The Ummah: The outbreak

Chapter 6

It was only after I had ran out of the house that I remembered the night's earlier events. If I traveled too far from home, it wouldn't be safe. Bigots were probably on the prowl and the night was still young. More and more would rally together and by dawn, there would probably be dozens of muslim hate crimes being reported. 

I plopped down on the porch swing and thought about that. None of those reports would be on the news though, because no one would care. That wasn't what America wanted to hear. They wanted to see what "terrorist suspects" were being apprehended. "Terrorist suspects" that were just regular muslim families. But that's what would be on the news tomorrow. Not the hate crimes against the muslims. I hoped one of them would be against my father.

As soon as that thought crossed my mind, I felt bad. I didn't mean that, but I just despised my father so much. People always talked about how they loved their fathers, and I would never know how that felt. My father was strict, sarcastic, selfish, rude...

I sighed. If it wasn't for the condition of the city at that moment, I would have ran away. But I know that after tonight, my home life would be an absolute wreck. Well, for me and Ibrahim. Served him right, though. How dare he treat me like a child and tell Muhammad and I we were going to hell? Especially when he was doing worse things. I bet he slept with some of those girls. Now that was fornication. Not what I had done. What I had done was minor. Besides, I had tried my hardest to keep Ibrahim and Muhammad from finding out about each other for their sake.

As if on cue, Ibrahim came storming out of the house with a bloody mouth and a black eye. When he saw me, he skidded to a halt. Our eyes met for a long moment. I couldn't read his expression, because it was mixed with too many emotions. Then, he just sighed and hurried to his car and sped off.

I stayed on the porch swing a long while, deep in thought. It wasn't until hours later that I realized how tired I was. My parents must have been sleep, and I wondered if they had murdered Muhammad. He had never left the house. I stood and winced. I was sore all over. I shuffled carefully and quietly back into the house and down the hall to the living room. The light was out and my parents were nowhere to be seen. But there lay Muhammad on the couch. My heart jumped into my throat. They had killed him.

I hurried around the couch to see he was still breathing, but he looked a mess. My heart ached. His face was badly bruised. I sat on the floor in front of the couch to face him. I fixed my hair in it's bun and didn't know what to do next. I was tired but knew that I couldn't sleep. Not after everything that had happened. So I just sat there in silence and my mind still racing.

By dawn, Muhammad began to stir, then his eyes opened slowly. I watched him wearily until his eyes focused on me.

"Hey," I said to him with a tired smile.

"Hey..." he croaked. He frowned. "You look like you haven't slept."

"I haven't," I replied quietly. "What happened to you in here after I left?"

"A huge fight. With me, and your dad and brother. Your dad knocked me out."

My blood began to boil. "Moe?"

"Yes," he replied.

"Lets... Lets get away from here," I insisted. "Lets start over. I can't... I just can't live this lifestyle anymore."

He sat up carefully, wincing as he settled in an upright position. "And by lifestyle, what exactly do you mean?"

I didn't answer right away. My eyes wandered over to the window, and I stared out at the sunrise. I wondered if I should go through with what I was about to say. But it was too late, I had already brought it up. I sighed. "The muslim lifestyle."

"Husniyah--"

"Muhammad, I'm not happy. We both know it. The scarf, the ways of doing things, it just... I just don't know anymore."

He grabbed my chin gently and turned my face so I'd look at him. He looked hurt. "Don't say that. You know that what you've experienced isn't islam. It isn't. Islam is peace, love, tranquility, humbleness--"

"No..." I say quietly. "That's just what they say to pull you in. And then when you're in, it's just all hell on both sides. The non muslims give hell for being a muslim, and the muslims give you hell for not being good enough, and if you aren't arabic, it's only worse on your part."

"You aren't seeing true islam, Husniyah," he insisted again.

"How do you know?"

"Because I've seen true islam!" he half shouted.

I shushed him, frowning. "I don't want my parents to wake up. Not til I'm gone..."

He sighed. "So you're actually going through with this? You're denouncing islam?"

I chewed my lip and nodded. "I'm not happy, Muhammad."

"If you leave islam... If you walk out that door, and you leave this life behind... Then you'll be leaving me. You know we won't be able to be together..."

I raised my eyebrows. "So that's how it'll be...? I must mean nothing to you."

"Don't be like that, Husniyah. You know how much I love you. Obviously more than you love me. But if it comes to choosing between you and Allah, it isn't even a competition. I'll choose Allah every time, because he sent you to me, and if need be, he could send me someone else."

I clenched my jaw. "Once I walk out that door, I won't be looking back."

"And I won't watch you go."

My eyes began to sting with tears. His last sentence actually hurt. I stood slowly and stared at him. I wanted to study him one last time. It was hard, though, with his face a mess. And he took in my appearance too. It seemed as if we both had the same idea, doing this as to never forget how the other looked. Once a tear rolled down my cheek, I knew that it was time to go. 

I walked out into the hall, that it until I saw Jehan in the doorway, crying silently and watching me. She seemed to had heard everything that was said.

"Husniyah..." she said, her voice thick, like she was going to begin sobbing at any moment. "Please don't leave..."

I lowered my gaze and squeezed past her. I felt terrible for leaving poor Jehan, but I hoped one day she'd understand why. I walked miserably out the front door, and down the walkway to the sidewalk. Snow was beginning to flutter down from the sky. Once I got to the sidewalk, I stood there for a moment, watching the snow fall against the morning's rays of sun. It was absolutely beautiful. It was as if nature was rewarding me for my decision. I smiled a little, hardly noticing the black Ford truck pulling up a few feet away.

5 men got out of the car and passed me on their way up my lawn -- my old lawn-- with hand guns and rifles, toward my old house. I turn around. I didn't move at all.

I heard knocking behind me on the front door. Then the door opening. Then screams. Then one gunshot. And another.

Once I walk out that door, I won't be looking back...

Though I was in tears, I stuck to my word.

I walked away from the behind me.