A Diamond in Islam | (Published) ✔

Prologue

SAMPLE CHAPTERS AHEAD (1-25). FULL BOOK IS AVAILABLE ON AMAZON FOR PURCHASE IN PRINT AND EBOOK :)

Damon Winters

"Mom, why did we have to move?" I asked, visibly frustrated.

"Sweetheart, you know it's because of my job," she sighed.

"But this was the best place you could think of?"

She shrugged, staring out at the window.

After many years of staying in the same home, my parents had decided to finally move. I didn't mind the fact that we moved, I was angry to the location where we moved to. On the streets, men with long beards and women with long black dresses walked outside. Children were smiling as they ran around their yards, the sun beaming down their faces.

My heart was cold towards them. Muslims, I distastefully thought. My mother had gotten a job where it was most likely I would be bombed or attacked for being white. I knew that not all Muslims were bad or terrorists, but something about them made me feel uneasy.

There had been too many news stories about terrorist attacks and Muslim women getting abused overseas. When the truthful sources even admit to terrorism within a religion, I really had nothing else to believe.

"I can't believe how many Muslims are here," I commented.

My little brother, Percy, turned to me with a confused expression. "What's wrong with Muslims?"

I rolled my eyes. "You're too young to understand."

"But they're just people," he argued.

"Some are just people the others are dangerous."

"Isn't that a little-"

"Boys," Mom cut off. "We are not here to hate on our neighbors. Damon, pull your act together."

"Sorry, Mom," I mumbled.

Perhaps, I was just not ready to face an entirely different environment, or maybe it was the fact that I was too used to my old neighborhood. Whatever was going through my mind, one thing was for certain, I was not ready to face Muslims.

People said that Muslims were the pawns of Satan, people said that Muslims were bloodthirsty murderers, people said that Muslims didn't have feelings. They were immune to emotions, unable to feel the sorrow that they inflicted upon others. At the time, I had believed every single lie that they told me. I didn't know how to separate rumors from reality.

I think back and laugh at myself now. I was so ignorant to the truth; it was almost like I didn't believe in the truth I was told. I only wanted to hear the lies, I depended on those horrid tales about Muslims, I survived on it because with every story that was told, I found another reason to put the blame on an entire society of people.

Muslims were the punching bag.

Sighing, I turned to the window, a blur of green passed me, faces disappeared. Gazing at my new neighbors, I remembered that I was trying to find some place in my heart to be kind to them. My prejudices were in some form justified, but they were still rude. We lived in a modern society, where one couldn't just insult someone directly. Well, people still did it, but I was raised better than that.

As I picked my bags up, I noticed a girl about my age across the street, walking with some other girls. The girl I noticed wore that headscarf practicing Muslims wore; it was wrapped tightly around her head, hiding all her hair away. Her head fell back as she laughed at something her friends were saying, pocketing her hands into her hoodie.

Her laughter made my insides feel odd. She sounded just like any other girl, but at that moment, I saw her as more than a Muslim. The way she was interacting with these girls made her seem just like me. I didn't see her as just a Muslim, but as an individual person.

Looking back on it, I never realized how much of an effect that Muslim girl would have on my life. I was a stubborn, hard-headed ass that would hold onto my beliefs strongly till the day I died. No one, and I mean, no one would ever change that. Not even a kind Muslim.

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