The Last Triumph of a Man Named Abd

He was very much dead, living on borrowed time: Death had allowed him time for one last task. Just enough strength to navigate the former metropolis. All his body quivered from the apathetic winter downpour. At times, the ground would flood with cold water and mud, but he could not stop: he had a mission to carry out, and Death knew that. Death was a black cat’s luminous green eyes watching the man struggle. It knew what was in the man’s pocket and waited to see what would happen. What it did not know was that there was another pair of vigilant eyes present. Both pairs of eyes watched the man eagerly as he paused in his way. A hesitant moon’s weak twilight had dimly illuminated the city through the depressed clouds. The man, now in slight light, saw that the city had changed. In place of the many flamboyant and intricate houses there lay massive grey silhouettes. On all the buildings there hung advertisement signs of various sizes; one of which grabbed the man’s attention. A large neon sign flashed in the abyss of the night reading, “new masks, replace the happy with the sad!” Under the sign shivered an amorphous concrete building of the winter cruelty. Through the sporadic windows of the structure a ghastly glow seemed to come. The man felt an urge to enter the building, but then, remembering the letter in his pocket, he kept on walking. Eight years ago, the world was vastly different. In a particular summer morning, the city was busy with its usual chores. The bazar was overflowing with cautious customers and vigilant vendors; laden donkeys and stout merchants ebbed and flowed through the crowded streets; exotic fruits and fattening sweets glistened in their stalls while various fabrics and utensils sunbathed on wooden stalls. The big, busy, up-to-nothing-good world with its merchants and donkeys appeared like it would forever revolve around hardworking vendors and hardworking customers. The boy, Abd, was gazing out of an upstairs window, waiting for his siblings to finish their breakfast. That day, he was going on a trading trip with his older brothers, and he could not be any happier. He had rushed through breakfast, swiftly put on his clothes, and stood by the entrance door waiting to depart, but then seeing that his brothers had just started their morning meals, he went upstairs to try and waste some time. Whilst his eyes looked over the lively street, his mind was imagining the upcoming trip. Was he going to ride on a horse or a donkey? Was he going to say anything during the negotiations? What if bandits attacked them on the way? He was overpowering an army of bandits in his head when throngs of soldiers started marching through the streets and going to every house on it; Abd saw more than a dozen soldiers walk towards his house. Sensing something important was going to happen, he silently made his way to the edge of the staircase and listened. For a moment, the world had spun a moth's cocoon around Abd; then, his mother’s scream ripped through the silk drapery. “He is too young, please don’t take him!” he heard his mother beg as heavy rubber boots started ascending the stairs. In the ambiance of red lightning, the towering building seemed pink. It looked like a large bar of pink soap with its pink wooden planks and pink concrete slabs. It smelled like soap too. Nevertheless, he had finally reached it. The man's chest lightened as he looked at the house he had promised to find. For a moment, a brief moment, his back straitened, pupils widened, and breath strengthened. He was about to smile when a streak of lightning ripped the clouds apart, and the sky ceased to rain. He could feel the delicate movements of a moth’s wings in the heavy night air. There was no sound other than the man’s exhausted breaths and rapid, aperiodic heartbeat. He extended a pulsating left hand and knocked on the exaggerated pink door. The moth stopped moving, the large neon sign he had previously seen turned off, and even the hesitant moon paused its ascent: they were all waiting for the door to open. As he made his way out of the crowded train station, he noticed that only his footsteps made a sound. Everyone else walked as if they had little cat feet, and that made him feel like an old dog. He could only see as far as thrice his arm’s-length due to the thickening fog and darkening sky and was surprised when a police officer approached him. The officer handed him a white paper and then swiftly faded back into the fog. The only writing on the paper was, “Fatima Ahmad: dead, Ruya Ahmad: dead, Suha Ahmad: dead, funeral on Freedom Street on the 15th of June 2076. Living relatives, Abd Ahmad and Fahad Ahmad, are requested to attend funeral to receive inheritance; failure to attend will lead to confiscation of inheritance.” Suddenly, someone coughed somewhere, and the mischievous fog escaped into draped alleyways as rain began to fall. When the man looked around, he could see no one else. As if all the people with little cat feet were carried away with the fog. He wanted to cry, but he could not, so he folded the white paper and threw it into an empty trashcan. Then, as the winter air started getting colder, he tucked his hands into his pockets to warm