

Thank you Allah

Gratitude

By Khaleel Jooste

Copyright Khaleel Jooste 2019

Smashwords Edition License Notes:

This free e-book may be copied, distributed, reposted, reprinted and shared, provided it appears in its entirety without alteration, and the reader is not charged to access it.

Other books by Khaleel Jooste

Thank you Allah – Purpose

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/764583

Bismillah

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/902550

Thank you Allah – Patience

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/913811

Whisperers

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/414163

Connect with Khaleel Jooste via email

kritzmanjooste@gmail.com

I seek protection from Satan the outcast and I begin in the name of

Allah,

The Most Gracious, The Most Merciful.

Ayat Al-Kursi

The Verse of the Throne

God! There is no god except He, the Living, the Everlasting. Neither slumber overtakes Him, nor sleep. To Him belongs everything in the heavens and everything on earth. Who is he that can intercede with Him except with His permission? He knows what is before them, and what is behind them; and they cannot grasp any of His knowledge, except as He wills. His Throne extends over the heavens and the earth, and their preservation does not burden Him. He is the Most High, the Most Great.

Surah Al- Baqarah (The Heifer) 2:255

As Allah wills

Say, "Nothing will happen to us except what God has ordained for us; He is our Protector." In God let the faithful put their trust.

Surah At-Tawbah (Repentance) 9:51

No calamity occurs on earth, or in your souls, but it is in a Book, even before We make it happen. That is easy for God.

That you may not sorrow over what eludes you, nor exult over what He has given you. God does not love the proud snob.

Surah Al-Hadid (Iron) 57:22 – 23

Wherever you may be, death will catch up with you, even if you were in fortified towers. When a good fortune comes their way, they say, "This is from God." But when a misfortune befalls them, they say, "This is from you." Say, "All is from God." So what is the matter with these people, that they hardly understand a thing?

Whatever good happens to you is from God, and whatever bad happens to you is from your own self. We sent you to humanity as a messenger, and God is Witness enough.

Surah An-Nisa (Women) 4:78 – 79

Ibn 'Abbas also narrates: Once I was behind the Prophet (s) and he said:

O boy, I will teach you a few words:

(a) Be loyal and obedient to Allâh [worship Him (Alone)], remember Him always, obey His Orders. He will save you from every evil and will take care of you in all the spheres of life.

(b) Be loyal and obedient to Allâh, you will find Him near (in front of you) i.e. He will respond to your requests.

(c) If you ask, ask Allâh.

(d) If you seek help, seek help from Allâh.

(e) Know that if all the people get together in order to benefit you with something, they will not be able to benefit you in anything except what Allâh has decreed for you. And if they all get together in order to harm you with something, they will not be able to harm you in anything except what Allâh has decreed for you. The pens have stopped writings [Divine (Allâh's) Preordainments]. And (the ink over) the papers (Book of Decrees) has dried.

This Hadith is quoted in Sahih At Tirmidi.

For Britney and Justin

Your friend

Salaam, Khaleel

"If I had taken anyone as my Khalil I would have taken Abu Bakr as such, but my Khalil is God."

The Beloved of Allah

Prophet Muhammad

Sallallahu Alaihi Wasallam

Abdul 'Adl

#TheChangelings

"I love you."

He cups the back of her head in both his hands.

She turns her head and kisses the scar on his right wrist. She moves away from him, taking his hand in hers, tracing her index finger gently along the scar.

"My brave, Abdul 'Adl." She lifts his hand up and kisses the scar again.

"I remember well the day you got this scar. It was the day that started just like any other; pretty blue skies, the playful rustling of the leaves as the winds changed their course. I was outside enjoying the coolness and warmth of the spot between the two." She puts his hand to her cheek and locks her dark eyes on his.

"Justus was playing with the spheres." She smiles as the memory unfolds and replays again in her mind.

"I still see him clearly. He was just about two."

She searches Abdul 'Adl's eyes. They softened slightly as he takes in hers. Today it was void of fear and anguish. It was almost as if he was, for this moment, very content. It was not often that his eyes were like that. She often wondered if she would ever see him not concerned for her, for their daughters, and, especially Justus. When he took up arms, the rebels of Mada declared war against him.

He was what they referred to as the "Most-unwanted-despicable-ape-lover-of-all". He was marked for death. Every day, Abdul 'Adl lived as if it was his last, because he knew his days were numbered. Not for fear of the rebels, but for fear and love for His Lord.

"When I heard you were injured, I thought that was the day. For just one breath of the son of Adam, I was filled with the most intense sense of, what? Disbelief? Befuddlement? More a sense of yearning for answers from our Lord. You know."

She looks to see what his eyes would share. It only conveyed peace. The contentment was still there.

She sighs relieved.

"But I fear that day is today. Am I right?" She couldn't bear to look him in his eyes. The enormity of the moment was just too much for her. She didn't trust herself to be strong and in control. She always knew, and accepted, in the dark room at the back of her canvasses of him, in her mind, that one day she would have to switch on the light and gaze upon the final face, the final stare, hear the last whisper. It was too much for her.

She embraces him and holds him tighter than she has ever held him before. It felt more real than even when they were really side by side.

"I love you," Abdul 'Adl whispers again. His voice was warm, gentle and light. It carried with it the sense of accomplishment, the air of gratified finality, the conviction of the best is just one last breath away.

He turns and picks up the small gift he had wrapped and kept close for exactly this precious moment. The gentle breeze played with his blue robe that reached to his knees. The leather sock-like-shoes gave definition to his calves, as they were laced up till below his knees, covering his faded blue pants. Zahrah admires her husband's strong physique. She emblazons every strong muscle, every toned curve and every soft, masculinity on the canvas that would now be the last of her beloved. She makes sure to absorb them all well, before finally closing her eyes and locking them all in place.

When she opens them again, Abdul 'Adl was in front of her smiling his infectious smile. Rarely did he give this smile, only when he was really happy and, rarely, pleased.

She smiles and caresses her head against his cheek. She locks the feeling in place.

"How can I be sad, when you are clearly so happy, my beloved Abdul 'Adl."

"I am, my love, my beautiful Zahrah. My gift and good news from my Friend, the Lord of the Worlds." He embraces her for a tender moment and then lets her go.

"This is from my heart. It was always yours." He hands her the gift.

It was wrapped in the leaves of the Beautiful Patience Tree. It grew only in the dark forest that was on the edge of where they lived.

