Sort of True except for the Visit

 This one is different. It's me writing fiction but based around a few facts.

I joined an online library and as it was in the next state I thought I would visit it. It was a corner building in what was once a thriving mid American town. The library stood out because it was a brightly painted attractive pink colour with a big window of immaculately presented secondhand books.

I'd joined the library because they were boasting one or two hundred thousand online books for download and I got a special starter price of a few dollars per year for life. There were bumper packs of books, free speed reading courses, publishiing tuition, forums with other members and other things I can't now recall. 

So I came to the door and it had an old fashioned cute bell that rang just like in all the old shops . However, when I entered there was but one book case in the middle of the shop and one long wooden counter with an old fashioned cash register against the back wall. To the side was a door to the back of the shop, probably the living quarters, with a quaint white lace curtain in front of the glass. A lady came through the door, quite tall and pleasant looking, introducing herself as Laura-Anne, the daughter of the business founder, who now, she said, having lost most of the use of his legs, worked in the back office on the computer managing the online part of the business.

 " Nice to meet you Laura-Anne. This one bookcase, is this all there is? There's a greater number of books in the window area? " She seemed a bit sad. "We don't get many visitors, but we like to have a few hard copies."

 " I was looking for a particular book that is from the 1990s. I assumed you might have a copy. It fell out of my pocket yesterday and have no idea where I might have dropped it. I told her the title and that it had not come up in my online search. Then I said as I had noticed the business address was only abut an hour away I thought I'd drive over. "Its a bit disappointing, because your online website seemed to be quite something". 

"Im glad you like it . But I'm sad that you think your journey to the shop is less exciting". 

"Your father established this shop years ago, shouldn't there be many more books?" 

 " My father worked in a rare specialist area to do with Antarctica and the last entry in the Encyclopaedia Britannica in 1958 about the Firmament". 

" Wow that is niche, " I said. "This used to be a bustling town , but I can't imagine your dad would survive just selling that type of material" 

" Well we didn't have many visitors and my Mum was around , and I was just growing up, so I didn't have a lot to do with the shop and that particular period of the business. I did wonder the same thing and my Dad said the type of military enquries were so specialised and so highly paid, he actually did very well". 

I noticed both the smell and form of a nice hot jug of freshly percolated coffee. She followed my eyes and said " Oh , forgive me, you have come a fair way and been disappointed. Let me offer you a mug of coffee. We don't have chairs I'm afraid ." 

" Yes , it's a bit bare , but the floor is fantastic. What on earth is that wood ? " 

"It's a type of South African tree that some military told my Father about , on a return trip from Antarctica in a naval boat. The rest went in one of the rooms of the White House." 

I was disappointed by my visit, but it was so difficult being this matter of fact , when it was clear that both the father and the daughter would be pleased to have any visit here, in this very quiet Midwest town.

 Once I was home, I cancelled my subscription and ordered my replacement book from Amazon . The 1990s hardback edition was even cheaper as a used book than the 6 dollar paperback. I ordered the 2 dollars 50 hardback , which arrived 3 days later. 

_____ 

Kind of true, except for the visit.

Before Killing me , the Killers decided.....

 Forwarded through Jimbob Herring On Facebook and 

Nwanyi Imo

Kajungu Boaz Kyarimpa 

Before killing me, the killers decided that I should dig my own grave. As I was digging, I was also praying. “Lord, I believe you can deliver me. You can protect me from being killed by these people. I’ve preached about Daniel in the lion’s den, and about how you delivered Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego from the fiery furnace. Are you still the same God? You can show me now. Please give me that faith.”

I was hoping that God would give me wings to fly away, or that He would send fire from heaven. But God answered in a much different way from what I could have imagined.

As I was digging the grave, one of the killers picked up my Bible and was looking at it. Noticing the many markings in it he asked, “What do all these colors mean?”

“Those are my favorite verses,” I said.

Interested, the man started reading the many highlighted verses. “Are you sure you’ve read all of these?” he asked incredulously.

“Yes,” I responded. I could see that the man had some pity for me.

Turning to his fellow killers he said, “Friends, I know we’re going to kill this man, but please let me help him dig!”

