a common name given to Jews.
"Oh! They are Jews!"
He finally realized. He kept it unsaid, but in his mind. His eyes opened wide as deep inside him he was coming to question his presence in an unknown world. He must be dreaming again.
"Am I back to the past?"
He put his hands inside his pants pocket, checking if there was any pen in there. Nothing. Strange to him. Slowly the two men beside him started to pick up their things while putting themselves to their feet.
"Why? Where are you going?"
The man pointed a finger towards the sea.
"To follow him."
He meant the man standing by the sea who had been talking to the crowd. He was not carrying a loud microphone or something, but the thousands of people so far away could hear him speaking in their language. Strange to the writer, but it was also strange he was with them.
"Who is he?"
He dared to ask. As long as the man beside him would respond, he rather take the chance to satisfy his curiosity.
"Our new leader, Joshua."
Then both young men left him as the crowd was starting to walk again towards the sea.
The writer could not do anything else but to do the same like the rest.
As he moved himself, he was thankful he was wearing his best rubber shoes as he observed the others were in their leather sling sandals and some even barefooted.
"Is that possible?"
He asked himself. But he was cut by another sound coming from the crowd. This time he heard amazement and reactions of worship as they raised both hands to the air looking up the sky.
The writer followed the crowd's look.
The water of the sea in front of them was dividing itself, as the man leading them raised his arms to the air and in one hand holding a long stick? or a rod? He could not be sure.
His eyes became big, wide opened too with what he was witnessing. He could not take his eyes off them anymore.
The sea water became two walls held on both sides, exposing the bottom of the sea while the crowd was crossing it to reach the other side.
"Jordan River!"
He shouted loud as he remembered something. His eyes and mind were suddenly enlightened. He could not help but close his eyes and worship as well.
"Oh God! You are truly amazing!"
Then he opened his eyes. He found himself out of the old times. He was back to his reality. His reality? He asked himself.
He was seated in his chair, on his writing table his pen holder with the pen on it in the middle, and blank papers in front of him. Strange to him, there wasn't a story written this time as it used to happen before. He searched the other piles of papers. None.
He looked at the Pen.
"You did not write?"
His question was made with amusement. Then, as if to get his answer, his eyes were guided to an open book beside the right side of the pen.
He reached for it.
"Joshua."
He looked at the book cover.
"Holy Bible"
The writer shook his head and smiled.
"Got what you mean. You guessed it right. I am interested to know Joshua. Thank you."
Then the writer seated himself comfortably and read his journey with the people of Israel, following the leadership of Joshua.
Check for more: Tap below
(c) bbayonito20/bethbciar
