Echoes of Faith| Saved By Grace| Flash Fiction

Prefer to listen? 🎧 Saved by Grace is now available as an audio on YouTube — click here to listen for FREE!

 

Saved by Grace

After her third arrest, sixteen-year-old Mariah Jensen is sent to a church for community service. What begins as punishment becomes a path to healing as she discovers grace, purpose, and a God who meets her where she is. Saved by Grace is a story of redemption through compassion and quiet faith. Let the story speak to your heart—scroll down to begin.

The courtroom smelled like cheap coffee and old paperwork—something Mariah Jensen had grown used to. She sat slouched in the defendant’s chair, black hoodie drawn over her face like armor. Her hands, stuffed deep into her sleeves, trembled just enough to betray her nerves.

The judge, a middle-aged woman with glasses perched low on her nose, shuffled through the folder in front of her.

“Miss Jensen. This is your third offense in under twelve months. Shoplifting, again. This time from an electronics store.”

Mariah's heart pounded. She stole a glance at her public defender—a young, tired man with a bad tie—who looked more nervous than helpful.

The prosecutor snorted. “She had over a hundred dollars’ worth of merchandise in her coat.”

“It’s just headphones,” Mariah muttered.

The judge’s eyes narrowed. “It’s theft. And it’s a pattern.”

The lawyer came to his feet. “Your Honor, Mariah’s home situation is... difficult. Her mother works nights. No stable supervision. She’s not violent. We’re asking the court to consider an alternative sentence.”

The judge exhaled through her nose. “Miss Jensen, if I see you in here again, I won’t be so lenient.”

Mariah stared at a spot on the floor. Better than looking at the eyes judging her from the gallery.

“I’m assigning you sixty hours of community service,” the judge continued. “To be served at Grace Fellowship Church. I believe they have a youth mentorship program. You'll report twice a week, beginning Monday.”

Mariah blinked. A church?

“Seriously?” she said before she could stop herself. “What am I supposed to do there—pray the bad out of me?”

The judge raised a single eyebrow. “You might be surprised what changes in the right environment. Court is adjourned.”

The gavel came down with a dull thud. Mariah didn’t flinch.

Relieved but confused, she left the courtroom wondering what anyone expected her to do in a church.

On Monday morning, Mariah stood outside Grace Fellowship Church, staring up at the stained-glass windows that caught the morning light. She pushed through the heavy doors, expecting judgmental stares—but none came.

The church smelled of incense and polished wood, a stark contrast to the sterile courtroom. She hesitated until a short, dark-skinned woman in her sixties approached with a soft smile.

“You must be Mariah. I’m Pastor Jean, the coordinator of the youth mentorship program.”

Mariah grunted. “You the one babysitting me?”

Pastor Jean didn’t miss a beat. “I’m the one who’ll put you to work, yes.”

Mariah followed her into the fellowship hall, where a dozen kids sat on a carpet circle with markers and construction paper. The air smelled of glue, graham crackers, and something oddly warm.

“They’re working on posters for this month’s theme: ‘Kindness in Action,’” Pastor Jean explained. “You’ll help where needed. Set out supplies, guide games, lend a hand.”

“Do I have to talk to them?” Mariah asked.

Jean laughed. “Eventually.”

The first sessions passed like a slow-moving punishment. The kids were loud, clingy, and completely uninterested in Mariah’s silent glares. One girl asked if Mariah was “a grown-up or just tall.” Another offered her a sticker and called her “Miss Hoodie.”

Mariah stuck it out. At least it wasn’t jail. She could count hours like stitches in a wound—temporary, ugly, and soon to be gone.

Then came Jalen.

He was quiet, probably around seven, with large glasses and a nervous grip on everything he touched. He rarely spoke but hovered near Mariah like her shadow. One day, she helped him find his lost sneaker. The next, he handed her a crayon. It was simple, but it got to her.

One rainy Thursday, while the children made thank-you cards, someone asked Pastor Jean to sing.

Jean strummed a few chords on a battered guitar. The kids joined in, giggling through the verses.

Mariah sat off to the side, arms crossed, but her foot tapped along.

Without thinking, she hummed. Then whispered a line.

Jean glanced at her, surprised. “You’ve got a good ear.”