The leader nodded and the man jumped into the hole with me and started digging. “Lord, I prayed, “this grave is going to be finished quickly now. What are You going to do?”

God had a plan, but sometimes we want to try and force God to answer our prayers in the way that we think is best, rather than just trusting Him.

To my surprise, as soon as we were finished digging, the grave digging killer said to his colleagues, “Why should we use the grave for this man we don’t even know? Let him go and dig another grave near the highway. This is our field; why should we bury him here?”

The group agreed, and decided to use the grave for another man they had just killed. Then ironically, one of the killers said, “Before we bury that man, why don’t we pray for him.”

I watched as the group gathered around the body of the person they had just killed before coming after me. “Mary, mother of Jesus, receive him,” they said before rolling the corpse into the grave that had been meant for me.

All of a sudden my entire outlook changed. “Lord!” I gasped, “Don’t allow me to be separated from these people before I tell them who You are! These are people who have never heard about You. They think they can pray for someone they have killed. And we are partly responsible. We never came and taught them the truth about You.”

Right after they buried that man, we moved closer to the highway. I was about to start digging another grave when the man who had my Bible asked if he could keep it. I said, “yes,” but the other killers told him “No! It’s ours—you’ll have to pay for it!”

I could see that the Holy Spirit had already touched this man’s heart, so I begged him, “Please, can I have that Bible and say something before I dig another grave?”

The man was excited and said, “Go ahead!” but another one shouted, “No! He’s our enemy. He has nothing to tell us.”

Then the arguing became very sharp, with some of the group insisting that I should be given the opportunity to speak, while others insisted that I had nothing to say. Just when it appeared that the killers were going to fight each other, one who appeared older than the others asked, “Why are you going to fight over someone you don’t even know? Those who want to listen, sit and listen; others, sit and shut your ears. When he’s done, we’ll kill him.”

So they all sat down and I started to preach.

First, I thanked them. “Thank you for praying for somebody that you have killed. However, you need to understand what the Bible says about death—the only chance you have to be saved is during your lifetime—not after you are dead. ‘For the living know that they will die,’ I quoted from Eccl. 9:5, ‘but the dead know nothing.’ I’m not going to plead for you to let me go, I continued, because I know that even if you kill me a time is coming when I will be resurrected.

“Among the people you are killing are another tribe—they are not Hutu or Tutsis. They are God’s children. You think that you’re fighting a tribal war, but you’re mistaken. This is a war between Christ and Satan. You think that the people you’re killing are Tutsis, but they belong to a totally different tribe because they have given their hearts to Jesus and they are His children.”

Then I read 1 Peter 2:9-10 to them: “But you are a chosen generation, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, His own special people, that you may proclaim the praises of Him who called you out of darkness into His marvelous light; who once were not a people but are now the people of God, who had not obtained mercy but now have obtained mercy.”

As I preached, I could see some of the killers were crying, and I knew that the Holy Spirit was working on their hearts. After preaching for 15 to 20 minutes I told the group, “Now I’m going to say a final prayer, and after that I will dig another grave.”

As soon as I finished praying, someone shouted, “If anyone kills this person, his blood be upon them!”

“No, we can’t kill him!” the others said. “Let him go! We can’t kill him.”

Then the leader spoke up. “I was the one who suggested that we kill this man in a very bad way. But now, we’re not going to kill him.”

I knew it was only by God’s grace that my life was spared. Who am I? I didn’t have any power. God was just kind.

During the approximately 100-day genocide from April 7 to mid-July, 1994, approximately 1 million people were killed, including my entire family. But even though I came face to face with death numerous times, the Lord always saw fit to spare my life.

Written by Kajungu Boaz Kyarimpa 

Trigger Warning . NOT FOR MINORS . Just another Satanic Christmas Day

There were approximately 5 child prizes. Shortly after, each minion would return with the prizes but now, each child was on a large skewer........

Written December 2023

Written by
Jeanette Archer
Survivor of SRA

EXPOSING SATANIC RITUAL ABUSE Just another Satanic Christmas Day! 

