So this is 6k and was my major for this year, I'll drop it in a spoiler so as not to take up massive space, hope you enjoy.
[spoiler]
Playing God“Without a filter, a man is just chaos walking.”
The car droned on as they sat in silence, the gentle hum of the engine the only thing that filled his ears. The hood on his head made him oblivious to the outside world, the only thing he could feel was the sweat on his palms as he waited in silence. The men inside the vehicle watched him carefully as they travelled down the road before making a sharp turn to the left. They hadn’t said anything to each other; not one person had spoken a word. In their minds he was just a regular customer, but he didn’t think he was.
For how many people paid for the chance to kill someone?
“Anyone, pick anyone.”
The words still rang in his ears from the day they’d been said to him. How many people had been at the forefront of his mind at that moment? He remembered thinking about that annoying neighbour who just couldn’t keep her nose out of his business. The guy at his office who had gotten the promotion over him just two months ago, and always found a way to come onto his floor and rub his success in his face. It was just amazing how all those small grievances could take such a deep root in your mind, and the moment you could just end them you would; almost without a thought.
But they weren’t the reason he was here, they weren’t the reason he had even considered this in the first place. So, as soon as they’d entered his mind they’d left just as quickly. Because as much as he hated them, despised their very existence, they were like a candle to the towering inferno of hatred he held for the person he’d chosen.
One night, he had one night in which he was God; he was judge, jury and executioner. And wouldn’t playing God be the greatest game of all? To hold someone’s life in his hands and decide what was to be done with it. Was it not the greatest act of power in the world? But that left the question, would he choose life or death?
He remembered the days he spent in school, learning about religion and the Bible. The one quote that stuck with him had been “an eye for an eye”. In science he was taught “every action has an equal and opposite reaction”. So what happened when someone took away a soul? Ripped it to shreds and made sure it could never be found again? What happened when someone took away the life of not only the individual, but the family who surrounded them? What was a just punishment? An eye for an eye, didn’t that dictate a soul for a soul? An equal and opposite reaction, didn’t that mean that his life should be destroyed just as theirs had been?
He hadn’t told anyone what he was doing, because how could they understand? They didn’t have to wake up every morning and see what he saw. His wife, a woman once vibrant and beautiful, full of warmth and love, was now devoid of anything other than pain. Her face was pale and gaunt as though she was seeing a ghost, yet the shock never faded. The pain was there and would be there for eternity, never leaving, never fading. He had to hold the shattered remnants of his family without even having the chance to grieve himself. That was why he had convinced himself that he had earned this; he had a right to his own version of justice. Not one that the courts could hand down, but one that deserved to be given.
The car took a few more turns, before finally slowing down. He heard the opening of some doors before it continued through and slowed down to a halt about a minute later.
The door to his left opened and he was seized by a pair of hands and hauled out of the vehicle. He hit the ground and felt pain shoot up his left arm, which only intensified when a man grabbed it and began to hauled him up. He felt like resisting but was immediately turned off the idea as he felt a cold piece of metal make contact with his back. The sensation caused him to seize up immediately, knowing that a single pull of the trigger could kill him if he did anything to piss the man off.
He may have been a paying customer but there was nothing stopping them from killing him and then killing the person he’d paid for. He knew that, he’d been warned about it when he met the man he had paid. The sheer number of rules he had been given had been more than annoying. If he didn’t follow their exact instructions, he was dead, if he resisted, he was dead. If he told anyone what he was doing, he was dead. They didn’t care who he was or what he did, if you pissed them off you died. They were professionals, and they did a professional job, they didn’t like mistakes; especially if the customer made them.
He was hurried inside a garage, he could tell that from the sound of metal grating against metal as the door slid open. The formerly rough ground smoothed as he felt himself walking on concrete or something similar. He resisted the urge to turn around and try and look at the sights around him. Partly because he still had the bag on his head, and partly because he wanted to remain quiet as he mentally prepared himself for what lay ahead. He focused on his breathing as he was led down the flight of stairs as quickly as possible, the inside of the building warming him as they moved further out of the cold night air.
Eventually they stopped, after about another five minutes of walking. He heard the sound of the handle click as it was opened. The man then asked:
“Are you ready?”
He didn’t answer, it didn’t matter if he was or not, the time was now. The man gave a grunt and shoved him inside.
XxX“Worst is the one who knows better and does nothing.”
