The Traversing Book I

Chapter 2

"...do not kill a soul that God has made sacrosanct..."

Quran 6:151
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Amir walked into the mosque and paused briefly. He let out a big sigh, knelt down and lowered his head to the floor. He closes his eyes, reminding himself that tomorrow was the event; like he could forget. Amir's father was part of the ITAQ ("Islamic Terrorists Al Qaeda"), Al Qaeda banded with ISIS, something no one ever thought was possible or even plausible, and he informed Amir of their plans. Plans that now involve him.

From an early age, Amir learned that the five pillars of Islam are faith, prayer, charity, pilgrimage and fasting. Faith.... Prayer.... Charity. None of those words would describe what was about to happen. With his head still bowed, he now began his prayer in a hushed tone, barely audible at all; "allahu akbar!, allahu akbar!", God is great! God is great.

He opened his eyes and just stayed there on his knees, stalling. He had tried to think of any way he could get out of this, but he knew nothing would save him. He stood up slowly and looked around the room at the bare walls before he left and took off down the worn path by his house. The sun was starting to rise, and the scent of the sweet peony and budding roses filled his nose as he continued down the small, narrow trail which eventually led to a hidden rock ledge that he had put together when he was younger. He had used large and small rocks, and it was all done very unprofessionally. But to him it was perfect. As the trees have grown taller each year, his little mini-sanctuary became more obscured from view, and luckily his younger brothers were not interested in it. They were too busy playing war games; always war games. He just wanted to be alone. The wind started blowing through the trees making the sun flicker on and off his face, and he started to get emotional. He closed his eyes and let the sweet smell of the flowers make him forget. Forget that he is Amir.

His real mother had died in childbirth with him, and he wished he could have met her. Maybe that is where his gentle mind came from. He carried a crumpled picture of her in his pocket, and he took it out to stare at it. She was pregnant with him in it, and she looked so happy. He touched her face briefly. "Sorry, Mom, for what I am about to do," he whispered, and then tucked the picture away, stifling a sudden surge of tears that encroached upon him. After his mother died, his father quickly re-married, and his stepmother raised him. She would always remind Amir that he is not hers, rolling her eyes when he made a mistake, beating him more than his brothers. He tried, though. He really did try to be a good boy. He always did what he was told, no questions asked. He kept clean and did his praying as he was supposed to. But she was never satisfied. He would never be hers.

Amir thought again about the mission. The top secret mission. To invade the United States. He wasn't told much, just that they are leaving in the morning, and to do what he was told. Amir had nodded in ascent to his father last week when the final plans were laid out.

Two years ago after he finished high school out west, his family moved to the east coast. They needed sleeper cells throughout the United States and this was his family's destination. He didn't want to move, voicing that he would miss all his friends, but his father would just punish him for becoming "too American." He did not have hatred in his heart like his father did. He was told he should, people probably expected him to, but he just didn't. He knew that he could not tell anyone what was whirling around in his mind, like a tornado with no end. He had no choice and he knew it. Any sort of disobedience or hint that his heart wasn't in this, he would be killed. He was also afraid of disappointing his family.

Amir got down from the ledge and continued along the path toward his house, his feet falling heavy on the dirt. He was admittedly lonely, and he didn't have many friends outside the Muslim community. Extracurricular activity was also frowned upon. He was told his mind needed to be on this mission, and when the time is right, they would find him a wife. His father would come over and pat him on the back and tell him to "be patient" and, of course, to stay pure, in body and mind.

He looks down at the ground and knows things will change tomorrow. He picks up a leaf and lets the wind take it, turning his head and watching it flutter down the path. After tomorrow, he may never walk down this path again. He may never be able to look at the picture of his mother and be proud of who he is.

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The next morning he got up earlier than usual and lingered for a few minutes in his bed. It was an old bed with squeaky springs, and the mattress was hard as a rock. He threw the blue blanket that had covered his feet onto the floor and continued to stare at the ceiling. Oh, how he wished he could just lay there in bed all day. His head hurt as he sat up and he put his head in his hands. He just couldn't sleep at all last night. He rubbed his eyes and stood up to get dressed. His father had already packed the major necessities, so his packing needed to just be practical. In theory, he should have packed his duffel bag last night, but he didn't, letting procrastination take hold. He walked over to his dresser and opened the top drawer. He grabbed shirts, pants, socks and underwear and literally stuffed them in, no folding necessary. He also was bringing his tablet and TerraView and his little AI robot. His father told him nothing of their destination, or the length, or even what he specifically would be doing. He didn't know anything about war strategy, or how to plan things like that. When he was younger, his father showed all his sons how to fire a weapon, load and clean it. That was something all the boys in the family were taught. So here he goes, off to a dark, dark place. He was a prisoner in plain sight, wearing invisible handcuffs.

He heard his father yell downstairs, "Amir! Hurry up! We are going!"

Amir was turning to leave, and then spotted his notebook and pencils on his desk. He picked those up and unzipped his bag to put them in. He grabbed his sports jacket hanging by the door and hurriedly climbed down the stairs, swinging the bag over his shoulder, thumping down each stair with his heavy boots. He was so tired, and not happy about this, but he was afraid that his true feelings would show, so he kept his head low. His father wasn't paying attention to him anyway; he was too excited at what was happening. Two of Amir's younger brothers ran past him down the stairs, laughing and chattering to each other. How could they be so happy about this? They jumped in the van, and Amir followed, but headed to the very back and sat down, his bag in his lap. The van was filled with other sleeper cells that lived nearby. The men were talking to each other enthusiastically, but he just turned and stared out the window. It was still dark out, and he focused on all the stars in the sky. There was one star to the right of him that was just blinking really fast, almost like a heartbeat, and he felt it was his mother which lifted his mood. He was so afraid of what was to come and how this will change everyone's lives. He was also afraid of dying.