Zahrah smiles and ponders this gift. She does however not open it, but rather puts it into the sleeve of her garment.

"I will treasure it, the same as I treasure you. Always."

She cups his chin in her right hand and whispers softly.

"You are the love of my life."

She kisses him tenderly.

He embraces her and holds her tight.

Then, suddenly, just for a brief moment, his voice breaks, as he says, "Take care of him. He will not understand and he will need you now, more than ever."

A tear trickles down his cheek.

It runs into her hair and mixes with her scent.

"Don't cry."

She was surprisingly strong.

"Rare is it that our kind cries, but you, you are special. Your heart is soft, like the gold the son of Adam labors for so hard to have. The highest quality gold; molded till it is soft and subtle, yet strong and durable. My pure piece of gold. My golden everything."

She embraces him more.

"Don't worry about Justus. He will prevail. You taught him well and loved him so that he would never want. Be at peace in that thought."

They hold each other tightly.

From far away in the distance, almost a soft whisper, they hear Abdul Razzaq's voice.

"Abdul 'Adl! Transform or he will kill you!"

Abdul 'Adl moves slightly away from his wife and gives one last glimpse into her dark eyes.

"Your eyes always took me far away, to beautiful places. Now, too, they will take me away. Away to Him."

He kisses her softly. The trembling in her body was tangible as their lips met for this last tender moment.

"Please Abdul 'Adl!! Transform, just this once. Discard your rules!" Abdul Razzaq pleas.

"True to your word until the end," says Zahrah.

"No, my love, dear Zahrah, this is only the beginning." He smiles contented.

"Please, Abdul 'Adl. Move and transform! He is going to kill you." Abdul Razzaq was desperate and scared.

The pitch fork rises high.

"The spheres are his test. Don't let him lose focus."

"I won't."

"Peace be with you. Always."

"And you."

The pitch fork stabs hard.

Abdul 'Adl fades into the light.

His contented smile, the last memory to be emblazoned on Zahrah's canvas of her beloved.

Abdul 'Adl was dead.

Ben

#TornApart

#LoveYourself

"Justin, I love you."

Ben tries his best to control his voice. It was difficult, because at that moment he was very vulnerable.

"Please, bro, talk to me. Stop this silence. It is deafenin', and it is killin' me. Literally. Please, bro."

He takes a deep breath and puts the phone down for a second. He rolls his head and cracks his neck. His eyes fall on the pills on the table. He takes a deep breath and picks up the phone again.

"Whatever it is that I did, bro, I am really sorry. You are my best friend. Please, forgive me. I need you."

His voice cracks. His temples start throbbing and spaghetti veins protrude more in his neck. His face goes red and his eyes go watery.

"I need you now, more than ever, Justin. Please." His eyes fall on the pills again and he balls his left fist.

A solitary tear flows past the tear tattoo in the corner of his right eye. The teardrop falls onto the small coffee table and splashes into smaller drops.

It grabs Ben's attention and it coincides with the way he felt at that very moment. As if he was part of a piece of a whole that was shattered or torn to pieces. Torn apart.

He wipes the tear away as if to remove the hole that he was feeling, but all it did was pick up the dust, that was layered on the surface of the coffee table, and dirty his hands. This dirt also messed with his head. He felt dirty and filthy. He stares at the pills again.

"Please, bro. I beg you. Talk to me."

He sighs deeply and holds his breath for a few seconds. The veins in his neck relax a bit and his face goes less red, but his temples were still throbbing. His jaw muscles were hard and tensed.

"I love you, Justin."

He hangs up.

He puts his cellphone on the coffee table and stares at the pills. Slowly he puts his head into his hands and just stands like that for a few seconds. Then he quickly grabs the pills, rushes to the bathroom, throws them into the toilet bowl and flushes it just as quickly. He sighs relieved and makes his way to the mirror. He stares at his reflection and smiles at himself.

"Love yourself." He smiles more.

"Justin told you to 'Love yourself'." He smiles. Even if Justin refused to talk to him now, his words were still with him.

"So that is exactly what you are goin' to do, Mr Ben Miller." He smiles more but then frowns just as quickly.

"I really wish Justin was here." He sighs and opens the cold water tap and splashes some water onto his face.

He wipes his hands and face with a small towel. He heads out of the bathroom and makes his way to the front door. He slowly opens the door and first takes a peek outside. Satisfied that he was completely alone, he makes his way to the labyrinth outside.

He strolls along the pathway, past all the flesh eating plants, casually, touching one here and there. The Sarracenia purpurea's pitchers were dangling limply. Its usually dark purple color was all faded. This was in contrast to the Darlingtonia californica's pitchers that were vibrant and lively, the fangs as if it was ready to strike. The Utricularia minor was the only of the carnivorous plants in his garden that never seemed to change. The pale yellow flowers were in full bloom. Ben continues further to the center of the labyrinth. He stops in front of his favorite pitcher, the Nepenthes attenboroughii.

"Rat-eating-pitcher-whatever," Ben says. Creases form at the edges of his mouth.

His eyes soften up too. He hunches in front of the plant and admires its pitcher from up close. The plant was healthy and had grown a lot since she gave it to him.

The love of his life.

His beautiful Claire.

He closes his eyes and his entire face relaxes.

"I am grateful."

That is all he says as he gets up and takes a last glimpse at the flesh eating plant.

He stares up at the sky.

Today it was clear, not as ether-red as it has been for the past few weeks, if it wasn't months. Ben doubted his own memory and more, his own eyes. Could it be that his senses were playing tricks on him, or was the sky really changing?

The Demolition man really did a number on him when he saw him last at The Mayan. It was a disturbing meeting, especially when the Demolition man just disappeared into the crowd like that. Ben questioned his own sanity.

Was the Demolition man real or just a figment of his imagination?

Ben shakes it off.

The Demolition man is real.

The sky was ether-red.

Today it is pale, baby blue.

He was grateful.

He was not mad.

Nor was he going mad.

God opened his eyes.

That is all it was.

'Thank you, Lord."

He closes his eyes. His whole face relaxes; even his tensed jaws no longer seem as if they were going to tear through his flesh.

Ben straightens up quickly. Something just dawned on him. If anyone can help him right now, it is Kimberly.

Kimberly Amber-Jane.

She was the key to the riddle.

Yes, he was convinced.

He must try to find her.

And the sooner he does the better.