His head cracked against the floor, streaks of pain shooting up the right side of his head. He heard the distinct rattle of an object as it hit the ground. Then the door slammed behind him. He got up gingerly, pulling the hood off and taking in the scene around him. The smell of wine clung to the air, he glanced at a couple of barrels on the floor over in the corner of the room. An old wine cellar was the eventual connection he made, similar to his father-in-law’s, of course it wasn’t the time to think about that.
The floor was made of timber, although the cracks were starting to show through and the wood was quite dry. The red walls around him, from which the paint had started to peel, showed that the place had fallen into neglect, and probably hadn’t been maintained for quite some time, a tragedy really for if it had been properly taken care of it would have made a lovely room.
Looking around, he found what he had come for, the weapon on the floor was an M1911, the most popular handgun in the world and easily accessible in most countries. Available in most gun shops, they were a bit steep, going at around a thousand dollars. But money wasn’t an issue for him, or for them, and when an M1911 was in good condition there wasn’t a more accurate pistol around. He walked towards the gun and knelt down, his head throbbing as he picked up the weapon.
He opened the cartridge to check for any bullets, ignoring the pain which had begun to cling to his body. What he was focused on now though, was the one, solitary metal object embedded in the pistol. Even now as he stared at it he felt a surge of adrenaline, he felt in control. Everything became heightened, his heart beating at a rapid rate, the gentle thud becoming an ever increasing sound as the blood rushed through his veins. This was the sensation he had come for, the sensation of absolute control, the knowledge that this time, everything would be decided by him.
He looked around the room, the small light in the centre allowing everything to be seen regardless of how dim it was. His eyes then settled as he turned his gaze to his target. A boy, almost a man really was slumped forward, bound to the chair that he sat on. A small globule of blood had spilt onto the singlet he wore. Had he been beaten? Or was it just an aftermath of when they were sent to retrieve him. He didn’t know the extent of his injuries though due to the fact that the boy’s face, like his, had been covered.
Slowly he strode over, step by step, savouring the moment. Three months he had spent waiting for this, three months of his own personal hell.
The first he had spent praying to God for one of two things. The first one was for vengeance, and the second was a desperate desire that everything could return to the way it was. The first month did nothing; neither of his prayers were answered, hell, he didn’t even know if they had been received. Whatever small amount of faith he had possessed at the time had diminished almost as quickly as it had appeared. The second month was when he found him, and made the deal. Maybe God had answered his prayers after all, but he didn’t think so. What God would have done what he did to his family in the first place and listened to his prayers afterwards?
Punishment for his sins or not, he found a way for retribution, to ensure justice was delivered. The second month became a waiting game after that, waiting for the phone call to tell him it was ready. The third yet, another waiting game as well. It had been torture, every spare second waiting for a message only to find there wasn’t one. Then checking back minutes later only to be disappointed yet again. Day in day out, an endless wave of hope and disappointment as he slowly grew more and more withdrawn from those around him.
But that didn’t matter now, because it had finally arrived, the moment he had been waiting for. The buzz he felt as he clutched the gun in his hand was almost indescribable, if he could compare it to anything, it was almost like that moment when you’re about to jump out of a plane. Except it was just that much more powerful, there was no parachute, no safe destination, no rules. He felt both sheer terror and jubilation in that moment, equivalent to that second before you jumped and fell off the edge completely. And when you fell, that feeling fell with you.
Eventually he reached the end of the room and stared, the gun was shaking in his hand. Was it excitement? Had he finally jumped out of the plane, or was he just about the reach the door? He didn’t know which and that made it all the more terrifying. He lifted his hand up, placing the barrel of the gun directly between the man’s eyes. He didn’t want leave room for mistakes, miss his chance for justice. Carefully he started to move his finger to the trigger, getting ready to complete the final action. As he moved it though, he felt as though something was missing. All he felt was emptiness, a void had opened in his heart and mind. Where was the rush? Where was the feeling that he had possesed not one minute ago?
He went to lift the hood that covered the boy’s face; perhaps looking at it would bring back that sense of righteousness, if he looked at the source of his anger for the last three months of his life. The boy that had ruined everything for him, and as he lifted the hood, the boy woke up.
“You can't say everything, so you don't say nothing.”
Shock was perhaps the first thing that came to him as the boy sat upright in the chair gasping for breath, trying to adjust to the scene before him. He groaned as he tilted his head upwards and muttered. “Where am I?”
