Al - Basir : The All Seeing

She silently begged him to stop but he was so full of the wrath of his God that he did not hear her timid cries. So intent was he in putting his mark on her that he could not see the scars forming on her soul, wounds that would never heal. He sucked her tender mouth with a driven ferocity, almost trying to inhale all of her at once. His clammy hands slid down her young body, trying to grab as much of it as he could. He grasped her flat, unformed chest where even the first signs of womanhood had not yet begun to appear. The unformed breasts inside her body began to hurt painfully, a hurt that would last a lifetime. His arms had her body trapped even though she never stood a chance in the first place. Her tiny frame was no match for his bulky hulk. She clenched her eyes tightly shut throughout the ordeal so as not to see the lust-driven, monstrous face in front of her that was almost succeeding in devouring her whole like the mythical dragons in her book of bedtime stories. “I hope you don’t mind the manner in which I love you� he said between his lust shortened breaths; “it’s just that I miss my grand-daughter so much and you look just like her�. And with the picture of his grand-daughter in his mind and the little girl’s tender face between his ruthless palms, he would suck her mouth with renewed vigor, pinching her body wherever his hands rested.

When she did open her eyes in between, she could see the dead, indifferent Jesus hanging from a cross on the church wall in front of her. How she silently, desperately begged Jesus to weave a miracle and make the monster stop hurting her. Jesus was dead, he did not care. The priest, whom she went to everyday after school for an hour, was a friend of her parents and had volunteered to teach her all about God. She could not remember how long this had been going on; a long time she guessed since she had been coming to this little room in the back of the church for quite some now; to learn about God you see. She didn’t remember each episode but she was certain her memory was failing her; or perhaps saving her. She sensed that this was not the first time. She never told anyone, not a single soul. Jesus told her not to. And when Jesus tells you not to do something, you simply do not do it or else you could get into serious trouble, trouble that would mean very bad things would happen to you; your best friend could die or your parents might stop loving you or Jesus would make sure that the heavens never opened their door for you and then you would be stuck here on earth long after everyone you would loved or ever would love was long gone. So she kept quiet. She didn’t say anything.

And the last day she came to learn about God, the monster would just not let her go no matter how hard she tried to escape his grip. He bit her; mouth, chest, whatever he could lay his hands on until he had bitten the last of his lust out. He then patted her on the head in a paternal fashion and said: “You are truly such a wonderful girl. God is very, very happy with you. You don’t even need to come here anymore my darling. I am getting a new little girl tomorrow and I will have to spend all my spare time teaching her what I taught you. Besides, you have already learnt all there is to learn about God Almighty. Just keep remembering and do not forget anything I taught you.� Oh she wouldn’t forget she knew; that she couldn’t forget she didn’t know then. She ran past the monster, past the unopened, dust laden Bible, past the dead, mute, uncaring Jesus, out of the cold, stone church where no prayers were heard, no timid cries answered. She ran out into the open and standing there under the endless blue sky, she spat with all her might. Spat the monster out of her mouth. She spat, spat, spat. She spat at the priest, at the church and at God; the God trapped within her and the one, supposedly everywhere, all around us, the one who can see everything, who stood by silently and watched her soul lose the sense of direction to any road that might ever lead her back to Him.

It was her birthday. She had turned eight that day; the day she stopped believing in God; the God who lost her in His all-seeing silence.

At home, when her mother asked her why her lip bled and why there were bruises on her arms, she said she stumbled on a stone on her way back home.