Ishā (صلاة العشاء)
Um…I don’t know what the hell this is. I think it’s the start of a story. I think I have an idea of what it’s about. And I think this is the prologue.
Note: this does deal with suicide, so if you’re not comfortable reading this type of content, I completely understand.
Also, this is my first delve into Islamic mythology, which I am quite intrigued with at the moment. I don’t know that much about it at this point, but I am learning.
Enjoy.
“Allahu Akbar…” Allah, the Greatest, the man says.
The shadow watches from its domain in the corner, avoiding the light. “Allah is a whore,” it mocks.
The man bows at the waist. “Subhana Rabbiyal Adheem,” Glory be to my Lord the Supreme. He says it three times.
“Glory is for cunts. The real glory is with us, not some false idol.”
The man rises. “Sami’ Allahu liman hamidah.” Allah hears whoever praises Him.
“He doesn’t hear you.” The shadow is directly behind the man, its voice slithering into his ear. “Tell me this: where is He now? In this room? No. Don’t you see? He has abandoned you. It is time to come home…with us.”
Prostrating, the man begins to weep. Still, he continues to recite. “Allahu Ahkbar,” he says, touching first his forehead to the floor, followed by his nose, palms, and knees. “Subhana Rabbiyal A’la,” Glory be to my Lord Most High. He repeats the phrase twice more.
“Why do you waste your time, Mahmood? Do you really think it’s going to get you into Paradise? You think Munkar and Naki will come to you after you have taken your own life? They won’t. That, I promise.”
After a second prostration, Mahmood sits and begins to recite the testimony of faith. He turns his head to the right, says, “Assalamu Alaikum wa Rahmatullah.” Peace be upon you and the mercy of Allah. He turns to the left and repeats.
“Mercy. Such a funny word, isn’t it? A lie in the imaginations of man. I promise, Mahmood, there will be no mercy for you. Not where you are going.”
Mahmood looks upward. “La ilaha illa anta subhanaka inni kuntu minaz-zalimin,” There is no god but You, Glory be to You! I have indeed been among the wrongdoers.
“Oh, so you are Yunus now, huh? In the belly of the whale? Pathetic. The belly of your whale is you—your despair. Do it now…and be done with it.”
Mahmood closes his eyes and brings forth his blade tucked from beneath his sleeve.
“Yes,” the shadow hisses.
Mahmood is sniffling, trying to maintain some composure as he points the end of the blade to his throat. “Allahummaghfir-li,” O Allah, forgive me. He reels back and plunges the knife in. The warmth is instant, spurting onto his hand, his clothes. It takes every bit of strength he has to pull the blade from the gape in his neck, but he does so before thrusting it in a second time, finally ending him.
The angels, as the shadow said, did not call upon him.