Mariah stiffened. “I wasn’t trying to sing.”

“Well, maybe you should.”

Mariah rolled her eyes. “No offense, but I’m not exactly a singer.”

Jean smiled. “Grace doesn’t care whether you can sing or not.”

That night, Mariah couldn’t sleep. Her mom was on the late shift again. The house was quiet, empty in all the ways that mattered.

She remembered the feeling when she’d sung—even just a little. Not like she was good, exactly, but like something in her had remembered how to feel.

The next week, she stayed late to help clean up. Jalen handed her a napkin with crayon scribbles on it. A stick figure with long black hair and “Thank you for helping me not be scared” written across the top.

Mariah stared at the paper, throat tight. “Why’d he give me this?”

“He trusts you,” Jean said gently.

Mariah tucked the napkin into her pocket. She didn’t answer.

She found herself arriving a few minutes early. Still wore her hoodie. Still rolled her eyes at the mention of prayer—but she stayed. She even smiled, sometimes.

One afternoon, Jean invited her to sing with the kids during closing circle. Mariah hesitated.

"I don't perform in front of an audience," she said. "I can't sing.”

“You already have,” Jean said. “And you weren’t bad.”

Mariah glanced around. The kids were waiting. Jalen gave her a thumbs-up.

She exhaled. Then nodded.

Her voice was hesitant, but real. When it ended, no one clapped, but Jalen whispered, “That was pretty.”

Mariah looked down, startled. “You think so?”

He nodded solemnly.

Several weeks later, Mariah stood in the church parking lot on her last day of community service, the sun setting in orange and pink hues. She watched the children run around, their laughter filling the air with a sense of joy she hadn’t felt in a long time.

Pastor Jean approached her, smiling. "You did great, Mariah. The kids really took a liking to you.”

Mariah shifted. "Thanks," she mumbled, unsure what to do with praise.

As she turned to leave, Jalen ran up, his face beaming. "Are you coming back next week?" he asked.

Mariah hesitated. She glanced at Pastor Jean, who raised an eyebrow in silent encouragement.

With a small smile, Mariah crouched to Jalen’s eye level. "I... I'll try," she said, surprised by her own sincerity.

Jalen grinned and hugged her tight.

As he ran back to the group, warmth settled in Mariah’s chest—foreign, but not unwelcome.

She turned to Pastor Jean. “Thanks for giving me a chance,” she said, the words strange but comforting.

Jean smiled knowingly. "You're welcome here anytime, Mariah. Remember that."

With a nod, Mariah walked away from Grace Fellowship Church, her steps lighter than they’d been in a long time.

For the first time in a long while, she wasn’t walking away from something—she was walking toward it.

🕊️ From the Echoes of Faith Collection

Echoes of Faith| The Unseen Guide| Not All Leave Footprints| Flash Fiction

Prefer to listen? 🎧 The Unseen Guide is now available as an audio on YouTube — click here to listen for FREE!

 

The Unseen Guide

When Dr. Nate Reece breaks his ankle deep in the Appalachian wilderness, help seems impossible—until a mysterious stranger appears. By morning, the man is gone… and Nate is healed. Read his journey below and discover what can happen when science meets the unseen.

Dr. Nathaniel “Nate” Reece didn’t believe in anything he couldn’t measure. A field biologist and evolutionary theorist, Nate had spent the last decade tracking the migration patterns of birds through the Appalachian backcountry. Faith, in his view, was a crutch—an ancient explanation for a world that now bent to science.

On the third day of his solo expedition, Nate veered off the trail to investigate a strange cluster of bird calls. The sky was cloudless, the early summer heat dry and buzzing with insects. His GPS lost signal somewhere near a bend in the valley, but he didn’t worry. He’d studied these mountains for years. He knew how to navigate.

Except he didn’t.

By the time the sun dropped behind the ridgeline, Nate realized he hadn’t seen a trail marker in hours. The birds were gone. The forest, thick and alive, had swallowed every familiar landmark. Trees looked the same in every direction, and his compass needle spun slightly—magnetic interference, maybe, or a technical failure.

Still, he kept walking.

The next morning, his canteen was nearly empty, and his emergency satellite phone refused to power on. His notes, carefully annotated in a field journal, had been soaked in a stream crossing the day before. His body ached. His pride, sharper than any pain, kept him from panicking—until he slipped on loose gravel and landed with a sickening crunch.