Jeanette Archer I can’t remember the year but, it doesn’t matter anyway. Every year was filled with unimaginable horrors and it all merged into my pile of memories that went on to be stored deep within my unconscious mind. This particular Christmas was no different but for some reason, it’s the one I’ve woken up remembering this morning. The one that I’m about to relive so, I can share with you and hopefully bring myself some healing. It was a “normal” Christmas Day at home. Presents 🎁 and Christmas dinner. My birth mother pretending that she’s a wonderful mum and not someone that handed me over to a satanic cult from birth. So, the day passes in the usual manner and then of course the night time arrives. As soon as it gets dark I can feel the terror flow through my veins. I know exactly what this means. Even though, all of us children were sent to bed, I knew that it was just a matter of time before I would be taken from my bed and transported to the Christmas night satanic ritual on some elite country estate. 

 Next thing I knew, I was sat around a small fire. The “elites” were celebrating with cheers and chants while their minions were gathering up all of us children in our white gowns. We were being separated into smaller groups. My head was spinning in absolute terror. It made everything a blur of nightmares that never ended. I suddenly became aware which group I had been put into. The RAPE group. 

We were the children that would be laid out on the concrete slabs and raped over and over again without rest. Then later on after the sacrifices and their Christmas dinner of roasted babies and children, and drinking adrenochrome, we’d be the children that would be used in the mass orgies. A minion gave us the drugs and water in a plastic cup. Ordering us to swallow quickly. My next memory was when I was on the very cold concrete slab AKA the altar. 

 The first satanist to approach me was looking excited and happy. He’d got to go first. This meant that he was being rewarded!! What followed was the brutality of the worst evils. He commanded 2 minions to hold my legs apart as wide as they could. He kept saying “wider, wider” I felt a burning sensation as if I was being torn apart and the rape hadn’t even started yet. Then some kind of metal contraption was put between my legs to hold them in place. Then it began. His face was contorted and I knew he was going to be as violent as possible. He was. He used more than his penis to penetrate me with and used suffocation too. I was left injured, bleeding and torn. I then had to endure many more satanic elites taking their turn too. I was around 5 years old. When my turn was over I was thrown on the floor next to the small fire. I was grateful for the rest. I knew I had so much more to go through.

 I then became aware of cheering and clapping. It was the awards ceremony next. Elite satanists like to do this. The grand master would be calling out names and achievements. They would all be looking over at the prize table.

The prizes this year were a group of black boys. Ranging from ages approx 2 to 6 years old. Each winner was allowed to pick a child. A minion would then take the child away. There were approximately 5 child prizes. Shortly after, each minion would return with the prizes but now, each child was on a large skewer. They had been skewered through the anus and out of the throat. Their heads left dangling. Blood dripping rapidly.
 I was raped until unconscious and unfortunately, left alive.


Of course, they hadn’t been killed first so, each child was dying slowly and in unimaginable pain. I was watching on in a heap on the floor. Myself bleeding and in pain but knowing that these children were suffering more than me. I was shaking and sobbing uncontrollably. I wanted to scream from my very core and release every emotion. I couldn’t and still never have.

 Huge cheers went up as each minion appeared with the skewered prizes. Adrenachrome was being drank in abundance so the disgusting, vile, elites were now also starting to squeal. The prizes were taken to the roasting area. Cooked alive over burning flames like hog roast. This was their Christmas dinner. The prize winners got to choose which body part they wanted. Then the remains would be feasted on by the rest.

 After dinner the orgies began. Children were raped to death, literally. I was raped until unconscious and unfortunately, left alive. My Christmas night would end in a dungeon or cellar depending on which country estate I was at. I would be left there until the hunting games began on Boxing Day and the satanic nightmares would begin again.

 As I write this today and relive such trauma and horrors, I’m reminded of why I do what I do. Why I speak publicly and put myself through so much. Why I stand as an open target on the front line and why I never ever give up. These memories are my childhood memories but, the same memories will be being made tomorrow for many other beautiful innocent children. My heart and soul grieves beyond words and my body and mind feels rage that is indescribable. Please never forget us and what we went through. Please never take our survival for granted and above all, please NEVER EVER stop fighting until every child is safe 💔🙏💔 Written December 2023 Written by Jeanette Archer Survivor of SRA

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