Phot credit to Nathalie Désirée Mottet on Unsplash.
“He’s coming!”
The little boy ran down the street, screaming at the top of his lungs. Panting, he stopped for breath and looked around. Most of the townspeople acted as if he weren't there and those who so much as glanced his way did so with disgust and annoyance. The boy wiped sweat from his forehead and then took off running again.
“Does nobody hear? Does nobody see? He is coming!”
The boy was growing desperate and increasingly confused. He knew what was coming. He had heard the sounds, had seen the sights. The Mighty King was making His way to this town, and the people didn’t seem to care. The boy stopped his sprint again and overturned a nearby crate to stand on.
“This is your last chance!” He yelled. “I know not the hour when He will arrive, but I know it will be soon and I know we must be ready. Turn from this laziness and point your eyes toward Him!”
Man, woman and child alike went about their day, seemingly oblivious to both his speech and what was coming. Suddenly, a little girl stepped out from the crowd.
“I hear. I see.” She said.
The boy nodded, jumped down from the crate, grabbed the girl’s hand and dashed off down the street. They ran and ran and ran, leaving the town behind them. As the distance grew, so did their joy. Soon, they heard the sound of a trumpet and they saw the Mighty King. Every eye saw the Mighty King.
He’s coming.