Bound

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Hear a live reading of Bound tonight (8/13/17) on the incredible Steemit Creative Radio Show with Shane @swelker101 and Isaria @isaria. You can listen to their combined awesomeness live at the mspwaves website, or on twitch, every Sunday from 6-8 CST

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This story would not have happened without @Jeffways’ winning 50 word starter, entitled Passport. Check out his terrific blog, stat!
Also a huge debt of gratitude to @ahmadmanga, who arrived in the Fiction Workshop with all serendipity as described in a post to come. He was gracious in his advice on both vocabulary and religion, and any mistakes or misrepresentations herein are my own.

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Bound

Holding my passport above the scanner, she looks at the screen and then at me. I try to appear calm as my heart pounds against my chest, expecting questions, but she stamps it. The years have brought ever-escalating levels of technological tracking, and for one such as I, this can be a very bad thing.

"Enjoy your visit."

I’m perturbed at the flush of adrenaline through my system. My weakening knees, trembling bowels. Freedom is inches away. Hunger for it wars with shame at my powerlessness.

Behind me, someone calls out my real name, and I freeze. There can be no one left walking this earth who knows that name, and yet here it floats, echoes, wraps around me, squeezing the breath from my lungs.

The functionary has her hand extended, my papers nearly back in my possession, when she hesitates. She’s seen my distress and I call upon countless years of experience in deceit to put her mind at ease.

Laughing, I shake my head, a good-natured fool resigned to the consequences of another bout of idiocy. “I just realized I forgot to reserve a rental. Do you think I’ll be able to get one last minute?

“If you follow the signs to the rental counter, I’m sure someone there will be able to help you.” Her demeanor has soured, her suspicion supplanted by annoyance that I would presume she has time to help travelers. Taking back my passport, I thank her with an ‘I don’t even notice what a bitch you’re being’ smile, and turn to face the impossible.

The woman with the power to destroy me is struggling to maintain her composure. Fire gleams in her eyes, this person who knows my true name. A fire that instantly informs me of our bond. I have spent the better part of a decade in slavery, only having been released at my master’s death. Faced now with the fruit of my own loins, I would gladly trade another decade--another century--in bondage to avoid the coming storm.

Tall and lithe, she stands her ground. Lighter than many of her Arab sisters, the al hinti complexion of her face is framed by a river of black silk flowing across her shoulders and down her back. Her jet irises pulsate, crucibles to my resolve. She trembles with rage as I approach. “Ta’al ma’ei.” Come with me. She strides away and I follow--as I must--the one who speaks my name.

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The shriveled creature bears no resemblance to the sensuous woman I planted my seed in twenty-three years ago. The last time I saw her, golden curls puddled on red satin sheets. Now, wisps of dish water wilt upon cheap cotton blend. Her full breasts had swayed, enticing, as she crawled to me. Now, flaccid sacks sprawl across the chest of a thing that couldn’t crawl out the door if the house began to burn. Her eyes pleaded with me, the most familiar thing about her. Though where she had begged then for me to plug her aching crevice, I imagined now she only wanted me to pull the plug.

I turn my attention to the ghūl I’m shocked, dismayed, and completely fucked to discover I had sired. I can’t imagine what she wants from me, but if she’s spent the time to find me, it can’t be good. The formerly luscious dust-bag, whose name I can’t recall, certainly didn’t have my true name. But this half-breed had discovered it and I’m only just realizing the immensity of my plight.

“You know I can’t repair the damage, right? A human woman just isn’t physically equipped to bear the child of a Jinni.”

“Oh, I know, Father.”

“Iblīs,” rasps the old crone from her hospital style bed.

Great. Two bitches with the blood of Adam running through their veins. One with the fire of Jinn on top of it, and they both know my name. I’m screwed. The hag I can outwait - she can’t have more than a couple months - but the ghūl. That shapeshifting whore could last forever with the sihr she inherited from me.

“Then what do you want, exactly?”

Taking in the place, I’ve allowed myself a glimmer of hope. It’s not exactly a dump, but it could be better. Plus, a hot young thing like--hmm--well, like my offspring there, probably doesn’t want to be stuck caring for a declining human. She’ll want money to fix it all. And money? Money, I can do. Private nurses, the best equipment, vacation in an exotic locale to recover from the death of her mother, who will have been buried in the snazziest casket available-

“You can start with the bedpan.” She gestures to the floor beside the bed, and the vicious glee in her eyes is definitely from my side of the family. I misread her. Not avarice, vengeance. I feel as deflated as the crone’s happy sacks, and am again struck by the circular nature of history. My fire-borne brethren bowing to Adam when the clay beast was presented to us. My refusal to submit to any but Allah, and certainly not that golem. The irony of my god’s anger and his curse.

As I bend at the waist, reaching for the plastic bowl of excrement, I think for at least the millionth time, how much easier it would have been if I’d just bowed to Allah’s creation when I had the chance.

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Author’s note: Many western children grow up with the idea of genies as magical beings who must grant a number of wishes if captured in one way or another. Iblīs - the Islamic counterpart of Satan is thought by some scholars to be a Jinn thrown out of Heaven for refusing to bow down to Adam at the creation. While the ghūl dates back to Bedouin tradition predating Islam, later legend has it that these shape-shifting female Jinn were the offspring of Iblīs.

For this story I imagined a world in which Iblīs is cursed to obey (grant the wishes of) any descendant of Adam who learns his true name, as a punishment especially apropos of his hubristic insult to Allah. I hope it entertained.

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Thank you so much for reading! Don't forget to Upvote, Comment, and Resteem!

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Please check out my recently posted fiction:

First Night
Restoration
Peace
Let us Gather by the River

Learn more about the Fiction Workshop and see what we do, with my Red Ink Experiment

Part 1
Part 2

Or laugh and learn with my Tips for Fic series:

Part 1 – The Writer’s Guide to Getting some Action
Part 2 - Show me yours, I'll Show you Mine
Part 3 - Cover your - um - Content
Part 4 - Work(shop) that Thang!
Part 4.1 - Work(shop) that Thang! [with Google Docs]

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