While the boy was still disorientated he wanted to take the gun and shoot him then and there, end it and go home to his family. Living with the knowledge that justice was served regardless of how it was carried out, because justice was still justice no matter who delivered the punishment.
Was what he was doing right? Maybe it wasn’t, maybe it was, but no-one had a right to judge him because they didn’t know what he had been through. You couldn’t possibly judge him unless you had also felt the pain he felt firsthand, because the only thing on your mind in the months after was vengeance. He felt the pain of all those people who couldn’t go home to their wives or children, because they had been taken away from them. He also knew that if you offered them the chance for vengeance, with no strings attached, that almost all of them would act on it.
He knew because he was taking that opportunity right now, and he hadn’t even thought twice when he’d first heard the offer or during the two months in-between. It was only now that he was beginning to doubt himself and his ability to do it. For two months he had lived for this moment, those times when he just wanted to break down and end it all had been stopped by the thought of finally putting a bullet into the boy who destroyed his world. And now that the moment was finally here, something was missing, something was stopping him from simply pulling the trigger and leaving this whole thing behind him.
Because you could talk a good game, but when push came to shove how many people would actually do it? How many could actually take a life when they held the gun towards their target and had to pull the trigger? How many could fall down that path to eternal ****ation?
He immediately dismissed those thoughts though, because he had to. He had to do what was right, he had to do what those with power couldn’t.
It was almost funny that, the more power you had seemed to almost make you more powerless. And what was the point of power if you couldn’t use it for fear of how those around you would act? It was why this place was perfect; here there was no jury, no fear, and no judgement for his actions. Here he had the power, and there was nothing to stop him from using it.
The boy groaned again as he stared at the man. “Who are you?” He ground out through gritted teeth, his voice trying in vain to hide the pain which was coursing through his body.
He looked at the boy a bit closely, his face was heavily bruised, his right eye swollen shut and the skin around it a deep shade of purple. The man suspected that, if the boy opened his mouth, he would find that he was missing a few teeth. Pity was the first emotion which came to him as he inspected the boy’s face, pity which immediately ceased the moment he remembered who he was looking at. They had gotten the right boy, that was for sure, he could pick out that face from anywhere regardless of how beaten or bruised it was, it was the face that had been burned into his mind, haunting his dreams every night for as long as he could remember.
“Where are you?” The man repeated and the boy nodded.
He gestured around the room, the dim light illuminating the area. The light made the walls seem as though they had been splashed with blood, the creaking floorboards only adding to the eeriness of the setting. “I don’t know where we are, but I know why you’re here. I’d like to call this your trial, except this time, you’ll be getting the punishment you deserve.”
The boy stared back at him. “Who are you? What do you want with me?” He asked out as he started to strain against the straps he was bound to, trying to get free from his confines without any success.
The man watched him struggle, as he fought against the straps that kept him down, like a dog on a lead that no matter how much it tried couldn’t break free. This was what he wanted him to feel, powerless, helpless and in a world of pain, this was how he had felt until tonight. Another form of retribution, that’s all that tonight was for. An eye for an eye, pain for pain, it didn’t matter what pain it was, whether it was emotional or physical, as long as he felt it. He needed him to know how he felt, how those around him felt as a result of the boy’s actions.
The boy eventually tired out, it may have been ten minutes or longer before he eventually slumped in the chair. The man raised an eyebrow, as if asking him if that was it, if that was all he had.
The boy asked again. “What do you want with me? What have I done to you?”
The man looked at him. How hadn’t he figured it out yet? He reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet, a quick flick through saw him to what he was looking for. He pulled out the picture and showed it to the boy. The boy’s face paled as he looked at the photo.
“You’re… You’re…” He stuttered, tripping over his words.
The man interrupted him. “Isn’t it obvious? I’m here, we both are here.” He gestured to the decrepit cellar once again. “Because you killed my son.”
“We are the choices we make.”
The boy before him hadn’t talked much; perhaps he realized that no matter what he said he was going to die. Or perhaps he’d just given up, he didn’t know and he didn’t care. He had to do it, he had to do it for him. Because if he didn’t then he was worth nothing anymore, a hollow husk that would spend forever regretting what had happened. This was his chance for closure, closure intertwined with his own personal brand of justice. It wasn’t vengeance, no. It was justice. People said they were different, but they were the same. Justice was just another form of revenge, and a form that in today’s society was barely even a punishment.