Ben makes his way out of the Labyrinth and is quickly in the house.

"Mr Biggs, I have some excitin' news!" He shouts.

Ben puts his hands to his mouth, he stops dead in his tracks and stares at the empty cot in the corner of the room. The reality again sinks in.

Mr Biggs was gone. He voluntarily and willingly left with her.

His fair, beautiful Claire.

That was such a blow to Ben, that moment that Mr Biggs gave him an enquiring look, and then, without hesitation, jumped into the car with Claire.

Mr Biggs didn't even look back as they drove off.

That was a double blow to Ben. Not only did the love of his love leave him, but his own pet too. He thought he was Mr Biggs's best and only friend.

That was obviously not the case.

Mr Biggs was loyal to her.

Ben feels suddenly weak. It was as if he was experiencing that moment again. It was now almost five years since they left, but it was clear that he has not done much healing. That was the reality that dawns on him in this very moment.

He makes his way to his room and sits down by his desk.

He opens the folded sheet of paper that was lying on the maps that cluttered the desk top.

He sighs as he remembers what was written there. His face turns from a defeated ashen barrenness to a reddish yearning. His eyes glisten and his jaw clenches.

It was a poem he wrote.

It was a poem for her.

His one true love.

The one that gave him purpose and filled him with gratitude.

The only one that he cherished and appreciated in this whole wide world more than Mr Biggs.

The love of his life.

His true soul mate.

His Claire.

Even after all this time, he was still grateful and still hopeful. He reads his own handwriting. He was thinking of her and all that she was. All things she had become to him, all those things that he now misses dearly. Mostly he was ambivalent about his future. With her next to him, it was bright, but now, with her gone, it was stark, dark, and almost unimaginable. He looks up at his notice board. He removes one of the notes he made regarding his last meeting with The Demolition man. He compares his handwriting of the note to that of the handwriting of the sheet. He notices that his handwriting is more eloquent and relaxed whenever it involved his Claire, but totally messy and careless when he wrote about other things. It spoke to an inner truth regarding his feelings for his Claire. It was genuine and pure and it translated automatically through his being.

He pins the note back on the board and focuses on the sheet.

He wanted to remember his Claire, so he wrote a poem. But as the poem developed, he thought perhaps it should be a song. He was undecided. Mostly it filled him with gratitude. That is what it was. He was grateful for who Claire was and more grateful that he could have her in his life. In spite of her being gone, he still felt this gratitude.

Justin said to write things down that he was grateful for, especially when the urge to fall off the wagon came.

It was actually Justin who made him realize just how lucky he was.

No. Luck had nothing to do with it.

Fair Claire was a blessing, nothing less.

Justin too.

Ben manages a smile and his red face turns to its normal olive color.

Love yourself.

That is what also lingered in the back of Ben's mind. Loving himself, also meant acknowledging others that loved him.

Loves him, Ben reassures himself.

Like his beautiful Claire.

He reads his poem again. Maybe it should really be a song. Who knows.

Will his Claire ever read it?

His thoughts were all muddled and filled with doubts.

Love yourself.

Justin's words pull him back.

He nods his head.

That is all that matters.

He suddenly remembers.

Kimberly Amber-Jane.

This all started with her.

It all started that day that he took her to the farm.

Knee Deep.

If only he could remember.

Why would anyone want to cause Kimberly or him harm?

She is such a sweet and caring person, who would want to hurt her?

The day they went to Knee Deep, his car broke down, that is what he remembers so vividly in his mind. He remembers the steam coming from the radiator.

It was the first time that he experienced something of this nature.

It was irregular.

Did someone tamper with his car? That is what he has been asking himself.

He got out of the car and then almost immediately Kimberly got sick.

It was the gooseberries. They did not agree with her.

Or?

What if?

Did someone tamper with their food?

Ben couldn't let it go. He was convinced that he was innocent in all of this. He was not drinking, nor was he under any influence of any sort of narcotics as the media was saying.

It was almost like they were willfully trying to discredit him and cause harm to his name and his reputation.

But why?

It could only be because of what he was investigating. The whole thing with the Demolition man was turning out to be more than he bargained for. He thought it was all just conspiracy, but he got himself smack in the middle of it with no way of escaping.

Welcome to the Hotel California.

This must be what it meant.

Once you are in, you never get out, not alive, at least.

That is what he figures.

But why involve Kimberly?

She is of no significance to him, nor was she doing anything that concerned this plot.

All she was, was a decent human being that was trying to make a difference in the lives of others.

With her eyes, she could see things that no one else could see.

Those eyes.

Ben suddenly remembers.

They made him feel very comforted, almost unburdened. Kimberly's eyes were really capable of not only penetrating his façade, but also capable of finding the goodness within him and bringing it to the front.

Exposing the real him, or rather revealing the true him, allowing him to bask in the sun.

Ben takes this all in.

That is what he remembers of that day, so clearly.

Kimberly looked at him and asked him about his family. The Grays and his birth parents. He wanted to show her something that was in the barn on the farm.

Even if he wanted to explain it to her, she would still not understand, that is why he had to take her to Knee Deep so that she could see it with her own two eyes.

Yes.

He wanted her to be the one to speak to Claire.

His beautiful Claire.

The love of his life.

Ben sighs.

How did it all turn out like this?

Could it perhaps be what he found in the barn?

None of it made sense.

Why would anyone want to do anything to people who were nobody really. He was from a farm and Kimberly similar. It just didn't make sense.

Ben bulges his fists as he stares at the page in his hand.

Whatever it was ruined any chances he had of reconciling with Claire.

He was so convinced that if Kimberly spoke to her, she would believe him, but now, after all that has happened, there is no chance in hell to get her to see the light.

Everyone blamed him for the accident on the Golden State Highway.

All those people that passed away.

The most painful though was that he was blamed for her blindness.

Her sight.

He took that away.

"Lord, please forgive me."

He shakes his head.

Does God even exist?

If He did, why were these things happening?

What about the aliens?

Ben shakes his head and looks at the page again.

This was the reality.

His Claire was his reality.

And with Claire came many other answers.

He was convinced that He was real.

But how did they fit into all of this?

He wishes he knew.

They definitely existed. Of that, he was convinced.

He could not remember exactly, but he thinks he saw one.

However, it was all muddled in his vague memories.

He laughs.

Perhaps they zapped him with something like those dudes did to the people in Men in Black. Or like that obliviate curse that Hermione was so good at casting.

