Angelos

Culloden, Scotland, April 1746 All around was the awful sound of moaning. It was not just mournful, but the sound of immense suffering, the cries of dying men. The battle had waged on, and the day was far spent. In dirt and blood, the soldiers waded on. Horizontal rain, snow, and wind made the normal battle conditions much worse. Near the edge of the field I stood holding a gun, pointing it at the lad who had once been my best friend. He was dressed in the red coat of a government soldier; I was not. "This short story will help us to engage with our own inner voice and to find the courage to find expression for our convictions. I thoroughly enjoyed it and was left with much to ponder. Do actions really speak louder than fine sounding words?" Mark Hadfield Coordinator, Inverness Street Pastors