The short journey.

I walk into the town hoping to pick up some weekly supplies-the empty town stares back at me with a few people like me carrying small paper bags.A ' ninety nine P' shop manned by bangladeshi men are the only ones open.I try to pick a few things I plan to juggle through the week with the canteen fare.The bus stand looks empty.There is a single cab in the taxi stand.I walk up to it and unlike the other cabbies who immediately jump out to help this one stays behind the wheels.Even as I say,'the hospital'I understand why.
His eyes are blood-shot yellow and he looks frial.Even as the music blares I ask him ,'All the shops are closed during easter are they?He is an afro-british and tells me in his british accent -'easter is the only time in the year when everything is closed in this country'.I ask 'not even Christmas,he says-'not even christmas!'The country seems to know it's priority well.
I wonder why he is on the wheels during easter.The journey is too short.Even as I pay him the fare,I ask for his permission to give him a tract,he receives it with grace and puts it on his shield.I ask him,'Are you a christian?He says,'I used to be'.I have no time for further conversation so I wish him a happy easter and fare him well.
The doctor in me looking at him can tell that he does not have much of a journey left in hand-my sincere prayer is he will find his way back home by the power of resurrection that brought Jesus out from the grave to the heaven above.
Happy Easter! Christ has risen!.

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