Shroud: Jinn

23 - Desolate

"The graveyard is no place for the living."

I peered to my right at the man who spoke to me. Latif settled down beside me on the damp earth, unbothered with the mud that had now stained his pants. I brought my legs nearer to me and sat cross-legged as I rubbed my puffy eyes with the back of my hands. The friction from the dried tears caused a sharp sting, making me wince.

"I've nothing left to live for." My voice broke the moment I caught another glimpse of my family's graves, "I might as well be dead." The metallic taste of blood lingered in my mouth; I had bitten on my bottom lip too hard.

"Don't say that. Istighfar (Seek forgiveness from Allah)."

"I could have stopped it in time. I could have saved them from the fire..." I continued mumbling.

"Quit blaming yourself and stop feeding your thoughts with what ifs. We can't change the past."

"I would if I could."

"Not everyone died from the fire-"

"Stop! I don't want to know how they died or how the fire started!"

"Don't you want closure?"

"No!" I covered my ears shut and stared at Latif with pleading eyes that were slowly turning moist and blurry, "Let me grieve in peace! Please..." I wanted to avoid closure at all cost. Closure was a means to help someone move on but I had no desire to do so. That was not the type of consolation I wanted. I yearned for the past - the past when everything was still good. "Knowing the truth won't make it any less painful, would it? They're still- they're still-" I choked as my lips struggled to form the words.

Dead.

"They're still gone! My family's not here with me, okay?! I can't hold them in my arms anymore! I can't see them smile again! I can't even hear their voices one more time. I didn't even have a chance to hear my newborn cry. I don't have any of their photographs left. I can't even visit their rooms and pretend that I'm hugging them when I'm squeezing their bolsters tight. I don't have any of their clothes to remind me of how they smelled like. What if I forget their smell? What if I forget how they looked? My whole house...my whole house was burnt to the ground. Do you know how much that hurts? Do you?!"

Latif reached over for my hands to stop me from thumping angrily repetitively at my chest as I broke down. His words were firm but soft as he lowered his voice, "You and I both know that deaths are predestined in Islam."

"Why didn't God take me away too?"

"It wasn't your time yet."

"It's not fair. They deserve every right to live."

I continued sobbing in his chest. Latif stayed quiet and consoled me with a loose hug and rubbed my back soothingly. That simple touch comforted me yet broke me at the same time. I missed hugging my family.

"Nothing in this world is permanent. Life's not meant to be fair. Life's a huge test. God tests us to purify us and wash away our sins. According to Sahih al-Bukhari, our beloved Prophet Muhammad S.A.W. once said, 'No calamity befalls a Muslim but that Allah expiates some of his sins because of it, even if it were the prick of a thorn.'"

"I was supposed to celebrate Saleha's birthday when I got back," I cracked again.

"God took them away too soon because He loves them dearly," he added in a whisper.

I pushed myself away from Latif with brewing anger, "Love? Because of love? Is that what you call it? Where does that leave us? Are we still here in this world because God hates us?"