He woke up every single morning and saw the result of the kid’s actions in front of him. Every morning he saw his son lying there, lifeless, a husk of what he used to be and a shadow of whatever he could have become.
All because of him.
He remembered every moment of that day, vividly. The hospital had rung him at three in the morning. He’d immediately thought the worst and ran down, why else would the hospital be ringing? If it had been the police that would have been so much better, but the hospital… Just the mere mention of the place brought shudders up his spine, was his son dead? Had he been stabbed? What the hell had happened to send him there? He drove through the city at a rapid speed, his wife pale as she sat in the passenger seat clinging to his left hand like a vice, refusing to let go.
Thirty minutes passed before they got the hospital, rushing as quickly as they could. Nothing, though, could prepare them for what they were told. A fight had broken out between their and another boy, and one thing had led to another. Just one punch landed, the contact had been minimal, a mild concussion, no cuts or bruises. But the fall was what made it infinitely worse. His head had hit the pavement as he landed; causing severe trauma to the brain. At least that was what the doctors had told him.
The bleeding was internal and his brain had shut down due to the force of his landing, sending him in a coma. The boy had been placed under arrest. It hadn’t been intentional, both he and his lawyer protested. But the boy had almost killed his son. The first month had been dedicated to prayer, he and his wife using the chapel praying for their son to wake up, for the damage that the doctors said could possibly be minimal. Two weeks by his bedside they spent, waiting for him to wake up, refusing to give in to the possibility he could die. When he did wake up though, the man thought that perhaps death would have been a mercy.
Paralysed, unable to talk, it was like a living hell. He remembered the times they had spent in the afternoons having a beer, practising in the cricket nets for next week’s game. Now he couldn’t even leave his bed, let alone run in and bowl. It was like he wasn’t even there anymore, as though someone had ripped out his soul and left nothing behind. Every morning he saw the empty bedroom and knew that at the hospital his son would be lying there, lifeless. A husk of what he used to be and a shadow of whatever he could have become.
But it hadn’t only been his son who suffered that fate. His wife was a shadow of herself, a ghost, an imprint. A physical reminder of all that had been before, and what might never be again. All she would do was sit in the chair by his bed in silence. She hadn’t spoken in weeks. She hadn’t even moved from the bed when he was there. She wasn’t his wife anymore, just as his son had disappeared in an instant. All he could do was sit and wait, and beg whatever gods may be to give at least one of them back to him, because if he lost both then he’d lose himself as well.
They had told them not to give up, that eventually everything would be right again, but three months on and nothing had changed. No matter how much he prayed, or how many specialists he went to see. The only advice would be to wait. Wait and pray for a miracle to arrive. Yet each day came, and any chance of a miracle seemed to only grow smaller and smaller. Every afternoon he’d visit the hospital to find his son just looking at the ceiling. What thoughts were in his head? Could he even think? He didn’t know; all he knew was that the boy who did this had to pay.
The trial came and went, two hundred hours of community service with a warning that any more violence and he would be sent to juvenile prison, being only seventeen and unable to be tried as an adult. That was utter bullshit. The boy knew what he had done, he started the fight and in the man’s mind the sole reason his son was gone was because of the abomination in front of him. He knew his son would never recover, never return to what he once was, there was a chance that he might talk again, but the odds of him walking were minimal. His son’s life had been taken away from him by the boy in front of him and the life of the man and his family had been destroyed as well.
An eye for an eye, a soul for a soul, a life for a life. The words echoed in his mind as looked at the boy, the memory of his son lying in that bed, staring at the ceiling. The thoughts continued to stir in his mind, as more and more reasons to end the boy’s life appeared. He thought of his wife who sat at the hospital each day, waiting for any sign of life. His daughter who had come home and waited for weeks before having to go back to her studies, the only thing on her mind being if her little brother would survive to the end of the year. The boy in the chair had caused all their suffering, all their pain.
He nodded to himself, and raised the gun ready to pull the trigger. The boy screamed.
“But a knife ain't just a thing, is it? It's a choice, it's something you do. A knife says yes or no, cut or not, die or don't. A knife takes a decision out of your hand and puts it in the world and it never goes back again. ”
“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” The boy screamed the words over and over again, his words echoing as he spoke them.
“It doesn’t matter, the hell you put me through makes this more than justifiable,” the man said as he kept his finger trained on its target, ready to end it all. “I have lived for this moment, the only thing keeping me together as everything fell apart around me was this moment, a ****ed apology doesn’t fix what you did, and it sure as hell doesn’t help me, him or her.