Nate cried out and collapsed onto a bed of pine needles, biting down a scream. His ankle throbbed—misshapen and swelling fast. The pain made him dizzy. He reached out and touched it lightly.

Broken. He knew it.

He sat there, sweat beading on his forehead, listening to the silence press in.

That was when he first heard the voice.

“Long way from the trail, aren’t you?”

Startled, Nate looked up. A man stood a few yards away, tall, sun-worn, dressed in old canvas clothes. He had a walking stick and a weathered satchel slung over one shoulder. His face was deeply lined, his beard silver. But his eyes—his eyes were young.

Nate blinked. “Where did you come from?”

The man smiled. “Just over the ridge.”

“I didn’t hear you approach.”

“Most don’t.” He gestured to Nate’s ankle. “That looks rough. Mind if I take a look?”

Nate hesitated. He didn’t like strangers, especially ones who appeared without explanation. But he was in no position to argue. The man knelt beside him and gently examined the injury.

“This is bad,” he said quietly. “You can’t walk on it.”

“So it’s broken?”

The man answered right away. “Yes, it is.”

Nate frowned. “Are you a doctor?”

“Nothing like that.”

“You from around here?”

“Sort of.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means I know the way back.”

That sentence dropped into Nate’s chest like a stone. “You… you can guide me out?”

“You can’t go anywhere on that ankle.”

“Then can you go and get help?”

“We don’t have to do that,” the man said. “I can help.”

“How? If you’re not a doctor?”

“I’ll build a fire,” he said, already gathering wood. “And a splint for that leg. Then we’ll see.”

He worked quietly, tying branches into place and wrapping Nate’s ankle with strips of cloth from his own pack. The fire crackled to life under the man’s steady hands. Nate leaned back, exhausted.

The man hummed an old tune—something Nate didn’t recognize but found strangely comforting.

As the flames danced higher, Nate watched them flicker. For a moment, he thought he saw… something. A shape. A glow. A presence. A figure sitting within the flames, still and watchful, robed in light.

He blinked.

Gone.

He turned toward the man, but he was already lying down, eyes closed. Maybe sleeping. Maybe not.

“Rest,” the man murmured, without opening his eyes. “You’ll feel better in the morning.”

Nate meant to ask how he knew that—but sleep pulled him under before the words could form.

The next morning, he woke to birdsong and an empty campsite.

He couldn’t remember falling asleep.

The guide was gone.

No footprints. No satchel. No sign that anyone had ever been there.

Nate sat up slowly—and froze.

His ankle.

The swelling was gone. The bruising, faint. He moved his foot. No sharp pain. No resistance.

He stood.

No pain.

His breath caught. He crouched, stood again. Balanced on it. Walked a few steps.

No. This wasn’t possible.

Not medically. Not logically. Not… humanly.

“Hello?” he called out, louder now. “Where did you go?”

No answer.

Then, faintly, from somewhere deep in the trees, he heard a voice—not a shout, not a whisper, but something inside his chest.

“Keep going. You’re almost there.”

Nate stumbled forward, heart pounding, feet steady. For the first time in days, he wasn’t afraid.

Minutes later, he stepped onto a ranger trail—sunlight breaking through the trees, and the distant rumble of an engine.

On the ride to the ranger station, Nate shared his story. The rangers listened quietly, exchanging glances.

One of them finally said, “You said your ankle was broken yesterday?”

“It was,” Nate replied.

The ranger raised an eyebrow. “Then how are you walking on it?”

Nate didn’t answer. He couldn’t.

Later, as they approached the station, another ranger added gently, “People see things out there sometimes. Hear voices. When they’re alone too long.”

But Nate knew what he saw.
What he felt.
And it hadn’t come from inside his head.

Back at the station, the rangers gave him a hot meal, clean clothes, and a ride into town. He thanked them, filed a shaky report, and boarded a flight home to New York the next day.

But nothing felt the same.

When he stepped into his apartment—walls lined with books, specimens, and framed degrees—Nate felt like a stranger in his own life.

He looked at the evidence of everything he’d built. Everything he had trusted. Everything that now felt… insufficient.

