Hanging By The Neck

Image source: SVG Silh

I am walking in and everyone is looking at me. I am thinking they all watched the trial; I hear it was a very popular trial. Everyone is starring, making me feel like I am walking through the gates of Jannah and the angels are watching my every move.

I am trying to walk as fast as I can but the oversized clothes I was given do not allow me. Each time I put down a foot, I step on a edge of the trousers and it is making me stumble. The guards behind me do not care. They are pushing me the way I used to push cows in Zamfara before Allah called me to join the holy fighters in Syria. Wallah! No one treated me like this in the camp; not even when I was an ordinary recruit.

I am seeing everyone as they are looking at me. I am trying not to turn around but I am sensing their eyes sit in jury and condemn me. They are all ignorant, like the ignorant jury that sentenced me to this prison for life. They say it is the most secure prison. The interpreter even said something about being located on the moon. Bi sharafak! No one can ever tell me such nonsense!

That is why Mallam Usman told us western education was rubbish. How would someone tell me I am on the moon and I would believe? Only angels and Prophet Mohammed (Sallallahu Alayhi Wa Sallam) have ever ascended beyond the skies. I know these things because I read the Koran. It is the same Koran that instructs me to kill all the infidels one by one. But these people are ignorant. They don’t know anything.

I am waiting in front of a prison door as one of the guards is unlocking the chains on my hands and legs. I am thinking I am going to enjoy my stay here. The air is always fresh. Although it is cold, I am enjoying it. The only time I have enjoyed such cold air was when some white men took Mallam Usman and some of us in black jeeps to a meeting. As a member of Mallam Usman’s personal bodyguard, I was in one of the jeeps. I do not like remembering that meeting. Because there, Mallam Usman was talking with the people he said were our enemies - the white people. I wanted to ask questions but we were attacked on our way back. Mallam Usman and others are probably dead. There is nothing to be sad for. Everything happens according to Allah’s will.

I am thinking of how Mallam Usman is enjoying in Jannah. There will be beautiful virgins caressing his body. I am feeling a bulge in my trousers and I know I need to stop thinking these thoughts. Thanks be to Allah that the trousers are oversized. I am feeling some moisture in my trousers. I am becoming unclean. I need to perform ghusi as I would need to pray before I sleep. I say astaghfirullah in my heart many times. Allah sees the intent of my heart, he knows I was only thinking about the promises he made to us in the Koran.

I am sitting on one of the beds in this big prison room. The door is made of crossed steel rods. I am seeing outside of the room. I am watching as the guards are saying some things to themselves and laughing. I am wondering if they saw the bulge in my trouser. Why are they judging me? Only Allah should judge. They are ignorant.

The door opens. I hear the sound and I open my eyes. I am expecting to see the guards. Instead, I see other people wearing the uniform I am wearing walking around. I am hearing someone speak in a strange language. It is sounding as if he is speaking through a microphone. I am remembering the American prison I was in. It is time for evening meal.

I am waiting in queue trying to squeeze out as much air as I can. The man in front of me is taller than Rasak. Rasak is the tallest soldier in the camp. I used to think he was the tallest in the world. I am looking at back of this tall man and I am thinking that he is the tallest in the world.

I am moving as fast as the tall man in front of me but the man behind is not patient. He is always pushing against me. I am feeling his penis at the back of my head. I am thinking that it is very fat - too fat. I am wondering whether he has an erection. Maybe he is looking at the old woman that is among the people serving the food. But that woman is older than Amatullah, the old woman who cleans the toilet at the camp. How can he have an erection from looking at that old woman. Kia! All these white people…

I am trying to eat my food but the eyes on me are too much. I am hearing some people laughing, I am hearing others whispering. I do not want to listen. I just want to eat my food in peace. I know I will not be here for long. The other holy fighters will kidnap some people and demand they release me in exchange for those people. It has happen before. It will happen again.

