A Glorious Sunset

The pink-orange light beckoned him, a heavenly chariot making its final journey over the horizon. But the horizon had been defeated. The taut stretch that he was used to at home was obscured by the monstrosities of steel and cement that the Americans call their houses. He was happy, so contented and steadfast that he did not waver as the fat infidels shouldered their way past him. He put up with the foul stench of Christians for he knew he would not have to endure it much longer. He spared the sunset one more glance and then closed his eyes. He thought deeply about his family and let one tear caress his cheek.

As a child he did not ever think about sunsets or indeed about families, for he had none. He was raised in an orphanage where he devoted his every second to faith. He had never excelled in his studies nor in battle but had always been praised for his acute faith. He had an understanding far better than that of his peers and he never asked questions. He was well on his way to becoming a prophet, some said, or a high priest. He loved Allah and he showed it. He prayed at the temple five times a day and twice at home with his wife and three children. If there was something he loved more than his God, it was his daughter. She too showed understanding far superior than most, even the boys. He loved his whole family and that is why, when the men came with offers, he could not refuse.

They told him about the Americans and what they were doing to the world, how they tortured innocent children and spat at the word of Allah. He could not believe them. They told him abouthow they slaughtered millions of believers in previous wars, about Christians and their hateful God. He was dumbfounded, but why would they lie? They were of the same faith, for what reason would they deceive him? They told him of the rewards that a man would receive for giving his life. His family would have seats in heaven, next to him at the table of Allah. What better way to prove his love? An honourable way to go, they said monuments in his name would be erected. This meant little to him; the thought of his family in heaven was far more valuable than any earthly thing. He accepted.

The last sliver of sun began to disappear over the skyline. He fingered the bomb strapped to his chest. It felt insubstantial. The sunset is a sign, he thought, and so it seemed. It was an appropriate metaphor for his glorious ending. Allah was near, his family was saved and he was their saviour. All that was needed was to press. He knew where he was going....