The Ramadan Diaries

Unfold

Sameer Janahi.

Familiar name. Familiar place.

He is ten. He woke up to the sound of his father's muffled screams.

Throwing the blanket aside, he ran to the kitchen. Blood everywhere.

His father sat in the chair, the veins on his right hand cut by the butcher knife, a cloth stuffed in his mouth.

"Daa!"

But it was too late, his dad's eyes were convulsing already.

It had been three months since strange men had invaded their home, looking for strange books. Dangerous men. Armed men.

His mother died that night, for something so worthless as a few books.

He found a strange hatred growing steadily in his heart against Dawood Janahi since that day.

He started to run to the neighbours house to call the local hospital, something which would take 12 minutes on running feet. By the time they sent their jeep.. Sameer shuddered.

His father held him back, and took out the cloth from his mouth.

Between wheezing gasps, he told his son that he had known about the books, that he could have saved his wife that day.

Hatred.

He told his son where the books were kept, and told him to destroy them.

He had never cried in his life like he had that day. The books killed his mother, and regret took his father soon after.

What had he done to deserve this?

He sat in front of the living room furnace, the fire glazing fiercly in his eyes.

2 months since he had to leave his house, thanks his wretched relative Talib Janahi. Living in that house with that bitch of his.

The revolver lay in his hand, and he kept rotating the bullet stack, staring into the nothingness.

He could tolerate the worst forms of slavery, but making him leave the house where he had preciously preserved the last memories of his parents.

That he wouldn't forgive.