It is time to return to the cells. I remember the stain in my trousers and I am approaching one of the guards. I am thinking how I would explain to him that I need to clean up.

“Toilet. Toilet.” I am repeating as the guard is looking at me. I am thinking he wants to push me away. The tall man comes over and he is whispering something into the guard’s ear. I am wondering what he is telling him. Maybe he noticed the stain on my trousers. I am feeling ashamed and I bend my head looking at the ground. Even as I am looking at the ground, I notice the tall man put something in the guard’s pocket. The guard is walking away and the tall man is smiling at me.

I am peeing into a white receptor. Normally I would squat to pee but when I did it at the American prison, everyone was laughing at me. I don’t like people laughing at me. As I am peeing, I am hearing someone walk in. I look back and I am seeing the tall man. He is smiling at me again. I notice he is not really looking at me; he is looking at my big penis.

I do not know my age but people are always saying my penis is too big for my age. The interpreter told me to tell the court I was ten. I am remembering how the soldiers at the camp used to hail me on account of my big penis. I am thinking the tall man is hailing me too, through his smile. I am smiling back, proud of my big penis.

I am trying to leave but the tall man standing at the door is staring at me. I know he was watching as I cleaned myself. I was thinking he was looking out for me. Now, I am thinking maybe it is not safe to go outside. The man with the fat dick is entering with two other people. The two other people are pushing me to the ground.

I am remembering what we did in Syria in Deir ez-Zor. We were walking, doing patrol work, when we found the family hiding. After killing the man, we dragged the females, one to each group of three. My group was saying I should go first as I had never had a woman. I am remembering as the girl begged, how Abu and Musab were holding her down and slapping her. I am remembering how she was screaming as I rammed it in. Wallah, it was sweet. Now, it isn’t.

I am trying to cry out but there is a cloth in my mouth. I am tasting urine in it. I cannot struggle as the men are holding me. My face is pressed against the ground as if they want an imprint of it on the ground. I am crying as I feel something assault me from behind. I am feeling like my entire body is burning. I am feeling like my anus will tear. I am feeling like I am going to die.

I am lying on the ground and I am begging for death. I am thinking of the Koran and the promises in it. I am wondering why Allah brought me to this place, this moon place. They say Allah's sun shines everywhere. I am thinking it doesn't shine here. This is the dark side of the moon. I am cursing Allah. My mind is telling me that this is Haram but I don't care. I am a solider, a soldier of Allah. Why am I here? I am crying and I am cursing. The men are laughing as they take turns with me.

I am lying on the ground and I am gasping for breath. I am thinking I am truly on the Moon and Allah cannot reach me. The men are gone and I am here alone. I am trying to stand up but the pain will not allow me. I am thinking I cannot survive in this place. I am thinking this is not America where someone will be checking on me, asking if I am well treated. I am now believing the interpreter when she said I was going to the worst prison ever. She said it was the place for the worse criminals. I am wondering why I am here. All I ever did was do the will of Allah.

I am thinking I cannot survive in a place like this. I am turning on my side looking around, wishing for a miracle. I am wishing I have an Ak 47 in my hand. I will shoot all those men and then shoot myself. Shoot myself… I am thinking about it. Maybe suicide is my best option. I am looking at the mirror, thinking of breaking it. But there are steel iron bars in front of it.

I see the iron bar on the ceiling. I see the bench by the war. I am struggling to lift myself up, despite the pain. I am crying and I am heaving. I am dragging the bench to the spot under the iron bar. I have to meet Allah; he has questions to answer. I am taking off my clothes. I am seeing my scars in the mirror as I peel my shirt over my head. I tie the shirt and trouser together. I make a knot.

When the guards walk in tomorrow, they will see me hanging by my neck. By that time, I will be in Jannah. This isn't suicide for personal gain. This is a suicide to save Allah’s face. I am hoping to see Mallam Usman. I am hoping for my share of virgins. I have fought the good fight. It is up to my brothers to continue.

Entry for the Twenty-four Hour Short Story Contest