Ben's smile disappears.

Could it all be real?

Were people actually doing this to other people?

Are they willfully forcing people to forget things from their past?

This thought leaves Ben with a very uncomforting feeling.

Was he really at the mercy of others?

Is he really that out of control with what happens to him?

Would God just allow something like this to happen to him?

He was not innocent of course. The drugs, the booze, and all the crazy things he did while under the influence and during the times when he thought he was sober.

Ben realizes that sober meant more than not having alcohol or narcotics in the system.

No, it meant much more than that.

Sober meant that the mind and body had a chance to recover from the effects of being under the influence.

He realizes that these substances all had a hand in manipulating his reality.

It altered him, changed him in ways that he could not really grasp, while under the effects of it all.

Only after months and years of being clean, did the effects start wearing off.

He realizes that more and more.

Things that looked and seemed great at the time, now seems inappropriate and some even very immoral.

Ben ponders about these thoughts more and more.

The more he reflects on all of this, it appears more and more that he was out of control.

Or was he in control of something.

Was something controlling him is what suddenly comes to his mind.

The Demolition man said that The man who would be King would take them to the Stargate that would lead them to the hall of fame.

Was the Demolition man aware that there are things trying to influence us and control us?

He must be aware, otherwise, why behave the way he did?

And who was the King to be?

Could it be her lineage?

Is that perhaps why they killed her?

Was William the key?

King George?

What link does he have to the Demolition man?

Has the Demolition man have ties to the one that must come?

If he understands anything about this riddle, it must mean that the Stargate must be some portal to another dimension or another world.

Then the hall of fame, was that Eldorado?

This Eldorado is however not somewhere else, but rather here on Earth.

It all had to do with a new Golden Age.

Ben was convinced of this.

This King would therefore bring the one that would usher in this New Golden Age.

But for whose benefit?

It all just sounds like doom and gloom for most of the earth's population if this King was to reveal himself.

That is how he understood the message from the Demolition man.

Was the Demolition man even using this name because he was hinting at some destruction that would come with the one that this King brings?

Ben was all confused.

The Demolition man remained a mystery to him.

So did all of what was happening with him and around him.

The only truth was his Claire.

And if Claire was the truth, then He must be the truth too.

Ben manages to undo the negative train of thought and brings himself back to positive awareness.

If he were to regain control, he would have to focus on what was real.

Only by surrounding himself with tangible things, would he be able to discern what was real and what was not.

Moreover, what was hidden within that that appears as apparent.

Perhaps then, he could grasp that, which at this moment, seems so out of reach.

He stares at the page again.

That is why he cannot let this go.

He cannot let her go.

If he does, he will lose grip on his reality and thus be lost to their influence and control.

But how could he get close to her?

How could he make her see reason?

She was true to her word that her letter would be the last that he hears from her.

She did not call him by his name, rather just B.

That hurt more than he thought.

He got so used to being called Ben Bear and Ben my love, that when it was gone, it cut like a knife.

And that was the truth.

And that was why he wrote these words.

It was from a sober heart, uninfluenced by her, because she has been gone for so long.

So, it must be real, if it still remains, after all this time.

If she only knew.

That is all.

I only wanted...

He sighs.

It was hard to remain positive.

It was hard not to let go.

But it was even harder to imagine a life without her.

He remembers the first night she had a nightmare.

He stayed with her.

That was all she wanted; for someone to be there when she woke up from her terrible nightmares.

That was all he ever did when he was with her.

Hold her tight.

He wanted more.

He wanted to make her his wife.

But, the more he looks at it, it is as if she was already his wife.

He was joined to her.

He was convinced of this.

This was the reality and if she was the reality, then He must be real too.

Ben focuses on this and lets the positive awareness settle in more.

If he focuses on her, then all the other things seem much more manageable and much less overwhelming.

Gigantic as the mountain was, with her, it all just seems to fade away and disappear.

With her he could definitely move mountains.

Did that then mean that He intended it like that?

He was convinced of this.

The biggest mystery here was definitely not them.

No.

Not at all.

The biggest mystery is definitely Him.

He is the one that confounds us all.

And more and more, Ben was being drawn to Him.

He looks at the page again and reads the words again.

It was not about Claire at all.

No, he realizes that it was all about Him.

He was grateful.

That was the reality.

He was grateful to have had the experience of being around her and with her.

Even with her gone now, he was still grateful.

He was grateful, because with her was the first time that he felt real.

Life was real when he was with her.

He was grateful for this.

He realizes more and more that his words were a poem of gratitude, a song of appreciation to Him.

The One he could not grasp. The One he could not comprehend.

The One that was responsible for this all.

No matter how Ben felt about the bad things that were happening or the bad things that were yet to come, he could not bring himself to say or think anything bad about Him.

And that was only because of the feeling of surety within him.

This reality that manifests through his beautiful Claire.

He would never trade it for anything in the world and all that is in it.

Justin's words comfort him more.

Love yourself.

Does to love yourself not then mean to love the One that created you?

Or must you first love yourself in order to love Him?

Or is it to love Him first, and then you will love yourself?

Ben ponders this.

He was also aware that his thoughts were much less muddled and much more focused.

It was all part of the Real.

Ben was definitely convinced.

But how does He, The Demolition man and the aliens all tie together?

And more importantly, how could he reach out to Claire and convince her of this truth?

He smiles and reads the words he wrote on the piece of paper.

It made him feel good.

Perhaps all he needed was to trust and believe.

If she is really his, then surely they will meet again.

He comforts himself with this thought and decides to let it all go.

If it is meant to be, it will be.

For now, he must focus on what he could change.

He puts the piece of paper down and focuses on the notice board.

There was nothing new that he could follow up as far as the Demolition man was concerned.

The riddle was all he had and these places that they met.

None had any relation but they did all stand out.

The Mayan brought with it the whole end of days' predicament.

That tied in with the name Demolition man.

That implied some war or fight.

Did it have anything to do with Islam?

Ben shakes this off and thinks of Claire again.

He opens the piece of paper.

It was vital that he did everything in his power to reach out to her.

The only person that he thinks she would still be in contact with was Kimberly.

So if he was to make contact with her, he would have to go to Kimberly and persuade her to help him.

Ben makes up his mind.

That is what he was going to do.

He looks at his watch.

It was still early.

He would go to her now.

He folds up the piece of paper and puts it into his back jeans pocket.