He limped—out of habit, not necessity—over to the far end of his bookshelf. His fingers hovered for a moment, then pulled down a Bible he hadn’t touched in years.

He flipped it open at random.

“Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for by doing so some have entertained angels unawares.”
—Hebrews 13:2

He read it again.
And again.

That verse burned itself into his memory.

He closed the Bible slowly, his hands trembling.

He wasn’t sure what came next.
But for the first time in his life, he wanted to find out.

That Sunday, for the first time in over twenty years, Nate stepped through the doors of a small neighborhood church.

He didn’t know what he was looking for.
But he knew where to start.

Echoes of Faith: Wings of Hope| Flash Fiction

🌟 Want to hear Daniel’s journey of rediscovery and hope? Listen to Wings of Hope on Youtube—FREE and ready to inspire you. 🎧

Wings of Hope

In Wings of Hope, a grieving teen named Daniel finds healing and renewed purpose after a life-changing encounter with a mysterious, angelic figure. Through quiet moments of grace, he begins to believe again. Ready to be inspired? Keep reading below.

The sky outside Daniel’s bedroom window was overcast, a dull grey mirror to the way he felt inside. It had been eight months since the accident, and every morning since then seemed to drag him deeper into the same unshakable despair. His left leg, now pinned together with metal rods, ached constantly. But the real pain—the kind that gripped his chest like a vice—was knowing he’d never play soccer again. Soccer had been more than a game to him. It was his passion, his future. Now, it was a memory he couldn’t touch without breaking.

“Daniel,” his mom called from downstairs. “Are you okay? Breakfast is ready!”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he stared at the soccer ball in the corner of his room. Its surface was scuffed from countless games, the black-and-white hexagons worn down by his dreams. He wanted to kick it. Or throw it. Or just stop feeling anything at all.

He pushed himself out of bed, wincing as his crutches bit into his hands. Every step felt like a reminder of what he’d lost. He hated the crutches. He hated his leg. Most of all, he hated himself for not being stronger.

On his way to the kitchen, his mom intercepted him. Her eyes were soft but heavy with worry.

“Daniel, Pastor Rob called,” she said hesitantly. “He was asking about you again. Maybe we could—”

“No.” His tone was sharp, cutting through her words like a blade.

“Okay,” she said quietly, stepping aside.

Daniel didn’t want to hear about God, or faith, or miracles. If God cared, he wouldn’t have let the accident happen. If faith mattered, it wouldn’t have left him so empty.

After forcing down a few bites of toast, Daniel escaped outside. The fresh air stung his cheeks, cold and bracing. He hobbled toward the park down the street. He hadn’t been there since the accident, but today something tugged at him, a faint whisper he couldn’t ignore.

The park was empty, save for a few crows picking at scraps near the benches. The soccer field stretched out in the distance, a mocking reminder of what used to be. Daniel sank onto a bench beneath a towering oak tree and stared at the field. His breath came out in clouds, the silence around him heavy and still.

“Rough day?”

The voice startled him. He turned to see a young man sitting on the other end of the bench. He hadn’t heard anyone approach. The man looked about twenty, with golden-brown hair that seemed to catch the faintest rays of light filtering through the clouds. His eyes were a startling blue, as if the sky itself had poured its essence into them.

Daniel frowned. “Do I know you?”

The man smiled, a soft, knowing expression. “Not yet. But I thought you might need someone to talk to.”

Daniel shifted uncomfortably. “I’m fine.”

“Are you?”

The question lingered in the air, gentle but piercing. Daniel looked away, focusing on the soccer field again.

“What’s your name?” Daniel asked, partly to change the subject.

“Gabriel,” the man replied.

Daniel snorted. “What are you, an angel or something?”

Gabriel chuckled. “Something like that.”

There was something odd about Gabriel—something calm and unshakable, like he carried a kind of peace that didn’t belong to this world.

“You don’t know anything about me,” Daniel muttered.

“Maybe not,” Gabriel said. “But I can see you’re hurting. And I know how easy it is to let pain build walls around you, to keep hope out.”

Daniel’s jaw tightened. “Hope doesn’t fix anything. It doesn’t make your leg stop hurting, or your future stop falling apart.”

Gabriel tilted his head, studying Daniel with those unnervingly bright eyes. “No, hope doesn’t erase pain. But it gives you the strength to face it.”

