Subconscious

Chapter 2: The Challenge

It happened when I was leaving school 2 months later after a few sessions with my anger therapist and defence classes teacher. I'd been taking those classes because of stupid Noor - the anger not self-defence; my parents were very over protective and stuff and said I needed to know how to fight in case someone tried to rape me. Yup, ridiculous. So I decided I wanted to walk and think, especially as I knew some anonymous crush was going to give me a surprise on my birth week which started the next day, and ponder about everything like I usually like doing all the time. It's who I was, but now I know better than to daydream and allow my sub-consciousness to take over. 

 Anyway, the anon crush came up to me in a navy hoodie and literally just handed me a present then walked away and I was thinking what in the name of God, until I caught sight of his hoodie and heard hushed whispering, which was weird considering deserted roads used as shortcuts don't produce sounds that clear from distances. That's when I clocked on: the so-called 'present' was vibrating. Hurriedly, I ripped the wrapper as humanely fast but quiet as possible; a mini spying device was sitting there, and it only came out 10 days before for £646. Wow. That figure was intriguing. Anyway I found the volume buttons and made them higher; at first, the voices weren't clear, but a few seconds later I started to get the hang of it and could just about make out the words. But it was already late. As soon as I made out the words: "no... she's alone, we'll do it now... don't, wait! ... you've done your work here, leave...coward for a brother...NOW!" No longer had I heard those words than I realised that I was trapped. 

  

Cautiously, I backed away, fearing the worst, wondering why they wanted to hurt me. Literally 3 seconds later, I reached a door. Or shall I say, half a door. As I looked behind to observe the burnt down house, they closed in on me. All these figure wearing all black and baklavas covering their faces. I had only one option: to get inside the house. Just as I was going to turn to open the doorknob, the biggest one commanded, "Stop." 

"Who the hell are you and why are you doing this?" I cried. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him flick his wrist downwards and a tape was smacked across my mouth. Then the spying device was wrenched out of my hands and smacked across my head. I blacked out... 

 * * * 

Wet. That's how I feel right now at this moment. Just remembering makes me piss myself. Like I just did. Luckily for me, I'm wearing the special underwear thing for these situations. The memories make me cringe and the truth stings. My personal psychologist advises me to not write what I don’t want to, to forget what happened, to ignore the lump on my body that I see whenever I change, to start my life again. But can I? 

Something wet was sprayed onto my face. As I started to gain consciousness, my headscarf was ripped off and burnt with a lighter. I frantically tried to cover my hair but a figure pulled my hands and tied them. "What do you think you're doing? You're ruining my dignity! What are you doing this for? Why? Tell me who se-" I was cut off mid-sentence when another tape flew to my mouth: that's when I realised they had the 'do-it!' gun (it sprayed whatever you wanted to a target identified through a distance range). Stepping forward, the biggest figure spoke about how I had no dignity and I didn’t deserve to be a Muslim. I tried protesting because who did he think he was!?! He knew nothing about me. It was outrageous! He proceeded to talk about my two-facedness and how I was their sacrifice for a good purpose. 

 * * * 

A letter arrives through my doorstep. My daughter,Zainab, picks it up and hands it to me. I want to carry on writing lest I forget, but I feel this has more priority at the moment. I've learnt a lot from the past so I know the letter may contain danger to me or a threat: I open it nonetheless. Inside, I find a 3D hologram of a lady about my age who explains about the lump right above my belly button and what it means. As she's talking, a bell rings in my head but I still don’t know who she is. 

I kept fidgeting wanting to ask what they wanted with me. It seemed they actually had a bit of sense because they roared with laughter and a small figure stepped forward to explain," I thought people who hated what's good for them knew the latest about them. Well it seems I have to explain. About a week ago, the awesome so called 'terrorists', who are actually faithful jihadists, announced that to become a general in the jihadi army, you must burn a deceptive person who pretends to be a Muslim in this very house and send proof, like your ashes for example." They all crackled horrendously again so I kicked the explainer with the stiletto heel of my killer boots. "Oh no you didn't just," he snarled. " As you seem to be daring, I think we'll smash your head against a rock to make you lose your memory, we won't waste good money on a brat like you. I'll carry on now. There is gasoline all around here - on you too- and it leaves a wide trail reaching the front and back door. I think we should say goodbye now, don’t you? Goodbye to 2016, to life, to us." The biggest one lead the way out, then threw a match to the beginning of the trail.