Suhail lay on the dirty road, eyes staring up at the dark night sky.
A moment ago he had been walking, on his way to the market to buy yet another item his wife had forgotten to write on the grocery list. It was extremely necessary for her to have that item right now, in her opinion. Not one to fight and argue unnecessarily, he had once again left the house to return to the store he had already been to twice in that evening.
Two bangs had sounded, followed by stinging pain, and he had toppled onto his back.
He barely blinked when he saw three men run in his direction. Two kneeled down beside him; one grabbed his head roughly and pushed it up into the flash light that the other man was shining.
“You fool!” snarled one of the kneeling men after a moment. “He’s the wrong one!”
The other cursed before pulling out a gun, probably the same gun that was used before. “He might tell others,” he muttered.
“Leave him,” said the one who was standing. “You are so hopeless; you'll need all the bullets for our actual target.”
“If I am so bad, why didn’t you shoot? Huh?”
“I am worse,” was the reply with a shrug.
The three men left and Suhail was left in the middle of the road, wondering if anybody would be coming to help him… though he was sure it was too late anyways. The first bullet had hit somewhere around his spleen and the second hit his lungs. At this time of the night, not many walked by, and he felt too weak to move.
Resigned to his fate, he let his mind wander. His wife would be upset in half an hour, wondering why he was late. An hour later she would probably call his mother, thinking he had gone to visit his parents. He hoped they wouldn't argue, at least not tonight.
His children were already asleep. He wondered how they would feel when they found out their Papa was no longer there for them. The older one would cry… the younger one, would thankfully be too young to know Papa was not there.
He could not bear to think about his mother and father.
There were many things he had done that he wished he had not. There were many things he could have done but had not been able to. He wondered if he had ever been, even once in his life, the ideal husband, father and son.
But most importantly, the ideal slave to Allah Ta'aala.
He sighed as he closed his eyes. The time for all that could have been was gone and there was only the now that was fading fast.
I do believe in one Allah, and I do believe Muhammad Salla Allahu Alayhi wa Sallam was His last prophet and messenger…
A smile came to his face as he remembered a verse he would hear often from his teacher.
Even though I am amassed with sins, where else can Your slave go, my Lord?
Your slave has come to Your door with hopes of Your Grace
*
He was found the next morning, cold and stiff, a peaceful smile on his unusually bright face.
~ Bint Mahmood