Daniel let out a bitter laugh. “Yeah, well, I don’t have strength. Or hope. Not anymore.”

Gabriel leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Can I tell you a story?”

Daniel shrugged. “Whatever.”

“There was a boy once, not much younger than you,” Gabriel began. “He loved to run, more than anything. It made him feel free, like he could outrun the world if he tried hard enough. But one day, he fell. His legs were broken, and the doctors said he’d never run again. At first, he was angry. He thought, ‘What’s the point of living if I can’t do what I love?’”

Daniel’s chest tightened. The story felt uncomfortably close.

“But one day,” Gabriel continued, “he saw a bird outside his window—a small sparrow with a broken wing. The bird couldn’t fly anymore, but it still hopped around, singing as if it didn’t care that it was grounded. That little bird taught the boy something important: even when life changes, it doesn’t have to stop. You find new ways to live, new ways to hope.”

Daniel’s eyes stung, but he refused to blink away the tears. “So what? Are you saying I should just get over it? Find some new dream and forget about soccer?”

Gabriel shook his head. “Not forget. Remember it. Cherish it. Let it shape you. But don’t let it be the only thing that defines you.”

For a long moment, Daniel said nothing. The wind rustled the branches above, scattering a few leaves at their feet.

“Why are you telling me this?” Daniel finally asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Because you’re not as broken as you think you are,” Gabriel said softly. “And because you have more to offer this world than you realize.”

Daniel looked down at his hands, clenching and unclenching them. He wanted to believe Gabriel’s words, but the weight of his pain felt too heavy to lift.

“I don’t even know where to start,” he admitted.

Gabriel smiled, a warm and radiant expression. “You’ve already started, Daniel. Just by being here. By listening. By wanting more, even if you’re afraid to admit it.”

Daniel glanced up, and for a moment, he thought he saw something strange—a faint shimmer around Gabriel, like sunlight breaking through a storm. But when he blinked, it was gone.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” Daniel said.

“You don’t have to do it all at once,” Gabriel replied. “One step at a time. And you won’t be alone.”

“Why do you care?”

Gabriel’s smile deepened. “Because sometimes, we all need a little help to find our wings again.”

Before Daniel could respond, a gust of wind swept through the park, scattering leaves and sending a chill down his spine. When he turned back to the bench, Gabriel was gone.

Daniel blinked, his heart racing. He looked around, but there was no sign of the mysterious young man. Only the faint warmth in his chest remained, like a spark waiting to catch fire.

He glanced toward the soccer field again, and for the first time in months, the sight didn’t fill him with anger or sorrow. Instead, he felt something new—a flicker of hope, fragile but alive.

Daniel sat there for a while longer, letting the quiet settle around him. His mind replayed Gabriel’s words. “You’re not as broken as you think you are.” Those words felt strange, yet powerful, like they were wrapping around his heart and refusing to let go.

For the first time since the accident, Daniel found himself whispering a prayer—soft, hesitant, almost a question. “God… if You’re there, I don’t know how to fix this. But I’m listening.”

The wind brushed against his face, cool and gentle, as though answering him.

He pulled out his phone and stared at the screen. His thumb hovered over Pastor Rob’s name in his contacts list. He had ignored the pastor’s calls and messages for months, but something in him—maybe that whisper of hope—made him press the button.

The phone rang twice before a familiar, cheerful voice picked up. “Daniel! Hey, it’s good to hear from you.”

“Hi, Pastor Rob,” Daniel said, his voice uneven. He swallowed the lump in his throat. “I… I think I need to talk. Maybe—maybe I could come to church this Sunday?”

There was a pause on the other end, but it wasn’t silence—it felt like relief. “Of course, Daniel. We’d love to have you. You don’t have to do this alone.”

“I know,” Daniel murmured, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

After hanging up, he stayed on the bench for a while, letting the conversation sink in. He didn’t have all the answers, and his pain hadn’t magically disappeared. But for the first time, he didn’t feel quite so trapped by it.

As he stood and started his slow walk back home, he noticed the sky had begun to clear. The clouds parted, revealing a soft blue stretching far above him. A single ray of sunlight broke through, spilling onto the path ahead, and Daniel couldn’t help but see it as a sign.

