Last Sacrifice | #Wattys2018

Chapter Five

An abandoned rocking chair beheld a morose effigy that seemed unfazed by its surroundings. The old man's bloodshot eyes were fixated on the small house across from his. His grief stricken soul had splashed greyness all over his face; the creases that lined his once shiny forehead were deepened. His sunken cheeks dampening with each wistful tear drop, had already drained of a soft rose colour that tinted his cheeks.
He resembled a wilting flower, with each petal withering to the ground effortlessly.

A tall figure loomed over the door frame with its shadow forming a black silhouette that cascaded the only form of light present in that murky room. It carried a melancholic essence to it that was inescapable. Sorrow and loss seemed to hover over the father and son like a gloomy grey cloud. How did he possibly manage to tell his father? It was hard enough that his father lost his beloved precipitously, and even then he didn't take the news well. His mourning was completely different to others, he never talked neither did he eat for days on end.

He was numb.

It worried Rayhan as he witnessed yet another grievance his father was forced to go through. He never wanted to be the bearer of bad news and it killed him to have watched his father's smile falter and his legs lose balance as he stood up from his prayer mat. It took a few moments for him to internalise the news and when he did, he fell back into a relapse of depression that required more than just Rayhan to bring him out of it. Uncle Ali was the only one to have saved his best friend from a deadly sorrow that seemed to consume him when his wife died. He dedicated his time and efforts all to show him that his life was still worth living without her. Together, they were forever battling the hardships of life and armed themselves with constant prayers and the complete remembrance of Allah.

But now, Rayhan was alone.

There was no Uncle Ali to comfort him. Who would remind Rayhan to never give up on his father, no matter how hard it seemed? Rayhan couldn't bear to watch as his father punished himself for a death he had no contribution to. His legs carried him away from his fathers room with intense difficulty. His mind told him to stay and comfort his father but his heart struggled to accept that his father retired from the world to a dimension full of tacit emotion and continuous conflict.

'Death.' He wrote onto a blank creased sheet of paper.

'Death reunites the souls with their beloved Creator but divorces the souls of the world,' He glanced through the broken window on his right, the shards of glass edged out in thick aligned spikes.

'As the sun descends, and the melody of children frivolously playing outdoors cease, I know where I stand.'

He reached for the stone resting on a pile of discoloured, crumpled pieces of paper and added another entry to the collection. He wiped a lone tear from his face and without another glance in his fathers room, he left for the Masjid.

As soon as the door closed behind him with a quiet thud, soft snivels began resonating into convulsive cries.

***

Hayat looked through the glass of her patients room. He lay asleep with his face turned to the window, a usual pose for him she observed. He was lonely. And she felt for him. How could his parents leave straight after the good news came to them of their son recovering? They left knowing that their filthy money wasn't wasted. It saddened her to think that he held no place in their hearts. She knew how terrible it felt and she would never wish that upon her own enemy let alone a sad soul.

Her fingers tapped hesitantly on the door knob as she questioned her motives. A part of her wanted to convince him that his life was still worth living although he hadn't disclosed why he felt the way he did. Another part reminded her of her modesty and knowing that she couldn't just freely talk to men deterred her from entering into any unnecessary conversation.

She was knocked out of her reverie at once at the sight of his feet shuffling abruptly under the covers. His hands shook vigorously and his breathes became shortened. Wails vibrated through the room sending echoes to every ear nearby. Hayat's fingers still glued to the door knob, turned it in force and she ran to his bedside. His heartbeat was thrusting in palpitations and his eyes remained shut. An odd 3 nurses burst into the room with a concentrated Dr Ismael, that observed every single movement. His screams were sending waves of panic to her heart and she had no idea why. Her hands felt shaky and she backed away from the scene reluctantly, tears streaming down her face.

It was her fault.

She should have kept Adam company.