If anyone could help him, it would be her.

The key

#NothingLikeUs

#ThatPOWER

"Be grateful."

Kimberly stares off into space as she strokes the ginger cat that was cuddled up in her lap. It was purring contently.

"That is what I have learned, Mr B."

Kimberly was sitting in the lounge of her studio apartment. It was mostly empty space, with most of the furniture to the sides against the walls. Her color talker was lying on the couch next to her, along with the assistant-to-the-blind-vest.

The Christmas gift from Peter-John and Drew.

"After the accident I started looking at things differently, I started seeing things more clearly and I came to the realization that there are more to things than meets the eye."

She strokes the cat a few more times, lifts it up and kisses its forehead, before putting it down next to her.

She feels for her vest and runs her fingers along the soft material. She has often wondered what it looks like. Peter-John said it was black and would blend with most of what she wears.

Black usually goes with everything, that was true, Kimberly thought too. The material was not something she was used to though.

It felt like leather, but at the same time as if it was silk or satin; something delicate but strong. She picks up her color talker and holds it to the vest and presses the button.

"Rich charcoal black," said the robotic male voice.

Kimberly smiles happily. She loved this talker. It never said something was black or white. It would always add something extra: playful strawberry red, fluffy marshmallow pink, honeycomb gold, decadent candy brown, frosty ice white, warm sunny yellow, these were a few of her favorite.

She puts her talker down and gets up. She puts the vest on and switches the power pack on in the pocket. As usual, the motor vibrates as the sensors initialize and respond to Kimberly's surroundings. Kimberly has gotten used to the tingly sensation the motor has on her shoulder. At first it always sort of made her cringe slightly, but now she had grown accustomed to it and even likes it.

She was grateful.

"Peter-John is a really special person, Mr B. Drew too. I am blessed to know the two."

Kimberly walks to the center of the room, each step deliberate and each step accounted for. When she was satisfied that she was where she wanted to be, she turns playfully in one spot, absorbing the vibrations and listening to the beeps. She pauses and listens. She stares off into the direction of the large wall window. She focuses on it and listens.

'That is strange, Mr B," Kimberly says. She was about to step forward in the direction of the window, but instead decides to turn in one spot again. Again, there was this vibration that was new. Something either moved or something was there.

"Hello, is anyone there?" Asks Kimberly embarrassed. "Crazy, Mr B. How can anyone be there, right?" Slowly Kimberly walks towards the window.

That is when she sees it.

The purple haze.

Then she hears it, the throb.

Kimberly was immediately excited. The rational part in her wanted her to back off, because obviously an intruder was in her home. He probably came in through the window, because she would have heard the door open. The voice inside her head said to say the emergency word that would set off the alarm that would alert 911 that there was a problem.

It begged her to move to the safety room that was at the other end of the studio, to her back. But Kimberly instead trusted her intuition. And it was telling her not to be afraid. She was safe. There was nothing to fear. She was grateful for this assurance.

Mostly, Kimberly listened to her heart.

It was in sync with the rhythm of the purple throb.

"Is it you?" Asks Kimberly, but this time she was less embarrassed and her voice was more controlled.

She moves closer to the purple haze. The motor on her shoulder vibrates more, until the speaker on her other shoulder finally beeps audibly into her ear. That meant that there was definitely an object in front of her and that the object was mere feet away.

Kimberly could barely contain her excitement. Her heart was beating fast. She could literally feel the vest move up and down against her chest. But Kimberly wasn't going to back down. She wanted to know what this was.

Who this was.

The purple haze was much clearer now and it was bordering between a blue and lavender hue. The throb was much louder and it mimicked Kimberly's heartbeat exactly.

"Do I know you?" Asks Kimberly carefully. Both times that she saw this phenomenon, it disappeared when she got close. But those times they were always interrupted. Today, there was no way that anyone could interfere again. This thought made Kimberly very happy.

Again, she was grateful.

"Don't be scared. I won't hurt you," says Kimberly and immediately she wants to take back her words. She felt silly saying that, since, if anything, she was the one that would get hurt. These thoughts quickly leave her mind though and she tunes in on the beautiful color and throbbing delight.

Slowly she steps forward more.

Her speaker beeps again and the motor on her shoulder vibrates more.

She closes her eyes for a quick second, just to clear anything that her damaged corneas might be picking up. She has had experiences in the past where certain light fragments would be visible to her, but never like this though.

Excitedly, Kimberly opens her eyes.

And, to her satisfaction, the beautiful blue and purple color remained, more, it was now forming more of a shape. The outline was becoming more visible and it was definitely the shape of a man. There where the heart would be, the color was most intense and it was clear to Kimberly that the source of the delightful throb, was coming from there. She gasps softly.

She was both nervous and excited. Mostly though, she was just so overcome with gratitude to be able to see anything at all.

"Do I know you?" Kimberly asks more audibly. "Was it you they came into the hall on Christmas day? I got the feeling that you were hurt? Are you okay?" Kimberly tries hard to control her voice. She was so desperate for this to be real she didn't want to jinx anything.

Slowly she reaches with her hand.

Before she rests her hand on the spot where the radiant light was coming from, what she assumes was the heart, there was a warmth that radiated into her palms and fingers. It left her with a very peculiar sense of comfort.

She slowly rests her hand on the light and she was again pleasantly surprised that there was something. It felt like a man's chest.

This information startles her slightly and she was about to pull her hand away, when she feels a hand gently take her by the wrist, holding her hand to the chest.

She doesn't pull away.

Kimberly wasn't scared.

Patiently she waits.

She moves closer to him.

Just then, she hears his voice.

"Kimberly." It was so clear and pleasant to Kimberly's ears. This voice was strange, yet familiar. It was deep and warm.

The doof-doof-doof noise of the knock on the door interrupts the intriguing moment and just like that, the throb stops and the colors just dissipate into nothing.

"No!" Shouts Kimberly frustrated. "Please, don't leave!" She closes the small gap between herself and the large window and peers out.

She was however back in darkness.

No light was visible to her eyes anymore.

"Come back," says Kimberly. The sad strain in her voice makes Mr B get off the couch and run to rub its body against her legs. It meows sympathetically.

The knock on the door was there again.

It frustrates Kimberly more.

She turns carefully and deliberately makes her way to her front door.

She unlocks it quickly and opens the door just a fast.

