Fiction
Raahim Mansouri walked toward the east giving glory to Allah. He crossed Michigan Avenue and continued past Millennium Park until he reached Lake Shore Drive. The sun had just broken the plane of the water, its brilliant yellow-orange glowing with the promise of the fireball yet to come. He couldn’t contain the excitement bubbling up within him, and he shouted at the top of his lungs, “Allahu Ahkbar!” Yes, Allah was great, and he would be shown preeminent – soon in this city and shortly throughout this land, this great Satan that had polluted his people and all the earth. An early morning jogger, upon hearing Raahim’s outburst, swerved far around him and cast back a worrying look.
It wouldn’t be long now. Raahim turned to look at the mass of buildings, the center of so much evil. How he hated Chicago and all it stood for! It was the heart of capitalism in the middle of the heartland. There were other cities more sinful in this nation, but this was the one Raahim knew. Just like his associates whom he assumed were even now likewise contemplating that which was to come in New York and Los Angeles. The corruption that western society had perpetrated, as its influence permeated every culture and people, disgusted Raahim to his very core. Oh, how he hungered and thirsted for the righteousness that only Allah could bring! It throbbed within him. He needed it and wanted to see it with his own eyes, but that wasn’t Allah’s plan for him in this life.
He would see it. Of that he had no doubt, but from the vantage point of paradise. Perhaps then, once he’d entered the merciful arms of Allah, his yearning to see virtue restored and to experience the holiness that only a people dedicated to setting things right could desire, yes, perhaps then he could rest.
Raahim glanced at his watch. It automatically synchronized with Greenwich Mean Time. The entire operation demanded exact timing among the three leaders. It was designed to assure that nothing could or would go wrong. Raahim, as with the other two men entrusted with the project, were, in reality, nothing more than errand boys, hands and feet given the task and the means to set everything in motion.
The miniaturized bomb had already been set. If something had delayed Raahim it would have still done extreme damage. But nothing had gone wrong. Raahim had placed it in the exact location required by his superiors. He thought about the instructions given him by the Ayatollah himself. The purpose of Islam would not be thwarted. Iran would fulfill its destiny leading the destruction and chaos, which would usher in the time of the Mahdi, the prophesied redeemer who would bring the world to its knees under the caliphate he would establish. Justice and equity would soon reign. Raahim closed his eyes and thanked the holy one for giving him the opportunity to serve in such a critical way.
Soon. Raahim removed his prayer rug from his backpack. Right in the middle of the bike path he positioned the rug toward Mecca. A bicyclist approached yelling at him to move, but Raahim simply smiled at him as he passed and began his oblations.
He would die as he had lived. Desire to serve had consumed him all his life. It had been his daily bread. Now he would experience the ultimate service, the all-encompassing sacrifice.
The sun shone and reflected on the lake stretching before him. Its rays touched his body with their heat as he placed his forehead once more to the ground, repeating the holy words. He trembled as the seconds ticked away, as he bore witness to the prophet, as he proclaimed Allah as the only god.
But then…an uneasy laughter overtook him. His heartbeat pounded throughout his body. His fingers began twitching. Sweat poured from every gland. He opened his eyes to see that the sajjāda, the mat beneath him, was soaked. His mind wouldn’t obey any longer. The breath in his lungs came short and fast. He couldn’t breathe!
He scrambled to his feet. The city had come alive in the time he’d spent here. Cars zoomed by. Pedestrians hurried along on their usual morning routines. A blinding streak of light hit his eyes; only the sun reflecting from a mirrored building. His certainty turned to self-pity: his life – too short.
It began as scheduled. The fireball burst, swelled, and consumed all.
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