Your Honor, I Object to Defeat: The Testimony of a Survivor Part 4

Your Honor, I Object to Defeat: The Testimony of a Survivor

Part 4

By Kateb Nuri-Alim Shunnar

[Courtroom packed. All eyes on the witness stand. Judge leans forward. Tension thick as molasses.]

Mr. David Thornwood, the sharp-tongued, high-priced, silver-haired prosecuting attorney with a smirk carved from sarcasm, approaches the stand. He’s got his notes in hand, but what he really wants is a show. And I Kateb Nuri-Alim Shunnar am the main act.

Thornwood (adjusting his tie, eyes narrowing):

“Mr. Shunnar… are we really supposed to believe that faith, trust, and belief still have power in your life after everything you’ve lost, after everything you’ve been through? Do you honestly think this bleeding, broken world buys into that fantasy?”

[Gasps in the courtroom. Murmurs. The judge pounds the gavel.]

Thornwood (pressing in, voice cold and calculated):

“You lost your grandmother... your mother... your son... your closest cousin. The very people you poured into walked out on you like you were yesterday’s bad news. Even those personal relationships you tried to build? Trash. They mocked you right to your face and behind your back. And yet here you are, sitting there all calm, smiling even, like you’ve cracked some divine code. Mr. Shunnar, respectfully... you’re goddamn delusional.”

[Pause. I lean forward, place my hands on the stand. The courtroom grows silent.]

Me (smirking):

“Well damn, Mr. Thornwood. With an introduction like that, I almost expected theme music and smoke machines. But let me ask you something... if faith was a delusion, how come it’s the only thing that kept me from slapping life back when it slapped me first?”

[Laughter from a corner. Judge pounds gavel.]

Thornwood (tightening his jaw):

“Let’s cut the comedy, sir. Do you believe in the supernatural?”

Me:

“Yes. Wholeheartedly.”

Thornwood (with mock sincerity):

“Really? Then riddle me this, man of blind faith where the hell was that supernatural blessing when your son was dying? Where was it when your mother took her last breath? Why didn’t it pull you out of the financial holes you buried yourself in? Don’t make me bring up Georgia... you remember that mess, don’t you? Shall I let the court in on that little chapter?”

Me (leaning back, smiling wide):

“Oh, you’ve done your homework. Cute. Yes, I remember Georgia. I also remember grace. It met me in the courtroom, in the jail cell, in the late-night cries and the overdraft fees. Where was the supernatural? Right there. Not pulling me out, Mr. Thornwood—but pulling me through.”

Thornwood (barking):

“You’re drowning in bills, Mr. Shunnar. Your bank account is overdrawn more than it’s balanced. You live check to check. Your home and your cars need repairs. How much red tape and grey tape can one man use? Your fridge barely hums. You haven’t been on a vacation in... what, a decade? Your relatives look at you like you forgot your instructions on how to function in life. When’s the last time you heard the words ‘I love you’? When’s the last time you led anything other than your own pity parade?”

Me (clearing throat):

“Let me remind you, counselor... it’s not about what’s in my bank account. It’s about what’s in my spiritual vault. And believe me, I’m wealthy in things that can’t be foreclosed or repossessed.”

Thornwood (snapping):

“Face it you’re pathetic. You claim your Creator is your foundation, but what wonders has that built for you? I read your little writings. Inspirational, sure... but let’s not act like they’re turning the world upside down. You’re a nutcase with a pen and a delusion.”

Me (voice suddenly solemn):

“You know what? Maybe I am a fool. A fool with faith. I don’t know where I’m going, but I do know I’m going to win. I don’t know what He’s got planned for me, but I’m willing to accept it blindly. Call me foolish, walk away if you please, but know this: The Creator pulled me out of waters I was drowning in. And when I woke up... there was no crowd. No applause. Just me... and Him.”

[The courtroom goes quiet. You could hear doubt choking on its own breath.]

Me (raising my voice, eyes fiery):

“So talk about me. Feel some type of way. Laugh at me if you need to but just you wait and see how the Creator puts the brightest damn spotlight on Kateb. And when He does? Don’t ask me for a ticket. I’ve been in the front row of my own pain too long not to shine.”

Thornwood (furious, slams his folder shut):

“Your Honor, this man is clearly unstable and needs psychiatric evaluation! I move for a mental assessment!”

Me (tilting my head):

“Assess this, sir I’m not crazy. I’m just not scared to believe in the impossible. That might make you uncomfortable, but me? I’ve made peace with it. Because insanity is living without hope. I may be broke, bruised, and battle-worn but baby, I’m not broken.”

[The judge raises a brow. The jury stares. Silence.]

Me (calmly):

“So object all you want. I object too. To giving up. To quitting. To being what this world expects a man with my scars to be. And I object to defeat. Because my Creator... He ain’t finished with me yet.”

You see, I don’t know exactly where I’m going, but I do know one thing: I am going to win. I don’t have the coordinates, but I have the call. I don’t have the roadmap, but I got the resolve. I might not see what He sees, but I trust the eyes that crafted light in the first place. That’s enough for me. Call me foolish if you want. Mock me. Leave me standing on the side of the road if it makes you feel secure in your own skin. I can take that. I’ve taken worse. You can laugh at me. That’s fine. I’ve learned to dance to the sound of laughter meant to shame me.

Throw me in the trash if you believe I’m garbage. It’s perfectly fine with me. Because I remember the moment I was drowning in a sea of hopelessness, and no one not one of you was around. I remember waking up, breathless, soaked in my own tears, shaking from grief and guilt and pain and who stood beside me? The Creator. When the storm took everything and everyone, when the applause stopped, the messages stopped, the phone stayed silent… He didn’t. He never left.

So go ahead. Talk about me. Feel some type of way. Let your opinions carry you far away from me. Walk off if you must. But remember this: just you wait and see. Wait and see how the Creator takes this broken clay vessel and pours glory through the cracks. Wait and see how He makes me a lighthouse from the same ruins you said would never shine again. Watch how He puts the brightest spotlight on Kateb not because I earned it, but because He ordained it.

And when that spotlight hits, when you see me standing on stages, writing from deeper wells, loving with a heart refined in holy fire, speaking with the voice of wisdom and thunder, don’t act surprised. Don’t try to say you always knew. Just know it wasn’t luck, it wasn’t hype, and it damn sure wasn’t easy. It was the Creator. Let the record show: I may be bruised, but I am not broken. I am rising. I am chosen. And I object to defeat.

To My readers ❤️ this is my truth this is my testimony.