The boy sat still in the chair and looked downwards. “I went to visit him once, I sat there for an hour wondering if he was dead, and a month later there still hasn’t been a single sign of improvement. All you think about is, what if that was me? What if someone did that to me? And then you realise you did that to someone, and living with it is far, far worse than anything you could even think of, death would almost be a mercy.” His words were muttered as he kept his head tilted down, refusing to look upwards.
The man paused. He didn’t know that. He hadn’t known the boy had gone to see his son, neither the nurses nor his wife had mentioned it. What the boy had just said though struck him, he had nightmares? He was remorseful? The man rubbed his hand through his head, trying to drive those thoughts out; it didn’t matter now and it was too late to go back and make up for his actions.
But would he suffer the same fate? Would he finally achieve some closure, only to see the boy’s face instead of his son’s? Or would he see the two of them together?
Death, the eternal sleep of death, the nightmares that plagued his dreams, the face that haunted the boy’s very being, would surely be with him for eternity, wouldn’t it?
For if death was nothing more than an eternal sleep, then surely those dreams would be the things which plagued our minds?
Perhaps the only satisfaction the man could get out of this was that he was sending the boy to those nightmares first. For vengeance wasn’t something that offered satisfaction, vengeance was something you sought even though you knew it would destroy you. Here they were: two men, one an adult, one a boy. Yet both were on the road to oblivion, both teetering on the edge. Both already living a life where to sleep was to dream, and to dream was the one thing that neither of them wanted to do. So was death the right punishment? Or was a life of living with his actions ultimately the better choice?
****it! Why was he now choosing to have doubts? Why didn’t he think of these things before? He came in here knowing death was the only option; he had to kill him. He had come in here knowing he was going to do so. Absolutely certain that nothing could change his mind, and yet here he was, torn between whether he should do it or not. He didn’t know how but during the time he had been here, he had started to feel sorry for the boy. Maybe because he was actually sorry for his actions, maybe for the way he’d been treated, he didn’t know which. What he did know though was that no matter how much he hated him, he knew deep down that the boy didn’t deserve to be killed.
He had all the power, the whole time he had been in control and now he was just as powerless as the rest of them.
Is this what it felt like? To know a person’s crime and still not be able to deliver a punishment you deemed worthy? He had come here to escape that feeling, no distractions, no laws, nothing to get in the way of him and justice. Yet what was justice? Was what he had been planning to do justifiable? Maybe to some, not to others, but he had sworn to himself that others didn’t matter. He had sworn to himself that the here and now, what was happening tonight was all that mattered. He was judge, he was jury, and he had been set to appoint himself the executioner.
But he couldn’t do it.
He couldn’t bring himself to just point the weapon and fire, to just end it all and leave. Why didn’t he shoot earlier? When the boy was nothing more than an object of hate, and not an actual person? By delaying he had only made it worse, because now he couldn’t do it. He was weak, he had simply thought that he could kill a boy and walk away, how difficult could it be, right? And now he was here, the gun limp in his hand as he struggled within himself. Was it right? Was it wrong? All he knew was that he wasn’t going to be able to do it.
Hell, was he even the person pulling the trigger? Was the man who held the pistol himself? Or a sick, twisted version of himself, that had taken over his mind and thoughts, just to exact his revenge? He didn’t know. Was this God’s plan all along? Was his desire to play God, to be the judge, jury and executioner, a sick punishment that the man upstairs had chosen to play on him?
Good and evil, they didn’t matter anymore, this went beyond that. Who held the moral high ground here? The man or the boy, was the man right in his actions? Each was just as ****ed as the other.
There was no black and white, everything was covered in streaks of grey, every choice he made from now was neither wrong nor right, they were all justifiable and all just as ****ing. What he was doing broke any of those rules; he was effectively playing God, he just wasn’t a vindictive and inhumane enough of a ******* to play the **** role perfectly.
“Just remember, only one of you gets to walk out of there alive.” The voice rang in his head. That was the golden rule of the game, he had decided to play God, he had chosen to play the greatest game of all. And he had been found wanting. And unlike God, he could die.
So the question now wasn’t how he was going to walk away from this, or whether the boy deserved to be subjected to the eternal sleep of death and the nightmares that would follow him. Now the question was, which one would be walking out here alive? And would the victor ever be truly whole again?