His crutches bit into the ground with each step, but they didn’t feel as heavy now. The weight in his chest had lifted just enough to let in something new—a sense of possibility.

When he got home, his mom looked up from the kitchen table, surprised to see him smiling. “You okay, honey?”

Daniel nodded. “Yeah. I think I am.”

The next morning, Daniel found himself in front of the church, hesitating on the steps. The building looked taller than he remembered, the stained-glass windows glowing with light from the rising sun.

He glanced back, half-expecting Gabriel to be there, but the street was empty.

Taking a deep breath, he pushed open the heavy wooden door. Warmth and light greeted him, and the faint hum of a hymn filled the air. Pastor Rob spotted him from across the room and gave him an encouraging nod.

Daniel stepped inside, the weight of his crutches felt less heavy, and he was steadied by the warmth of something bigger than himself.. He didn’t know what the future held, but he was starting to believe it might hold more than he had imagined.

As he found a seat near the back, he looked up at the cross above the altar and whispered, “Thank you.”

Somewhere deep inside, he could almost hear Gabriel’s voice again. You’re not as broken as you think you are. One step at a time.

This time, Daniel wasn’t just smiling—he was ready to begin.

Obadiah Chronicles: Mount Nebo (Flash Fiction, Episode 3)

 

Mount Nebo

Joshua supported Obadiah as they left the tent under cover of darkness.  As Obadiah gazed upward, the twinkling stars painted the sky in shades of midnight blue. With each step, the guiding star seemed to grow brighter and more determined, leading him toward his destination.

 They climbed for an hour until reaching a plateau. Obadiah directed Joshua and Caleb to wait while he ascended further alone.

"Are you sure you're well enough to climb alone, Obadiah?" Joshua asked with concern. "The path is steep. Caleb and I can accompany you further."

Obadiah placed a reassuring hand on Joshua's shoulder. "No, Joshua. I will manage. Wait here for my return. It won't take long."

He continued his ascent until the Archangel Michael appeared from the bright light.
"Michael," Obadiah began urgently. "Where is the child? Is he safe?"

"There's no need to ask," Michael assured him. "Joshuel is safe."

Obadiah blinked. He hadn't known his nephew's name; Kristiel hadn't had the chance to tell him. "Why was he taken from me? I don't understand."

"The child was taken to ensure his safety," Michael explained, his voice resonating with a deep sense of purpose. "His destiny is intertwined with the fate of the world, and he must be protected at all costs.”

Obadiah's heart clenched with a mixture of fear and determination. "But I made a promise to my sister, to protect him with my life. How can I fulfill that oath if he is taken away from me?”

Michael placed a comforting hand on Obadiah's shoulder, his touch both grounding and ethereal. "Your bond with Joshuel runs deeper than you know. Trust in the divine plan, Obadiah. The threads of fate are intricate and far-reaching, weaving a tapestry beyond mortal comprehension.”

Obadiah bowed his head, struggling to accept this new reality. "I will do whatever it takes to ensure his safety, even if it means facing unimaginable challenges."

"You carry a heavy burden, but you do not walk this path alone."

A mix of emotions surged through him, a tumult of anger and sorrow over his sister's passing. He knew the risks when Kristiel chose to bear a Jumper, but coming to terms with her absence was a different struggle altogether. They were twins, the only brother and sister Nephilim, jumping hand in hand for thousand of years. The thought of facing life without her by his side was daunting, but finding comfort in his nephew meant that Kristiel's essence continued on. He didn't want to raise Joshuel as a Nephilim; demons, death, and destruction had already taken their toll on his family.

"It's better for the child to remain here," Michael said.

"No. Clip my wings. Give me my sister's child," Obadiah pleaded, his voice raw. “Let me leave."

"The child stays," Michael insisted.

Obadiah implored. "He's all I have left of Kristiel."

After a moment's consideration, Michael spoke again. "As you requested, your wings are clipped. Joshuel will be return to you. For the last time, you may Jump wherever you wish. Choose wisely, Obadiah. Where you go is where you will remain."

Obadiah's heart pounded in his chest as he processed Michael's words. The weight of the decision ahead of him felt like a mountain pressing down on his shoulders. He glanced back at the figures waiting below, knowing that this choice would determine not only his own fate but also that of his nephew.