"Yes, what do you want?!" She asks abruptly. It was very uncharacteristic of her. She was clearly not happy that this person interrupted her.

"Sorry, it's just me. I didn't mean to disturb you."

Kimberly shakes her head. "Ben?"

"Yeah, Kimberly. It is me." Ben seems suddenly more nervous than he already was. It took all his courage to come here. Now it was clear that Kimberly was not in a good mood.

"Why are you here, Ben? I'm sure we didn't have an appointment, did we?" She was clearly still annoyed. She turns and faces the direction of the window.

But there was nothing.

Disappointed, she turns and faces Ben.

"No, no. We don't. I just really needed to see you. I just wanted to ask about Claire." Ben runs his fingers through his hair and almost seems to want to pull them from their roots.

Kimberly shakes her head again.

"How many times have we been through this, Ben? Claire wants nothing more to do with you. Didn't she make herself clear in her last letter? Isn't her silence enough to make you understand that she wants nothing to do with you anymore? Why are you punishing yourself like this? It isn't healthy, Ben. You need to let her go. Let her be. And move on with your life." Kimberly stares back at the window again.

The disappointment was much more than she expected.

She was right in the middle of something extraordinary and now it was ruined by lovesick Ben.

Ben's face turns red and his jaws were clenched tight. He puts his hands into the pockets of his black leather jacket.

For a moment they are both silent.

Mr B comes to the door and meows softly. It goes between Ben's legs and rubs against him gently. Surprised, Ben bends down and caresses the cat. It purrs encouragingly, but it moves swiftly away from Ben and starts rubbing against Kimberly's legs.

"That really looks just like Mr Biggs. He left with Claire."

Kimberly picks up Mr B and holds him in her arms against her bosom.

"I am sorry I disturbed you, dear Kimberly. I don't know what I was thinkin'. I just had this poem I wrote for my sweet Claire. Just thought maybe you could get it to her. I was bein' foolish. Forgive me, please. I will leave immediately. Goodbye, Kimberly." Ben turns and starts walking away.

Kimberly sighs and shakes her head.

"Ben, I am sorry. You just caught me at a... It's nothing. I am sorry. Please don't leave."

Kimberly's voice was lighter, less strained.

She hears Ben stop and turn.

"Please, come inside and keep me company for a while. I would love to hear the poem you wrote for Claire, if that is okay?" Kimberly gestures for him to come inside. She waits for a moment, turns and goes back into the lounge.

Hesitantly Ben steps into the studio apartment.

He closes the door behind him.

Kimberly walks quickly back to the window.

Ben watches her carefully. She surprises him every time he sees her. He still can't fathom how she is able to move around like this. As if she can see. It is clear that she was headed straight for the window and she knew exactly where it was in the large studio apartment. She lets Mr B down on the window sill as she peers outside.

Ben wonders what she is looking at as he slowly makes his way to the couch, but doesn't sit down. From where he was standing, he stares out of the window as well. From the angle he was looking from, all he could see were trees.

Kimberly turns and faces him.

"Do sit down. Can I get you something to drink?" Kimberly moves against the wall towards the kitchen.

"Some wader would be ideal." Ben swallows hard and clears his throat.

"One water coming straight up," says Kimberly. She pours some water from the water filter jug and makes her way back to Ben. There was a soft tapping of his feet on the wooden floor.

"Don't be nervous, Ben," says Kimberly. Her voice was much more cheerful than when he arrived.

"Sorry, I just..." He swallows his words as he takes the glass of water from Kimberly. "Thanks." He takes one big swig.

"Careful. Don't want the water going down the wrong hole." Kimberly sits down and immediately Mr B is on her lap. It purrs contently as she strokes its body.

Ben just sighs and moves awkwardly in his seat.

"I haven't heard from you in a while. When was the last time we were in touch?" Kimberly gives her own question some thought.

"March 27th. On Claire's birthday," Ben answers without hesitation.

Kimberly shakes her head. She presses her lips together and sighs. "I remember. I sent you a text to say that you should go to bed."

Ben smiles. "Yip, you are the only voice of reason."

"But still you didn't take my advice, now did you? What did you make her?" Kimberly was focused on Ben. If the purple heart throb was still on her mind, then she hid it well.

Ben scratches his head with his right hand and rubs the sweat off his left palm on his jeans. He sighs, but manages a smile.

"You know, the usual. Decadent pancakes, a few Mr Biggs waffles, exotic fruit, her favorites, all with my own maple syrup. I infused it with some exotic spices, mint and honey. Claire loves it.

This was of course just for breakfast in bed. For mains, I had planned somethin' special and different..." He sighs.

"Please tell me?" Kimberly was genuinely interested.

Ben looks at her eyes. Even now, they made him feel as if she could see his soul. The way they shone and the kindness in them, made him feel comfortable. The bright hazel color with the dark circle along the edge of the iris was both beautiful and disarming.

"I wanted to surprise her with a roasted quail stuffed with figs. A secret sauce, with the trimmings." He purses his lips together. "Dessert, a warm oven puddin' with cooked figs on top, perfect for the slight March chill. Figs were the special guests this year." He smiles to himself.

Kimberly smacks her lips together. "That all sounds mouthwatering. Maybe, one day, soon, you will indulge me and cook up a storm in my humble kitchen. That would be such a lovely treat." Kimberly continues to stroke Mr B. It was fast asleep on her lap.

"Just say the word and I am here," Ben says quickly.

Kimberly puts Mr B down on the couch next to her. She eyes Ben. "What about this Saturday. I have nothing planned except to sit curled up with Mr B and a good book. Your company would be much better than some characters in a twisted plot." Kimberly smiles. Now and then she brushes the curls of her brunette hair from her face.

Ben hesitates. He was planning to go investigating since Justin went AWOL, but he was craving some company. No company was better than his sweet Claire, but Kimberly was just as good as the next best thing.

"It is a promise. I will be here." Ben wanted to reach out a hand towards Kimberly to seal the date, but after hanging for a second, he realizes what he was doing and puts his hand back onto his lap.

"It is a date then. What will you be spoiling me with?" Kimberly was excited. Her eyes shone more and her cheeks were more pink.

"It is a surprise," says Ben. He was no longer tapping his feet and his hands were both relaxed on his lap.

"Sure will be more interesting than this book I am reading, though it be fascinating." Kimberly smiles.

"What is it about?" Ben was curious. He takes off his leather jacket and lays it on the armrest of the couch. He was wearing a plain v-neck shirt.

