Ride or Die. Khurrum Rahman
In that very heartbeat, I knew what I had to do.
As I watched, his small hand emerged out of his pocket, a detonator gripped high above his head, high enough for me to see. In a hall full of guests, I alone was his audience and he had my attention. The serene smile on the face of the ten-year-old boy was one of no regret and no fear of death, only victory. There would be no second guessing, no degree of falling to my knees and begging to sacrifice my life for the lives of my family.
There was only one way it would go. This was my punishment.
His serene smile was the last thing I saw before a white light filled my eyes and an explosion filled my ears. He took his own life and snatched away everything that I had allowed myself to believe would forever be mine.
I held my family in my arms, tight to me, their faces and bodies burnt and broken and breathless. Through my tears and through my screams, I never once asked why.
I knew why.
The rage was the only emotion that I’d felt and I welcomed it back like an old friend.
I knew what I had to do, and I would allow the rage to dictate my actions.
Fake News.
Definition: Bullshit information fed by bullshit media to fit a bullshit narrative.
Flat on my backside, arms flopped to my side, laid out on a sun lounger with one of those big umbrella things above me, protecting me from the blazing sun, with nothing but another lazy day ahead of me. On the small plastic table next to me, a bottle of water sat upright on top of a book. Yeah, a book! Seemed like a good idea at the time. Seemed like a holiday thing to do, but really I could not be arsed. Give me some credit, though, I attempted it, ripped through a few chapters, but it just felt way too much like homework. Fuck, man, I barely did homework at school, I sure ain’t doing homework on holiday! Next to the book was my phone, also taking a well-deserved rest, and some loose change that amounted to either a fortune or jack-shit. I don’t know, I still hadn’t sussed out the exchange rate.
I sighed the sigh of a man who had finally sat down. I accompanied it with a noisy stretch which turned into a big fat yawn. Good times, that may just get better from what I could see in front of me.
Through the tango tint of my replica designer shades I glanced across the pool and the brunette who was giving me the eyes yesterday was doing so again. I wasn’t surprised, I’d hit the weights twice in the last couple of weeks, and possibly this attention was a result of that. I crossed my arms across my chest, hoping that the curve of a bicep might make an appearance. I lifted my shades onto my forehead, and gave her the elevator eyes. I decided against a wink, instead giving her the smallest of smiles, no teeth, not yet, just one side of my lips curling a touch. That’s enough for today. I’d played this game before, with varying results. I’d keep it cool. With a flick of a finger I slid my shades down my forehead, but they fell too far down my nose and I had to quickly readjust. Great! She’d turned her attention elsewhere.
A member of staff approached. Unlike me he was showing teeth and smiling wildly. He towered over me, blocking my view. His too-tight shorts too close to my face, he handed me an already dripping lemonade ice-lolly that I’d forgotten I’d ordered, and didn’t feel like anymore, and started jabbering on about some excursion or another, thrusting flyers in my face. I reached across to the table and picked up a couple of coins and held them up to my face, squinting, trying to figure out how little of a tip I could get away with. I handed him one Qatari Rial and took a flyer from him and waved him away with it as I considered jumping in the pool.
This had been my spot for the last two weeks, with another two weeks to come. And I didn’t have the inconvenience of waking up at fuck-off-o’clock in the morning to come and plant my towel on the lounger, as is the international method of reservation. No, man, this was my mum’s joint and she called the shots. It was actually the Marriott Hotel in Doha, Qatar, and Mum worked there on reception. She had a word with one of the lifeguards to keep the shaded lounger reserved for me during my stay, because she knew better than anybody how sensitive my skin was to the sun.
I had finally managed to get out to Qatar to visit Mum and Andrew, her now fiancé. His proposal was a long, convoluted story which I lost interest in pretty quickly when they told me, but there were dolphins, a hot air balloon and a lost shoe involved. He was alright, Andrew, made Mum smile and laugh. He made her happy. Even though they were settled in a Muslim country, nobody questioned their so-called interfaith relationship. It would have been worse in Hounslow!
Yeah, man, life was good, you know. Well, it was good right then.
In a couple of weeks, I’d fly back home to an empty house and an empty life. I’d sit on my trusty armchair and face up to the fact that I was quickly running out of money, currently unemployed and had jack-shit to fill my days with. It crossed my mind that I should go crawling back to my old IT Helpdesk role at the London Borough of Hounslow. I mean, I never officially left. I just hadn’t been in for the last eight months. I didn’t even phone in my absence. I mean, what would I tell them? How would I explain the death in the family? That my old man was tracked down then shot down as part of a large-scale government operation that I was central to.
Can you imagine that conversation?
So instead I ignored the emails and phone calls from my team leader, then I ignored the emails, phone calls and letters from HR. I just couldn’t be arsed to go back, figured that I had too much to sort out. Turns out I didn’t have jack-shit to do. Abdul Bin Jabbar was dead and MI5 had no use for me. I should’ve been glad. It’s what I wanted. What I thought I wanted.
My