I stood up and straighten my navy blue shirt and walked with the best posture that I can imagine. I joined the queue as a slim lady on black gown joined this same queue, making me the third person. I unconsciously notice the beautiful stripes on the gown, turning it a school uniform of some sorts. The nose-blocking perfume of the man behind me kept oozing. I had to control myself from leaving the queue. The man, who was on a suit, with a white shirt to match, wore a look of one who just won a lot of money. He was just smiling to no one in particular.
Our church, an L- shaped complex with a golden painting round about every wall, stood majestically in the early morning sun. The first person on the queue had already finished narrating “the Lord doings” in her life and was stepping down from the platform but my mind was somewhere else, though I consciously moved forward with the others. I have waited for years to give this testimony. I have prayed, fasted and read, though nobody seems to believe the reading part.
I tried my best to remain calm, which was difficult in my present situation. I was so lost in thoughts. Who more can I thank if not God, as my pastor, a huge man with a blue suit and sitting not more than a foot from me, will always say whenever he teaches the Word.
The lady before me was called up next. I waited on bated breath for my own opportunity to thank God. I have imagined this moment for years, animating it alone in my room several times.
With the edge of my eye I noticed some members of the congregation whispering to themselves and occasionally nodding towards me. I smiled.
That was the moment I was called. I took a deep breath as I walked up the platform. I have finally gotten my testimony.
This story is in for the Etisalat Flash Fiction Prize. Kindly Open the link and like. Click here to read.