Kimberly scoffs. "Silly really. This writer is writing this book and it has all these different characters and all of them seem to have cats as pets. Curious thing is, the writer is unaware that there are forces working against him, influencing him." Kimberly laughs.

"Influencin' him how?" Asks Ben.

Kimberly laughs, but tries to explain. "Is all just these conspiracy books. Not sure if it is even possible in reality. Like for instance. The reason the writer has so many cats in his story, is because of Beta Kitten programming that he was being subjected to. That through the means of witchcraft. All very secretive. And he is none the wiser."

Ben found this information very intriguing. "I would like to read that someday."

"The copy I have is braille, but there are some audio tapes. You are welcome to have them if you want."

"That would be ahwsome, Kimberly. Thanks." Ben's jaw muscles relax and there was less strain in his face.

"No problem, Ben." Kimberly strokes Mr B and stares in the direction of the window.

"What is your take on Beda Kidden Programmin'? Is it real? What?" Ben was much less anxious and he stopped tapping his feet.

Kimberly slowly turns her head and face Ben. She smiles first, then scoffs softly. "Beta Kitten Programming?" She shakes her head.

"It's definitely real. Isn't it part of those mind control experiments mentioned in the documents that were made public by the CIA themselves? In which they talk about the mind control experiments that were carried out on many innocent American people? Bill still apologized for it, remember." Kimberly shakes her head disapprovingly.

Ben nods in agreement. "I agree that no apology is ever goin' to be enough to justify puttin' people through absolute torture and that just for your amusement and greed."

Kimberly looks down and seems to be staring at Mr B.

"He is also just a puppet. We can really not blame him. Was he even in control?"

"Those clips of him where he is all spaced out and weird, suggests he wasn't." Ben stares at Kimberly. She looked beautiful. She was really just one of those people that was just naturally beautiful and she was always well dressed even if she was just in doors. Simple, but it all made her more beautiful, if that was even possible. "Is it possible that he was apologizin' for things that was bein' done to him as well?"

Kimberly looks up again and for a second her eyes fall on Ben's eyes and for that second he felt like she saw him, because she admires him a bit and then looks down again.

"Ben, I thought you would have figured this out on your own." She scoffs. "They definitely were just making it public that they were messing with the minds of the American people. And if they were messing with the minds of the Americans, then it meant that they were messing with the minds of the entire world. Apologize? For something they were still doing? And far worse than whatever public record shows? You can be sure that they thought it funny that someone under their mind experiment was made to go and apologize for it."

Ben takes this all in. "You are right, as always. All evidence shows that the experiments are still on goin' and that the techniques have probably improved. Never sure if that is a good thing or a bad thing."

"Yes, one would think that the methods back in the day was really invasive and torturous and that today it is less so, but I think it is worse now because they can do so much more. And a lot of them are working on this."

Ben sighs. "Cardi B says that she has like a hundred people workin' inside her brain. Does she mean a hundred are givin' her a headache or does she literally mean workin' in her brain?" He sighs more.

"It is both disturbing and sad. All these poor people."

"We should really be sorry for everyone. The mind control definitely has a purpose, other than controllin' these people's actions and so, but a greater purpose of controllin' the ones that look up to and follow them."

"True. That is the crux of it all. A Beta Kitten Slave, enslaves all those that worship and adore them." Kimberly holds Mr B closer to her chest and kisses its head. She sighs, slowly turning her head and facing Ben.

Again their eyes meet and for a second, again, Ben forgets that she is blind.

"This thing is just all so confusing to me. Is it mind control or is it possession? Or is it both?" She looks back at the window again. Her heart yearned to see the blue purple throb again.

"I think it is both. It goes hand in hand. I suspect that once the drugs are introduced, that just lets them in. And God alone knows what they are capable of when they combine that all with their sorcery and trickery."

They both sort of shudder.

Mr B meows contently, gets off Kimberly's lap, jumps and lands softly on the floor, it stretches, before quickly making its way to the open window. It turns and looks at Ben and Kimberly, then leaves the studio through the window.

"Your cat has the right idea, I think. Get away from all this talk. It will drive you crazy."

Kimberly scoffs and smiles, but then she frowns.

"It will make one crazy, because it is just too awful to think about. The question is always why would God allow this?" Again, Kimberly looks Ben straight in the eye.

He didn't know what to say. When it came to God and life, he was always a bit apprehensive, cautious. He believed in God, but he also believed in aliens. He could never reconcile the two.

This point was also what really caused a rift in his relationship with Claire.

His beautiful Claire.

"Mr B isn't my cat, by the way." Kimberly interrupts Ben's thoughts.

Confused, Ben asks. "Then who's cat is it? And is its name Mr B?"

Kimberly was immediately more cheerful. "I have no idea. I was in the garden late one afternoon. It came and rubbed against my leg. I got such a fright, but it didn't leave. I picked it up and just held it to my chest. Decided then and there to call it Mr B, I have no idea why really. Guess it was inspired in me, by the forces that be. Perhaps God. I don't know." She shakes her head. Her cheeks also turn slightly pinker.

"How long has the cat been comin' to your place?" Ben sits back and relaxes his shoulders. He was no longer tapping his feet on the wooden floor.

Kimberly considers his question, she turns and faces him again. "Can't say exactly, but it has been a few months now. Since before we started rehearsals for the Christmas shows."

"It's curious. Does it ever stay the night?" Ben searches Kimberly's face for some sort of sign that she can perhaps see him or something.

"No." Kimberly shakes her head. "It always leaves just as I go to bed."

'That is even more curious." Ben was intrigued.

"Mr B keeps me company when I am all alone in the flat. As you can see, it left soon as you were here." She laughs.

"Not sure if it is because of my presence or because of the depressin' things we were discussin'." He tries to smile, but merely manages a slight curl of his upper lip. His dimples were less prominent, though all three were still there, so his face still naturally had a smile, but it was clear that Ben was not smiling. The deep creases in his forehead were hard to miss.

"Mr B is a curious one. Comes and goes. But it always comes at least once a day. Strange. I have come to grow fond of it. I mean, knowing that it is going to come. Even if just for a little while. It does get lonely all cooped up by myself in this place." She looks around the studio.

Ben wonders whether she can see any of it.

Dude, she is blind. Give it a rest.

Ben sighs.