Looking up at the Archangel Michael, Obadiah steeled himself and made his decision. "I choose to go where the child is destined to be," he said with unwavering determination.

A knowing smile played on Michael's lips as he nodded in approval. "So be it," he declared, and with a wave of his hand, a dazzling light enveloped Obadiah, lifting him off the ground. In an instant, they were gone from Mount Nebo, leaving behind only a faint echo of their presence.

When Obadiah opened his eyes again, he found himself standing in a lush meadow bathed in golden sunlight. Before him stood a magnificent tree with shimmering leaves that whispered in the gentle breeze. The air felt charged with an otherworldly energy, and Obadiah knew in his heart that this was a place of great significance.

As he took in his surroundings, he heard the sound of laughter and playful chatter nearby. Walking towards the source of the joyful commotion, Obadiah saw a group of children playing under the shade of the majestic tree. Their faces lit up with delight as they chased each other around, their laughter echoing through the meadow.

Among them, Obadiah spotted a familiar face - a young boy with eyes that sparkled like sapphires, his dark hair tousled by the wind. It was Joshuel, his nephew, playing without a care in the world.

Obadiah's heart swelled with love and relief at the sight of the child he had sworn to protect. Kneeling down beside Joshuel, he enveloped him in a tight embrace, feeling the warmth of their bond as uncle and nephew. Joshuel looked up at him with a smile that mirrored the pure joy and innocence of childhood.

"Uncle Obadiah, you found me!" Joshuel exclaimed, his voice filled with happiness.

Obadiah brushed a stray lock of hair from Joshuel's forehead, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "I promised your mother I would always keep you safe. And I intend to keep that promise, no matter what challenges may come our way.”

Joshuel nodded solemnly, as if understanding the weight of his uncle's words. "I know you will protect me, Uncle Obadiah. You're the bravest Nephilim I know.”

A sense of pride swelled in Obadiah's chest at his nephew's unwavering trust in him. As he stood up, a realization dawned upon him - this meadow was more than just a sanctuary for Joshuel. It was a place where they could start anew, free from the burdens of their past and the shadows of fear that had haunted them for so long. Together, uncle and nephew would forge a new path, guided by love, trust, and the unbreakable bond between them.

As they watched the sunset paint the sky in hues of orange and pink, Obadiah knew that their journey was far from over. There would be challenges ahead, dangers to face, and sacrifices to make. But he also knew that as long as they were together, they could overcome anything.

With a renewed sense of purpose burning in his heart, Obadiah took Joshuel's hand in his own, the warmth of their touch grounding him in the present moment. The future was uncertain, but one thing was clear - they would face it together, as family.

And as they walked hand in hand into the twilight, a feeling of peace settled over Obadiah's soul. For the first time in a long time, he allowed himself to hope for a better tomorrow.

TO BE CONTINUED…

Obadiah Chronicles: Angel In Flight (Flash Fiction, Episode 2)

 

Angel in Flight

Obadiah clutched the crying baby to his heart as he sprinted through Serenity Forest. The infant's screams echoed in his ears as he ran faster and faster, desperate to reach safety.

"Just a little further," he muttered to himself. His foot caught on a fallen tree, and the infant slipped out of his grasp. Panicked, Obadiah rushed to pick up the baby, checking for any injuries. Aside from a bit of dirt on its face, the child was unharmed. The angel let out a sigh of relief.

Obadiah heard one of the Reapers yell, "There they are!" He quickly snatched up the child and hurried towards their destination. As he ran past a towering Oak tree, he saw the face of the Archangel Michael etched into the bark, a symbol of protection. Obadiah ducked behind the tree with the child in his arms, gazing down at its peaceful face. The baby's bright eyes met his, oblivious to the turmoil its arrival had caused.

"I'll guide them in the opposite direction," Michael's voice resonated from within the tree.

Soon after, the noise of hurried feet and a bawling infant could be heard heading in the opposite direction.

Obadiah carefully peeped from around the tree. The plan worked. The Reapers were searching away from him.

"Go now," Michael instructed.

Obadiah sprinted towards the Jump site with all his might. Suddenly, a searing sensation shot through his back. An angel arrow had pierced him. Being half-human, he knew he only had ten minutes to seek medical treatment before bleeding out.

