"Well, my mother is Muslim and my dad was Catholic."
"But what do you believe?" Death asked.
"I believe that I'm dead and talking to the bloody grim reaper. And despite the fact that I'm the one wearing the hijab, I'm showing more skin than you are...
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I punched Death in the face.
It probably would have been the highlight of my life, if I hadn't already been dead, and to be completely honest, I wasn't sure how it happened. One moment I was crossing the street; the next I was lying on the asphalt with a giant black hood hovering over my nose. The most logical explanation would have been a car accident, but for all I knew I had gotten struck by lightning, or attacked by a large dog.
As I laid there trying to collect my wits, a cold sensation pressed down against my lips. My eyes came to focus on the black cloak hanging over my face, and then it dawned on me. This Nazgul-like monster had just given me some sort of airbrushed kiss.
Astaghfirullah, I thought to myself as I sank my fist into the hood of blackness. I wasn't sure what my hand connected with, and I was pretty sure I didn't want to know as the monster hissed and scrambled away. Fingers of bone flew up to his face - or at least up to the place where his face should have been.
"What did you do that for?" The cloaked one cried. To my surprise he didn't sound like a reptilian demon at all; he didn't even sound evil. The fact that I hadn't just socked a Lord of the Rings style dark rider felt like the beginning of a long line of disappointment.
"Haram. I don't know what this is, but it has to be haram," I hissed as I rose to my feet. "What are you, insane?"
"Ah, a Muslim. I understand." The hood bobbed as if he was nodding.
How dense could the cloak wearing, spirit thing get? "What? The hijab didn't give it away?" I exclaimed, my hand instinctively traveling to the pin that kept the scarf in place.
"Don't worry about it." The spirit's hand disappeared into his hood like he was rubbing his neck. "I didn't kiss you. Not really. Your existence should be just as holy or unholy as it was before. I just took your life."
"Oh, like that's so much better." I crossed my arms over my chest and glared at the blackness under the hood. Not being able to see his eyes was beginning to get unnerving, like talking to a wall - a wall with two feet and a bad sense of style.
The spirit, because that's what I decided it was, tilted its hood to one side in curiosity. "Who is...God?" He asked slowly.
The phrasing made it sound like a trick question, but my answer came firm and sure. "Allah is God," I replied. "And Muhammad is -- "
"Right, right. Muhammad is his messenger, I know."
"Please don't cut me off," I snapped with a glare.
"Sorry." He threw his arms into the air, causing the cloak to fall back and reveal a pair of skinless limbs. "Heck! I'm sorry that I even have to ask, but I can never be too sure with people anymore. I can't even assume the flavor of a bowl of cereal without insulting someone. You are a girl, right?"
