**The Cry of the Forgotten: A Story of Justice and Hope**

The sun hung low over the desolate plains, casting long shadows that stretched like grasping fingers across the land. The earth was dry, cracked from months without rain, and the wind carried the faint cries of those who had been forgotten—those whose voices were swallowed by the dust.

In a small village at the edge of the wilderness, a man named Elihu sat beneath the shelter of a withered tree, his face lined with sorrow. He had seen much in his days—the wicked prospering while the righteous suffered, the powerful crushing the weak beneath their heels. His heart burned with the injustice of it all, and he lifted his eyes to the heavens, whispering the words of Job:

*”Why are times not kept by the Almighty? Why do those who know Him never see His days?”*

### **The Oppressors in the Night**

As darkness fell, shadows moved with purpose. A band of ruthless men, their faces hidden beneath cloaks, crept toward the fields of a poor farmer. The man, whose name was Jotham, had toiled from dawn till dusk, his hands calloused, his back bent under the weight of labor. His small plot of land was all he had to feed his wife and children.

But the wicked men did not care. With swift brutality, they uprooted the boundary stones—the ancient markers of Jotham’s inheritance—and stole his harvest. When he awoke to the sound of their laughter, he ran out into the night, only to be struck down with a club. His wife screamed as they dragged away the last of their grain, leaving them with nothing but dust and despair.

*”The wicked remove landmarks; they seize flocks and pasture them. They drive away the donkey of the fatherless; they take the widow’s ox for a pledge.”*

### **The Widow’s Plea**

In the city, another scene unfolded. A widow named Miriam knelt in the dirt beside the road, her garments torn, her face streaked with tears. Her husband had died the year before, leaving her with a debt she could not pay. The moneylender, a man with cold eyes and a heart of stone, had come that morning with his thugs.

They had taken her only son as a slave, claiming it was justice. Now, she clutched the empty cloak he had worn, her sobs echoing through the streets. No one stopped to help her. The judges turned away, bribed by silver. The elders averted their eyes, unwilling to challenge the powerful.

*”They push the needy off the road; the poor of the earth are forced into hiding. Behold, like wild donkeys in the desert, the poor go out to their toil, seeking food, but the barren wilderness yields no bread for their children.”*

### **The Outcasts in the Wasteland**

Beyond the city, in the caves of the rocky hills, the forgotten ones gathered. Fugitives, orphans, those driven from their homes by violence—they huddled together in the cold, their ribs visible beneath their skin. Among them was a young boy named Asher, whose parents had been killed by raiders. He shivered in the dark, listening to the howling of jackals, wondering if God had abandoned them.

*”They lie all night naked, without clothing, and have no covering in the cold. They are wet with the showers of the mountains and cling to the rock for lack of shelter.”*

### **The Hope Beyond the Darkness**

Yet even in the deepest night, a whisper of hope remained. Elihu, still seated beneath the tree, clenched his fists. He knew that though men hid their deeds in shadows, nothing was hidden from the Almighty. The cries of the oppressed rose like incense before the throne of God.

*”Yet God does not charge them with wrong. He does not regard their folly, but His eyes are on the ways of a man, and He sees all his steps.”*

One day, justice would come like the dawn—swift and unyielding. The wicked, who thought themselves secure, would vanish like smoke. The poor, the widows, the orphans—their tears would be remembered, and their suffering would not be in vain.

For the Lord may seem silent, but He is never absent. And in the end, every hidden deed will be brought to light.

And so, the people waited.

And so, the Lord watched.

And in the stillness of the night, the promise of justice lingered like the first faint light of morning.