Fighting through the agony, Obadiah fell to his knees but clutched onto the infant in his arms. He was determined to protect the baby even if it meant sacrificing his own life.

Antioch loomed over Obadiah, a fierce look in his eyes. "I've got you now," he growled, reaching for the child in Obadiah's arms. "Give me the infant!"

Obadiah shifted his position to get a better view, only to realize that he was completely surrounded by Reapers. Their glowing red eyes and ashen forms didn't scare him; after all, they had been engaged in battle for centuries. He was aware of his ability to disintegrate them with a single thought, but his injuries made that option less feasible. Instead, he would have to use his cunning to outsmart them if he wanted to survive this encounter.

The Reapers inched forward, their menacing presence looming over him. He shifted his gaze towards the blindingly white door - the only escape route. "You'll have to pry this child from my dying grasp," Obadiah declared defiantly.

Antioch replied, "That's fine. I'll give you five minutes, if even that." With determination in his eyes, he declared, "I will take the child from you. But I must commend your honor in sacrificing yourself. After a thousand years, I have finally emerged victorious over you. And when you fall, I will ensure that the rest of the chosen ones meet the same fate.”

Obadiah struggled to catch his breath. "Your plan won't succeed. It's far from over." He held onto the baby even tighter.

“But it is,” Antioch said confidently. “I have the names. Death will come for them, starting with you and the child.”

Obadiah took a deep breath before asking, “How did you come by the names of the Chosen Ones?”

"Don’t tell him, nothing," Bolofar, the second in command retorted. "Let him die like the dog that he is. Let me finish him off."

Antioch knelt down next to Obadiah, his voice filled with pride as he spoke. “You see, we Reapers have evolved. We are not the mindless beings you perceive us to be,” he boasted, gesturing towards his ash form that briefly took on a human appearance before returning to its natural state. “Before I end your life, I want you to understand that I will eliminate anyone who stands in my path, starting with the abomination you hold in your arms.”

With what little energy he had left, Obadiah covered the child protectively with one of his wings.

"Finish him off and take the child," Antioch commanded.

The Reapers approached with menacing intent. Obadiah quickly shuffled backwards, pressing his back against the rough bark of a nearby tree. Bolofar sneered and lifted his sword, ready to strike him down. "I have been waiting for this moment.”

Bolofar barely finished speaking when a pair of gigantic, glowing hands emerged from the tree and snatched Obadiah. In an instant, both he and the child disappeared without a trace.

Antioch's voice echoed through the empty forest as he bellowed, "Obadiah! I will find you!"

Obadiah let out a groan, struggling to clear his blurred vision as he looked up at the figures looming over him. Among them were Moses, the man chosen by God to lead the Hebrews, standing alongside Aaron, Joshua, and Caleb.

"How many days was I out of it?" Obadiah asked weakly.

"You were unconscious for three nights," Moses replied. "We took turns watching over you."

"I am grateful," Obadiah said, attempting to sit up but falling back onto the straw mat, his body still weak.

"The Lord sent angels to heal your wounds," Joshua added. "You must rest."

Obadiah's mind was flooded with memories from the past seventy-two hours: the tragic deaths of his beloved brother-in-law and sister, and the near fatal attack on his young nephew by the Reapers. With each memory, his determination grew stronger. He demanded to know, "Where is my sister's child?”

Moses frowned, his thick, white eyebrows arched. "You were near death. Miriam looked after him until the angels came for him.

Moses and the others were aware of the Jumpers and their divine purpose. They had provided refuge when needed most.

Obadiah recalled the moment Bolofar raised his sword to strike, only to be thwarted by God's hands rescuing him and his nephew. The child should be here with him. Safe from Antioch and the Reapers in this sanctuary of time.

Obadiah struggled to rise. "I need to see the child with my own eyes. His parents were killed by Reapers—my sister was his mother. Before she died, she entrusted him to my care. I gave her my word I would protect him, even with my life."

"You speak rightly," Moses affirmed. 

"You have seen him?"

Moses nodded in agreement. "Miriam watched over him until the angels arrived  and took him away."

Obadiah gestured to Joshua. "Help me up. I must speak with Michael."

TO BE CONTINUED…