The Fifth Horseman

Let's

Damia needed her beauty sleep, and she had warned her husband beforehand that the kid would be his tonight, and no matter the call; a nightmare, a bed-wetting, hunger, or just plain attention seeking behavior, it would not be her, and he understood, because Atirah, the apple of their eye, was not getting any of her mamma tonight. Tomorrow was a big day for mamma, and she had to be up by 7am for a long drive.

She had married her college sweetheart. They crossed paths during an excursion back in 2nd year of med school while tracing the steps of the Pyramids of Khufu, when they heard another voice speak in familiar language. They both said 'hi' and decided to have coffee. And on started a beautiful friendship which blossomed into a lifelong commitment. Salim was a good man, and her father immediately loved him. They got hitched as soon as they graduated and soon after, their first miracle took center stage in their lives. Despite being a mother and an doctor, Damia did her best to balance it all out. But in truth, she would barely be standing on two feet if not for Salim and vice versa. Her success was owed all to her God and her family and despite coming home weary and exhausted everyday, the smiles of their little baby made it worth every minute.

'Remember the Fatwa,' her husband joked.

'You have nothing to worry about dear, I know my faith. I am only paying respects,'

'I am kidding dear,' her re-emphasized, 'I know she was a close friend. They might be non-believers but we are to still respect their rights just as they would respect ours.'

She tucked Atirah's blankets underneath her in her tiny bed for a snug fit and kissed her goodnight before catching up to her husband already in their bedroom from across the hall. 'It won't take long. Just the burial, and maybe some prayers.'

The early morn was a sombre grey, where the densest of the cumulonimbus clouds gravitated to mourn as the people did as well over at St Ignatius Church. Sheila had a rather large family, and everyone came from all over the country to pay their respects. Some even flew over from overseas. Her heartbroken grieving parents stood strong, and braced through to prepare for the funeral rites. The priest was noted the night before and was kind enough to attend the wake at their home. The church was booked for the morning, the van fueled and ready, the casket bought and prepped exquisitely and in it the body already embalmed and decorated, vibrant and immortal as she might have on her wedding day. Daniel stared at the flower arrangements she was made to hold, frozen firm in her hands but cleverly disguised to look and feel warm and dainty. She looked beautiful. It was like she was still asleep, like the many times they have seen her between her shifts in the on-call room, the counter top, or sometimes even the elevator. It was the last image he would ever have of her. All her smiles, her nods, her jokes, and her tantrums, all gone, not even the silent rising and falling of her bosoms as she breathed in rest. Death was different, and she wanted you to know it. All was to be missed, because what lay before him was not the friend he knew before but who she was now, just a still inanimate doll, a memory to be revered, respected and that was all.

'She was a poet, and I didn't know that till 2 days ago. I remember when she was 9 and she would write these little notes down. Her teacher said something about poetry, and she wrote the cutest little line, ''I like bees because bees are yellow, if they sting you, you cannot swallow,'' ' her father chuckled midway into his eulogy. 'It was rather bad, but I told her to hand in whatever she thought was good enough and she got a 'C' for poetry that class and never wanted to do it again. And this was from last week,' he held up a piece of paper and started to tear, just thinking to himself how different things were just a mere week ago.

' ''He looks for the colors in his life, and he sees plenty, yet the colors unseen brings him no worry, rather he be blind would he? He thanks his maker, begging him to see, the one color that he may not be,'' Mr Timothy patted his eyes gently with a handkerchief. 'I don't know what I missed sweetheart, but I hope you found that color you're looking for. The Good Lord knows I saw every color in the world every time I saw you my baby girl. I am so amazed, intimidated even, at the remarkable woman you grew up to be. Your mother and I are still going to be proud of you, even now, even though you decided to not talk to us anymore. But nothing changes. We are still your parents and we will wait for you, keep an empty room for you, and pray in our hearts for you. So until we see you again, be safe up there sweetie.'