I wanted to finish this before I posted it, but I’ve not yet done so. I did not want to just cast it aside (as I often do), so I figured that I would post in parts 🙂
Here’s Part One:
I struggle to open my eyes.
I remember that, when I was but a little boy, I was told that undertakers would place gold coins on the eyelids of the dead. Nobody was sure if it was to bless the body or to keep the eyelids closed.
Eventually, I quit fighting and just let the gold weigh down my eyes. I am so tired, the battle cannot continue. Allah, I pray, I’m ready. Yes, it is time….
“Open your eyes.” This…this voice has not spoken, yet I heard! I heard.
My eyes fly open, yet I am still so cold and so, so tired.
I become aware of shouting. “Allah, “I pray, “If it be your will, take me as a sacrifice before I surrender. Let me die fighting your good fight.”
All of a sudden, I feel a train hitting my chest. Tears sting my eyes and give warmth to my body. It is enough for me to climb the side of the boat. “Allah, help me! Mama, comfort me!”
Allah does not give me the power to lift my sweatshirt- once light but now heavy with my sorrow and blood.
My mother does not come wipe my tears when I crash to the ground below.
Yet I am still alive. Why must I still live? The gold is being placed upon my eyes again and I feel my very heart grow cold. Though surrounded by EMTs in the ambulance, I am alone. The ring of cold metal doors shutting echoes in my mind.