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Previous Challenge Entry (Level 1 – Beginner)
Topic: 24 Hours (01/27/11)

TITLE: A Day of Prayer
By Justina Page
01/30/11


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Destruction hurled his accusation at his two henchmen, “Know you nothing at all!”

FalsePeace and WickedImagination stood ashamed and silent. They had failed their mission terribly yesterday. They understood well the ramifications of botching an assignment. Fury burned inside of them craving a target to unleash itself. Many battles had been fought. They had won some but lost more. The disturbing musing stirring within WickedImagination was boiling over into disgust.

Destrucction arrogantly stepped right into WickedImagination’s space. “Are you even listening to me!” he hissed. When you are given an assignment, you are expected to complete it within 24 hours. Destruction took a step back.
He paced before them barking orders, “Marcella must be overcome today – not tomorrow.”

“If not, she will single handily draw Marcus out of our reach.” He halted in front of them abruptly, leaning in for emphasis: attack the mind and don’t fail. Marcus is ours forever if we stop her today.

Marcella’s eyes flew open. She propped her head on her hand and struggled to bring the red numbers on the alarm clock into focus. 5AM

FalsePeace whispered to her spirit, “Your prayer hour is at 6, get some more rest. You had an extremely powerful intercessory prayer on yesterday.”

Marcella agreed. As she turned over to catch a few more winks, HolySpirit circulated an urgency to pray that instantly brought her upright in her bed. In a moment of clarity she perceived the purpose for this urgent call to prayer.

“My son - Marcus is in trouble.” She slipped to her knees in one fluid motion ignoring the fatigue. The warfare began.

Marcus kicked the empty cola bottle clear across the street. He had never been so thirsty, so hungry, and so depressed in his life. It had been three days since his tongue had tasted anything but the fowl crud on the roof of his mouth.

His current predicament brought brand new meaning to the scolding his Mother often gave, “Son be careful – you’re smelling yourself.”

The stench suffocating him was a mixture of dirt and is own body odor. When he glanced across the street at the clock that stood atop of Deliverance Temple he could not believe his eyes. It was midnight. Had he been begging at this same corner for twelve hours and not gotten a single thing?

WickedImagination spoke softly to him, “That is because no one loves you. Not even your own Mother.”
He knew that. That was proven when his own Uncle molested him and no one believed him. But, his Mother had her doubts. She had wanted to investigate further but his Father, the great preacher at Deliverance Temple would not believe such a thing about his own brother.

WickedImagination’s voice grew louder, “What is the use in living? Just get it over with.”
He stooped at the corner and hung his head. “I will” he thought in utter defeat.

Marcella was shaken in her sleep.
“Yes Lord” she muttered as the time came into focus. Midnight. She had been praying all day long. A greater urgency filled her spirit.

FalsePeace whispered in her ear, “Go back to bed and finish praying in the morning.” She fell to her knees and felt nothing. “What is it Lord?” The response sent a chill throughout her body. She through on her robe, grabbed her keys, and raced to the church. There was no time to spare.

Marcus couldn’t find a knife, gun, or anything to end the wretched life he had come to know. It was 4:55AM. Here he was back in front of the same church that had become a personal icon of his hatred toward God. Odd. Something was drawing him to look inside the church one more time before he ended it all.

WickedImagination spoke harshly, “It is no use. No one loves you there.”
His feet moved on their own accord. Before he knew it, he had slipped through the back door that was never locked - the entry into the prayer room. WickedImagination shrieked in defeat.

Marcella’s knees were worn and eyes sore. She had dismissed FalsePeace over an hour ago. She knew she must pray through until God did something. Suddenly she felt a release in her spirit. She peeked at her watch – 5AM. A weak voice spoke from behind her, “Mother”. An enormous grin spread across her face. The battle had been won.

“For we wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against …. the rulers of darkness.” Ephesians 6:12 KJV


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This article has been read 268 times
Member Comments
Member Date
Shann Hall-LochmannVanBennekom 02/03/11
This is a great story. I know for sure theHoly Spirit can whisper in a believer's ear and get them to pray for someone, and prayer is very powerful indeed!
diana kay02/06/11
great story cleverly told!
Bonnie Bowden 02/07/11
It reminded me of the Screwtape Letters by C.S. Lewis.

It is important to remember that we war with darkness every day.

Your story was carefully crafted and interesting to read.
Nancy Bucca02/08/11
I really loved this story. You really keep the reader on the edge, and with a great ending. The only thing you need to watch for are typos - e.g. "through on her robe" instead of "threw" - a very minor error inside an otherwise brilliant story.