Defining a Terrorist #Wattys2016 (Editing)

Chapter 9

Hey lovely people!

All my lovely readers, thanks for the lovely support! Both new and old readers I appreciate you all!

This is a chapter out of the blue as my university life is making a zombie out of me. Anyway, I thought giving you a chapter is better than nothing at all. So hope you enjoy and that my story is worth your time :) There's so much to unfold!

Much love
Shona

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A story to me means a plot where there is some surprise. Because that is how life is - full of surprises.

Isaac Bashevis

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Calm down Sana, calm down. Think! Just think. The more you struggle the more oxygen loss. Trying to put aside the panic I am feeling at the moment I try to think logically. I can by now make out that the person trying to strangle me is standing on my left. Gasping in the dust filled air from the pillow pressed against me I try to enrich my veins with oxygen.

Without thinking through and with all the force I can gather I quickly kick towards the person who actually stumble with a wimp, in these quick seconds I roll over to the other side of the bed and gasp for air with my heart pumping my blood maniacally.

"Help!" I scream with all the force my oxygen deprived lungs can gather while quickly standing on my feet facing the intruder. I turn on the table lamp as fast as I can and my eyes widens as I get a glimpse of his frustrated face. Watching him as he tries to come towards me I scream with a drumming heart. "Help!" I scream again. "Shawn!"

Yousef seem alert and halts at the other side of the bed, he throws the pillow he just tried to strangle with me on the bed casually. "Shut up!" I frown by the fact that he think he can hush me. "Your precious softy isn't even at home." Yousef suddenly smiles widely. "In fact all the five softies has left and your precious will be back by tomorrow." How is that possible? How can Shawn be so stupid to leave me alone? On second thought, he isn't my bodyguard. For Gods sake Sana, he is your kidnapper.

"Where is your family?" I ask Yousef worriedly while he runs a hand through his brown hair.

"They're downstairs reading Quran." He shrugs. "The praying room is isolated I don't think they can hear you." He nonchalantly fixes his collard shirt.

This make my blood go cold. "What have I even done to you?" I hear myself ask with a rasp voice.

He stares at me for a brief second. "Nothing." I look at him confused. "I just don't like you, I have heard a bit of your actions." He says and I think of the day at the madrasa when I spoke against their Imam. "And you're not a good influence on the women in this household." He adds sourly which actually makes me bubble with anger. What's with people and judging me? And what's with people and being so narrow minded, Islam teaches to not judge.

We have a staring competition in the dimly lighted room as both of us are alerted of each others actions and highly aware of each others presence. While breathing heavily I open my mouth. "So you kill everyone you have a problem with?" I ask knowing that I am entering danger zone.

He furrows his eyebrows. "Wow, how long did it take for you to realize that?" He asks rolling his pitch black eyes.

"And you call yourself a muslim? Muslims aren't allowed to kill, even during war they are not allowed to kill children, woman and the aged. So what's more important, looking like a muslim or acting like a Muslim?" I ask him which he fumes to. "Tell me from which angle do you look like a Muslim? Oh wait, that reminds me, there's no certain way a Muslim looks like! That's stereotyping! Everyone has the right to take their own steps to the right path and fight their own inner demons!" I sneer at him. "More importantly where's your iman, faith?" I ask him trying to give him a different perspective but instead he clenches his jaw.