Fiction

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Tyrone stood over the man who shot his son for a while. "How did you get out of jail?" he demanded.

"I broke out by digging a hole in the ground," the man answered weakly. He was bleeding profusely from his gunshot wound.

"What is it?" Tyrone asked angrily. "You still weren't satisfied after you shot my son? You had to go and break into the home of his best friend and his best friend's family? You had to come here to my family's house, too? You Klansmen make me sick! You talk about how pure you are, better than many other people, but you persecute me and my people just because of the color of their skin, and Angie because she is in love with and married to my son's best friend and my son's best friend's skin is a different color as well? You're no better than the Pharisees, who put on a show of purity but persecuted widows and poor people!"

The man gasped, and tears came to his eyes. He realized that everything Tyrone said was true. He had been nothing but a hypocrite all his life. What right did he have to call himself pure after committing all of those atrocities? He knew he would soon die from his wounds and that he needed to get right with Jesus before he died. He closed his eyes and started to let the tears flow. He whispered, "Lord Jesus, I am so sorry for the way I persecuted people You created in Your image just because they did not look like me. I ask you to come into my heart and be my Savior." He looked at Tyrone. "I...am...sorry," he said. After he said this, he closed his eyes again and breathed his last.

The next morning at the hospital, Charles woke up, glad to not have had any more nightmares about the robber. He yawned, then looked around him. Angie had still been asleep and snuggling on his shoulder, but when he yawned, she woke up. "Good morning, honey," she said, stretching.

"Good morning, my darling," Charles said as he bent his face toward hers to gently kiss her lips. He looked down at Jeremiah, who was asleep on his lap. "Should we let him sleep longer?" he asked Angie. "Last night was quite an eventful night for such a little guy."

Angie nodded. "That's a good idea," she agreed. She wrapped her arms around Charles's neck and kissed his cheek. "That way we can have a little time, just the two of us, while we're here."

Charles smiled and put his arms around her. He leaned back against his pillow, and Angie leaned back and rested her head on his shoulder again. She sighed, happy to be able to still enjoy the warmth of her husband's embrace. Last night she'd been so scared of losing him. Charles ran his fingers through his wife's long, soft, blonde hair. "I didn't have any more nightmares," he said. "I'm glad you and Jeremiah stayed with me during the night. I was so scared I probably would have had more nightmares, had you guys stayed home. I would have been even more worried about your safety. I love you both so much."

"We love you, too, Charles," Angie said, her head still resting on his shoulder.

Just then the doctor came in. "I just wanted to let you know you can go home in two hours, Charles. You will have to stay in bed for some time until your ribs heal."

"No problem, Doctor," Charles replied. "I can't wait to get better, though."

"I don't blame you," the doctor said.

Charles was released from the hospital just when the doctor said he'd be.

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