Welcome, dear reader!

This story right here is based on a true story. An event that apparently took place somewhere in 1977. Obviously, the names were changed, but this was inspired by something I read in the famous book written by John Foxe. This is my retelling, and I’m sure you’ll enjoy it. So let’s move!

Being locked up in this awful dungeon is worse than you could ever imagine. Simply awful. You can tell that they set up these cells to deliver premium hell to its inhabitants.

Honestly, it is that awful.

A tiny space with nothing but straw on the floor. For a five-foot-eight man like me, there’s little space. You could stand against the wall, raise one leg, and you’d be almost close to touching the other side. Absolutely torturous.

There’s this nauseating stench that permeates the air—a putrid combination of dampness, decay, and hopelessness, thanks to a solitary bucket in one corner serving as the sole means of relieving oneself—an indignity that strips away dignity and intensifies the dehumanizing nature of this wretched existence. Imagine having to breathe that filth every blessed second. Ugh, it’s awful.

And they barely ever empty it out, so what happens when it’s full and you need to go?

Yeah, hold it in till you can’t any more. And woe betides you if you so much as pee onto the corridors, which is the only place you can release outside your cell. The prison guards will come by and stomp you into a coma if you’re not careful.

Not to mention the fact that the cell is devoid of any form of human interaction or solace. The only other human beings I see are the callous prison guards who rush in to beat me every now and then. No chance for camaraderie of any kind with anyone.

It’s the evilest of torture one could experience. Evil conceived straight from the very depths of hell.

Oh, by the way, my name is Esdras.

I am a bondservant of the Lord Jesus Christ, and for some time, this has been my reality. An inhabitant of that hellish cesspit of a cell.

My crime, you ask? Being a faithful pastor and preacher of the word of God.

Of course, who doesn’t know how dangerous it is to speak of the King of the Jews in this Communist regime? We know very well. The government of the day is super intolerant of the idea of having another King to be subject to, and they clamp down on everyone who spreads that info. Many preachers like me have been arrested and severely dealt with for spreading the gospel and making disciples, and the stories I used to hear of their torment were spine-chilling. I thought the level of torment I read about in Foxe’s Book of Martyrs could not be present in this day, but they are, and goodness, they’re horrible!

I can’t deny it, there were many times I was terrified out of my skin after hearing those stories, and almost decided to stop preaching altogether; I mean, they were frightening to hear. But look, when His word is like a fire shut up in your bones, there’s virtually nothing you can do. You must preach Jesus no matter what. Woe is you if you don’t!

So I did. Discreetly but passionately, I moved around town, letting people know of their need for a Saviour, and that Jesus Christ is the One they need to turn to, for forgiveness of sins and hope of life everlasting.

And in the midst of it, I met two young ladies. Lawrencia and Celestina. I gave them the gospel, raw and unfiltered. And they came running to He who died to save them.

What a glorious day it was, seeing them surrender their lives to Christ!

They decided to move with me and accompany me on my many escapades to populate the Kingdom of Heaven. I made them aware of how dangerous it was, and the perils that could easily befall us. But the Holy Spirit really took hold of those two; they insisted that to live is Christ and to die is gain. They were all too happy and eager to join me plunder hell and get more precious souls into the Kingdom.

So I let them join me, and yes, we toiled hard. Our work was low-key, obviously, but we worked really hard, thanks to the grace of God which was working in us.

Unfortunately, inasmuch as we tried to be discreet, the government had its moles and snitches. So one day, as the girls and I were in a room one morning, praying that the Spirit would move and bless our efforts at spreading the Word for the day, the door was kicked off its hinges, and soldiers rushed in and grabbed us, and dragged us away.

Till date, I have no idea who ratted us out.

That was about three months ago… I think. Or is it four months? I can’t remember. Might be longer.

What I do know, though? The absolute torment I’ve had to put up with. It’s been awful.

I can’t remember the last time I had a proper meal, or even a simple drink of water. It’s nothing but scraps I get, and that’s even if I’m fortunate. Hunger and thirst have become as regular as breathing. It’s so painful.

And the beatdowns. Oh, Lord, the pain of those beatdowns!

These guards are heartless. I don’t know if they’re trained to strip themselves of emotions or something, but it’s just terrible how they have no compassion whatsoever. They beat you up recklessly and with no provocation. I can barely count the number of times they’ve come in to do that. I mean, is it my screams of pain that are like music to their ears or something?

Goodness! It’s just hell over here. My body bears so many scars and wounds, it’s uncountable. At this point, I feel numb in so many places. It’s insane. And of course, with the deplorable resources for easing oneself already filled to the brim, I’ve not been able to do so in the past three days. I’m losing my mind over here, I promise…

I know this is part of the drill as a soldier for Christ. I know there have been many who have gone before me and suffered this much. I know the cloud of witnesses are urging me on, telling me to stand strong and lean on the Rock of Ages.

And yes, I am. I’m doing my best to stick to all that. In spite of everything, I always turn to the Lord and remind Him I’m in it for the long haul, and that I don’t intend to go anywhere. I’ve lifted my voice to Him in prayer and reaffirmed my love and dedication to Him. That they can whip me as much as they want, but they’ll never whip out the love I have for Him.

But recently… I don’t know. I’m getting tired. It’s just tiring going through this motion of staying locked in a cell, getting punched up for no reason, crying out to God… it’s wearing me out.

Surely there’s got to be a way out of this. There just has to be. I’m suffering too much. I really am. I know He’s with me and that He’ll never leave me or forsake me, but… can’t I get a Paul and Silas miracle? I need it.

Because this is too much. I can’t take this any more…

Wait. I hear footsteps.

Familiar footsteps.

My heart sinks.

Oh, God. It’s those prison guards again.

They’re coming for me.

To beat me up.

Again.

God, this is too much, for goodness’ sake! Why do I have to endure this?

I know You can save me. Please, I’m tired. I really am…

I thought I had cried all my tears out, but I can feel more rushing to the surface of my eyes. It’s getting so exhausting and painful. God, please…

I look at the iron bars that serve as the entrance to my hellhole.

My heart jumps into my throat.

The faces I see aren’t the usual monsters who barge in here. They’re different men.

And they’re not alone; there’s another person in front of them. A senior official.

It’s the sight of that senior official that got my heart leaping up into my oesophagus. I recognize him immediately.

He’s the head of the prison guards.

Oh, God. This couldn’t get any worse, could it?

Hmmm, Esdras is one of those persecuted Christians. Tough. You can only hope somehow, something comes up in his favour…