Parting Clouds

Chapter 1.

Asalam O Alikum Wa Rahmatullah Hi Wabarakattu! Hello! Bonjour!

The words, the phrases, the story line. Nothing is mine own. It was all from His, the Al Mighty's will that I was able to write this down, and participate in this short story writing competition.

All credit goes to Him. The Most Beneficent, and the Most Merciful.

I was waiting. Waiting for the past half hour for the person who I wanted to show my gratitude too.

The person who was changing my sheets and cleaning the hospital room that I was assigned, for the past five months.

The beginning of those five months marked the beginning of the end of my existence, now I was just waiting with an almost impatient, almost anxious, almost afraid, almost disappointed heart for the end.

The day when I would take my last breath, would smile my last smile, would look at the gift of the world for the last time, and will say my Shahaddah for the last time.

I wasn't always a Muslim, and my religion wasn't always Islam, and my love and life wasn't always conscious of His existence. The Most Gracious and the Most Merciful.

In fact more than half of my life was wasted with me believing in nothing, worshipping nothing, asking from nothing.

I was an atheist. I questioned the fantastically peculiar tactics of the world but never made a real effort to search for the answers.

I made a promise to myself and my mother that I would try my best not to look more insightfully, and would not try to find the relevance of those questions.

But all of was thrown out the window when I found out that I was diagnosed with Lung cancer. It was Non-Small Cell Lung Cancer.

I knew the cause of it before the doctor told me. It was because of my bad smoking habbit. I started smoking when I entered University, and after my mom died.

She disclosed upon me a secret that scarred me deep enough for it to take the infectious form of cancer.

I was by her side on her death bed, she had a very high fever, and she knew that she was about to depart from this world.

She called me over, pronouncing my name, Joshua, with such anxiousness that it made me want to run away, I couldn't see her like this, I couldn't see her take that last breath, her voice was hint enough for me to grasp the finality of her life behind it.

She took a deep breath, and spilled the beans of her past life.

She told me that she met my dad in her university years. He was the most charming and care free man she ever met.

She was a goner before she could even blink once after catching the first sight of him.

She said that he asked her out on her second year of university. That was one of the best days of her life.

She agreed, and they sailed.

They dated for one whole year, and mom couldn't wait anymore so she hinted at the possibility of marriage for him to grasp. He didn't seem to catch her intentions, so in the spur of frustrated moments and emotions, she stopped roaming in circles and finally told him about what her perspective was, and what she thought of marriage.

He declined. My mom almost drowned in her tears.

But he came back before that could happen, and laid down the reason behind his negative response.

He told her that he was a Muslim, and if she loved him enough she would convert for him.

My mom started laughing, and she said that she drove herself crazy thinking that he was involved with someone else.

She said that it was no big deal, and she would convert for him. She loved him enough to give her Catholic religion up, for him.

He was testing her, he was testing her love for him, and she passed it, with fluttering hearts.

My dad's face light up and he kissed her. That kiss held too many promises and undying confessions of love.

She didn't know that it was only lust that drove him over the top.

She converted after a week and right after she converted, they got married.

The first few months of her marriage were the most thrilling. My mom hadn't experienced a much more passionate time in her life than those few months. She was firm on her believe that him and her would wrinkle old together.

But on the day when she found out she was pregnant with me, and rushed to tell my dad, before she could even utter a single word or even fully bask in the glorified joy of becoming a mother, he slapped her across the face hard enough for her head to spin.

All the joy and glee was sucked out of her. She was overwhelmed by the emotions that attacked her all at once.

Shock, hurt, anger, betrayal, bewilderment, disappointment, all of them combined and mashed her heart into pieces.

Nothing remain the same after that, my mom never told my dad that she was pregnant, and he was too lost in his own world to notice that his own child, his blood has already started to sprout, and began to take a shape of a being who was about to enter this world.

My mom got a divorce two and a half months after the incident, and the incidents that adjoined it.

To keep me protected from his abuse, she was afraid to lose me too.

She raised me all on her own. She moved to another country, so my father couldn't find out about me.

She then said that she had told me all of this because she wanted me to know that there was a reason behind why she never answered any of my endless questions.

She was afraid that I would change my religion, or would go crazy, or would turn out to be as abusive as my dad. He was a curious man too, and that curiosity made him fall of the cliff.

My mom died after telling me that all her fears were for nothing because I turned out to be better then she would've ever imagined.

I didn't know what I was supposed to say to that. I didn't know what to think. It was a punch to the gut, but ironically, it filled me with warmth.

I smiled at her, and she smiled her last at me, before closing her eyes and leaving me all alone in this world.

After that I started smoking, I found my escape in the foggy puffs. I was sticking with my mother's words and was just going with the flow.

I left smoking the day I found out about my cancer. I was having trouble breathing and decided to go to the doctor for the check up.

I came out with a life ending shock.

That whole day, I spent just thinking about my life and what would happen after I would die.

The questions came back with full force. Was this my life? This no purposed life? Is this my end? Just wiped out the surface of this earth? My whole existence, all for nothing?

I was taken aback by the thought that my existence was going to be vanished as if it was never there, as if I was never there. My whole being, my whole life, the core of my existence.

Just wasted. Vanished.

I got up from the side walk I was sitting on beside the hospital. New determination and will coursed through my veins.

I started to run, as fast as my legs would carry.

No matter the news I just received. I still ran, my lungs were burning, my chest heaving, my legs aching. I still kept pushing forward.

I needed to find answers. I needed to escape. I needed to break free. I needed to break through.

And the only way I could do that right now was by running.

After that run, I came home and then started running again.

This time to find answers. To search for the truth.

To seek Him.