it, and there, in his left pocket, he found a letter he had promised to deliver. His muscles ached and vision blurred, but he felt he would at least have enough strength to deliver the letter. Death at that moment allowed him time for one last task. Just enough strength to navigate the deserted streets of the former metropolis in that frosty winter night of the year 2084. The door did not open. He knocked again and waited for the door to open. The moth started flying towards a dim light in the distance. The door remained shut. He knocked again. And again. And again. And again. And the neon sign turned on again. He knocked one last time and then stepped back from the door. Nothing. The moon had now fallen below the city skyline. A few drops of dew slid down the pink walls of the building forming red blood streaks in the darkness. As the man’s breath condensed in the chilling air, Death stared from within the shadows. Time was running out and it appeared that nothing more would happen. “Humans,” Death thought, “are always disappointing.” Swiftly, Death lifted its scythe and flew into the darkness behind the man. “This should at least be interesting,” Death chuckled as it lifted its scythe high. Then, as Death swung its scythe, the man fell on the ground motionless. Death stared down at the man’s body, deep in thought, when the buildings door opened widely, and a police officer walked out and stumbled on the man’s body. Having recovered himself, the officer made an angry comment and proceeded into the empty street. Eventually, after the officer’s footsteps were no longer audible, a woman appeared at the door and said, “aren’t you one excited customer! Well, come on in and I will-…" She stopped, not seeing anyone to address. The women took a step forward and looked to either side before noticing the frozen body below her. “Oh my! I guess they really will die for my services,” she blushed and smiled widely. Then, recovering from the pleasant shock, she reached down and started fumbling in the man’s pockets when he suddenly groaned making her jump backwards. The man’s legs had given up unexpectedly, making him fall to the ground before Death’s scythe had reached him. He had plunged into a darkness where one’s body is dead but not soulless. Now, however, feeling the light from the building's open doorway and the warmth of two tickling hands, his body awoke again. Slowly, with his whole-body aching, he lifted himself up and squinted at the dark silhouette standing before him. As his eyes adjusted to the new light, he could see the women clearly. She was wearing bright red lipstick and heavy makeup. He also noticed that she was biting on her index and looking at him with a look of concern. “Uh... ah... I am fine just uh... thought I would rest a bit... ahem... uh is this miss Abd-al-Ameer?” he stuttered. She seemed to think something over in her head before saying “this is her in the flesh, darling, and she is all yours today! So, why don’t you come inside, but first you have to pay. A skilled and famous worker like me needs clients and payments to reflect her ability.” Having noticed his brown, leather jacket with the eagle insignia on its shoulder, an obvious sign of a soldier returning from duty, she considered closing the door swiftly before he started begging her for a free service like other soldiers did. “Oh, thank you, I would like to enter but... uh... you see I don’t understand... what payment are you talking about?” “He’s a beggar,” she thought and quickly tried to close the door, but with astonishing speed the man had jammed a foot in between the door and the wall. “Ah excuse me... I’m sorry it appears there was a misunderstanding... I didn’t mean any disrespect... I-” “No disrespect!” she sounded incredulous. “You better run along mister before I call the police on you! I do NOT give any free services and if for a moment you thought-” “I don’t want any services miss. I just wanted to give you a letter from your-” “A letter? Oh, why didn’t you say that from the start! Who is it from?” she said while thinking “a letter! What sort of dumb creature does he think I am!” “It’s from your husband he wanted to-” “My husband! Excellent, can I see it?” she smiled through the narrow gap between door and wall. “Yes... uh... of course. Just a second... I put it right here...” as he searched within his jacket, he couldn’t feel the letter anywhere. It must have fallen when he had collapsed earlier. After quickly glancing around, he saw the letter on the ground, but it was too far away from where he stood. “It’s right there, I will just...uh... go and get it.” he said and moved towards the letter, but as soon as he retracted his leg, the woman slammed the door shut. Six months ago, dark, dark clouds were raining lead shells. Running through the mud and blood filled trenches. Abd saw a hand sticking out of some rubble. Bloodied and burnt, the hand was tightly grasping a letter. Abd wrenched it off and kept on running. Perhaps, he could do some kindness to a dead man while everyone else were so hell-bent on doing atrocities to living men. Death approached the man, but he froze in his place. “So this is why I could not kill him,” Death smiled. “He has much left to do,” the voice replied.