Paranoia ✓

XXVIII: Rashad - Unction (Part 1)

Rashad wouldn't be able to recognize himself in the mirror, even if one were available on the grounds. Instead, he saw a reflection of himself up by the Trickle on a hike up into the cliffs on his free time. By the time he reached the end of the Trickle, which filled up a good-sized lagoon, he was just as moist as the pool of water in front of him. On multiple occasions he hadn't properly dressed for training in the sun and found himself peeling off dead skin after the sun, the source of life on Earth, became the source of sizzling skin.

Although the men who ran the town (men like Jaheim) warned people from dumping waste and showering directly in the lagoon, since it was their untreated source of drinking water, Rashad couldn't help but fall victim to the temptation of a cool dip. Although he could easily shower in the natural waterfall bath in Jaheim's fancy living quarters, or even do what everyone else does and obtain water in buckets and use them for their showers, he did not wish to spoil his last opportunity to bathe in the lagoon that keeps the settlement hydrated and operating.

Today was Rashad's last day in the town. He had spent over nine months at the camp since the attack on his old village, a longer time than he had initially anticipated. A lot has happened over those last nine months. He has trained vigorously as a soldier of Allah, ready and willing to defend Islam, and its right to exist on the planet, from the Western Shrikes who seek to impale Islam on a stake before devouring it whole.

He has, for starters, drastically improved his gun skills. The AK-87 was his best friend. When he held it in his arms, it became an extension of his soul, each bullet a blast of courage against the oncoming foe. He could imagine each blast of courage toppling the empire that sought to eradicate Islam from the face of the Earth. He could see each blast of courage splattering against a man, a woman, a child, in retaliation for the same men, women, and children killed over here in Yemen. His anger would boil when his courage seeped away into despair whenever images of his dead mother and sister would pop into his mind—because at the end of the day they always appeared. After all, what other central reason did Rashad pick up the gun? He'd love to say it was to fight for Allah, and Islam's right to exist. But in the end, it was to avenge his family's death, and to prevent the boulder from crushing him—that same boulder he dreamt of when he was first initiated as a member of the Kabish.

Well today was the day he caught the boulder. He has been seeing its shadow darkening the area around him for months; but now his training will provide him the strength to catch it; and soon, he shall toss the boulder over the cliff.

For months he has hiked these cliffs as a form of exercise and a form of work. Retrieving water from the Lagoon was a strenuous task. Not only was the lagoon about a mile climb up against jagged slopes, unstable edges, and dusty winds, but also to make the trip up the mountain with multiple buckets was challenging. But, that pales in comparison to making one's way down the cliff with buckets full of water. You had to multi-task like no other. Not only did you have to keep your balance and strength while descending down the shaky cliffs, but you also had to do so without losing too much water—after all what's the point of the task if you come down the mountain with nothing to show for it? Rashad couldn't help but admire the children and women who scale the mountain every day, some even during sandstorms, to retrieve the water.

The mentioning of sandstorms brought back a vivid flashback of one of his training exercises. The exercise was conducted amongst his peers, and it sounded exciting at first, but proved to be a most dangerous game. This exercise had to be done at least once in a recruit's training within the Kabish. It taught one to abandon one's senses and rely on your soul and the light of Allah to guide you towards a successful mission.

Now, people may find a sandstorm to be absolutely nothing. It's true that if you are a local you get used to them, but they are far from just the desert's rain. Sandstorms destroys visibility, desensitizes your ability to hear anything amongst the roaring wind, clogs your nostrils and mouth with the sandpaper smell and the dry crunchy taste of sand, and feels like small pellets are being shot at you from all directions. In other words, your senses are useless. You must rely on something else to weather the storm.