“To say you have no choice is to relieve yourself of responsibility.”
He didn’t know how long they’d been in there for; it felt like hours, both of them silent as he churned over what he could do. It shouldn’t be such a hard decision, why couldn’t he just pick up the pistol, and fire the ****ed shot? Was he scared of what would happen if he did? Was he scared of the nightmares that would follow him when he finally laid himself down to rest, all those years onwards from tonight? Was he terrified of losing himself completely, falling off that edge and never finding a way back?
He had set himself two choices: murder or death. He had backed himself into a corner without ever really realising it, never realising how powerless he had been from the start. You could never play God, and he’d been stupid to ever think he could.
God was a malevolent, immortal ******* who could do what He wanted without fear of retribution; He could never be faced with death. You couldn’t punish God, couldn’t threaten Him, you couldn’t see or touch Him. God was in control of everything, and that included you.
You couldn’t play God, it was part of the human condition. We had been built, moulded over the years to empathise with those who suffered. We pitied the weak, gave to the poor, treated the sick, when we didn’t even know who the hell they were. We were taught that compassion was good, taught to love and forgive.
The truth was though; God didn’t give a **** about those things. He didn’t care about the children who lost their mothers, the husbands that lost their wives. He didn’t care about corrupt governments and freeing the oppressed. Because that would mean He would take an interest and actually do something about it. And God was anything but a man who took an interest in things, that’s why He hadn’t appeared in two thousand years. He was probably far away building something else after giving up on the failure that was mankind. If he was God, he would’ve given up on humanity a long, long time ago.
But he wasn’t God, he was just an ordinary man, a man who had possessed a decent life until the boy had screwed it up and then the man had gone and destroyed it completely. They were both at fault, the boy had been the catalyst and the man had been nothing but the elements waiting to react, and he had destroyed himself in the process.
So here he was: live or die? It was the ultimate question, wasn’t it? Was his life worth living after tonight? Or was dying now the best option? The problem was he didn’t know which and he didn’t know how long he had to decide. Come sunrise he had to make a decision, but they were oblivious to the outside world here. Trapped underground with no way to tell the time, his heart and mind in overdrive not even allowing the thought of sleep to enter his mind. The time the two had spent here felt like hours but there was no way to tell if it actually had been so. The funny things that stress could do the mind, especially when combined with sheer stupidity.
He stood up. He had finally come to a decision. The boy looked at the man as he stood there looking up at him. “You know how they call death an eternal sleep?” The man asked him.
The boy nodded, not trusting himself to say anything.
The man looked at him for a second before he raised the gun again. “Well here’s another nightmare to add to the list.”
The boy screamed but it was too late. The man smiled at him and fired.
“And it feels like, finally.”
He woke up. His head swirled from side to side as he adjusted to the light which shone in his eyes, no matter how dull the **** light was. He looked around the room and then his eyes locked on the scene in front of him. No matter how much he wanted to tear his eyes away he couldn’t. He could only stare on in horror, the image burning into his skull just like the boy he had pushed off the balcony oh so long ago.
The man lay before him, in a pool of blood, the gun next to his hand. He was dead, of that there was no doubt. So what would become of the boy? Had he won? Was he free to go?
Those thoughts in his head though were false and he knew it, he hadn’t won, the man had exacted his revenge. Because every time he went to sleep he’d see those two faces staring at him, a father and son, two lives he had utterly destroyed.
Lost in his own thoughts he was finally distracted by the sound of keys as the door was unlocked. Hope filled him, he was finally out, he was finally free.
The door opened and a woman dressed in black entered, the sound of heels echoed through the small room as she came to the centre and stared at the boy. She smiled, he smiled back. He was still smiling as she fired two shots into his chest. He didn’t feel pain, he didn’t feel anything he only stared in shock as his grip on the world left him and he followed the man into oblivion.
The woman looked at the man and a single tear ran down her cheek before she exited the room smiling. It was the first time she had done so in months.
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Short Stories (OP)
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o in the morning and Fajr was at 5:40 in the morning that day. I was so shocked by what I was hearing. I was hearing the most beautiful adhan I had ever heard. It sounded like an angel was doing the adhan. Then when I look down the window I see a whole bunch of tall guys walking down the street towards Masjid al Aqsa. Then I realized that the Adhan was coming from Masjid al Aqsa and the guys in white were angels. They all had white turbans and where wearing long white thobes.
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