"The building isn't really blind-friendly and it is just too much of a hassle to be out in the street. That is why I stick to the garden. Hardly anyone goes there. Only..." she trails off and stares at the window again. Ben doesn't say anything. What could he say. The blind lived in a world that he was not aware of, so it was best he just kept his opinions and thoughts about it to himself.

"This has made a whole lot of difference though." She points to the gift from Peter-John and Drew.

"What's that?" Ben gets up and picks up the vest.

"It's got some sensors or something and a motor that vibrates or so. These all help to find objects around me. When I am far away, I feel these vibrations in my shoulder, but when I am like inches away, there is a beep from the buzzer too. It has worked better than my cane, but I doubt that I will ever let the cane go though." She rests her hand on her walking stick that was propped up next to the couch.

"Cool. Where did you buy it? I didn't know such things existed." Ben eyes the vest a bit more, before returning it to Kimberly. He walks to the window and stares out at the beautiful garden below. Lots of trees, mostly buckeye, a few willows near the small pond. The bench closest to the center of the garden was surrounded by flowering plants, white and yellow daffodils and bright pink musk-mallows. Apart from the few wooden steps marking a walkway from the building to the bench, there was beautiful green grass all over the garden.

"Really pretty here."

"So I am told," says Kimberly still sitting on the couch.

Ben stares at her. He felt really responsible still. If she wasn't with him, she would not be blind. If he didn't persist with the stories of Knee Deep, she would not be in this situation. Ben balls his fist and his face muscles all go hard. Only now do the two dimples in his cheeks sort of fade. But his face remains as if he was smiling. It was that dimple above his lip.

Ben sighs.

Kimberly focuses on him. She listens to his breathing and the subtle tapping of his feet on the floor.

She looks at him and says. "Everything happens for a reason, Ben. You mustn't blame yourself for what happened to me." She keeps staring in his direction.

At that moment Ben looks her into her eyes and again it felt like she was looking at him. More than that, he felt like she could see into him. How else could she know what he was thinking?

He doesn't say anything, just walks back to the single sitter and sits down.

They sit quietly for a while.

"It was a gift, this," says Kimberly finally. "From my friends, Peter-John and Drew. I do not think you know them. Peter-John actually made it himself." Kimberly smiles. "There's nothing like this out there and if it is, it is only for those with money."

Ben nods his head. "Nice of him to take the time to make this for you. You must be special to him?"

Kimberly shakes her head and smiles. "Peter-John is just an old kind soul. That is just it."

Ben understood.

"I actually didn't know he was Mexican. He doesn't have an accent and from what I was told, he looks very ambiguous, almost white. But he is a Mexican, just like me."

Kimberly gets up from the couch.

She picks up her walking stick and swiftly moves to the kitchen.

"I have been rude. I didn't offer you anything." She skillfully finds a large cookie jar on the counter and puts some cookies on a serving plate – lovely frosted sugar, chocolate chip, peanut butter and oatmeal.

She makes her way back to Ben and hands him the plate.

"Those that look so plain are actually my favorite. They actually have an Oreo stuffed inside." She takes one and takes a bite.

"Mmmmmm."

"Thanks, Kimberly." Ben takes one and puts it whole in his mouth.

"Sweet." He takes another. "Really nice."

"They're the best." Kimberly savors hers slowly. She puts her feet up on the couch, relaxing her head on her knees.

Ben shifts in his seat. "I forgot that you were Mexican. Silly of me to forget."

"Don't blame you. I hardly ever speak Spanish. And I have been here most of my life, I pretty much sound like everyone else."

Ben shakes his head. "I don't agree actually. There is something about the way you articulate your words. You sound very, I don't know, elegant. If I can put it like that."

"Okay, I sound like an old lady. Woohoo!" Kimberly laughs.

"Never." Ben wasn't sure what to say. But he could see Kimberly took no offense. He was paying her a compliment after all.

"Never say never," she continues to tease him. She laughs more. Her hair fell in her face. Just before she tucks it behind her ear, Ben remembers something. The day that they were supposed to go to Knee Deep.

"Kimberly, do you remember the day of the accident?" There was no hiding the urgency in his voice.

Kimberly was caught off guard, still laughing. She stops and smiles as she stares at Ben. He knew she couldn't see him, but some part of him wanted to believe that she could indeed. Perhaps not with her physical eyes, but rather, he didn't know. Perhaps with her inner eye, if there was such a thing.

Kimberly sighs and says. "I remember we drove a long while and you took me for a lovely lunch. What was that diner called again?" Kimberly was asking herself this question. "I can't remember it, but I remember the lovely burgers we had. I remember I was glad that we didn't go for the hot Sloppy Joe's and rather for the beef patties. Those caramelized stuff on top of the meat was just out of this world. My goodness. They definitely know how to create a great burger. I remember it wasn't too far from your family's farm."

Ben looked at Kimberly with disbelief. What was she talking about?

"Did we really have burgers?" Ben sits closer to the edge of the single sitter and tries his best to restrain himself.

"Yip. We both had one. You still dared me and said that I would not be able to finish the whole thing by myself. 'I am too much of a lady.'" She mimics Ben's voice and rolls her eyes.

Ben manages a smile from her impression and she did look very adorable when she rolled her eyes like that. But that soon fades as he tries to retrace the steps in his mind. None of what Kimberly was saying was making any sense to him. The car broke down and they were going to take the bus, but then Kimberly said she wanted to see what he wanted to show her, so they walked. It was going to be a hike of about twenty to thirty minutes. It was just before sunset.

"We had polenta fries with that. You ordered a gooseberry salsa to top it with. That's what made me sick later in the car. I then had my not-so-lady-like moment with my hair all in the air. So embarrassing, you standing there." She cringes with a big smile on her face. "Definitely not very elegant." She looks at him.

"Gooseberry-chili-relish, with matured goat's cheese." Ben was slowly starting to remember.

'That is correct, Mr Muller. Instead of the hot chili in the Sloppy Joe, you said I would prefer it rather as a topping on the polenta. It was a thoughtful recommendation.

Just a pity the gooseberries didn't agree with my constitution." She cringes again, but smiles too. Like it was fun, but embarrassing. She wasn't upset about it at all.

"It was red and white onions, with chives. The caramelized toppin' on top of the paddy. They fry it in a special badder of semolina and herbs." Ben was astonished at his own recollection of the food they had. But he still couldn't picture any of it.

"It was incredible. I can still taste it. I wish we could go again. You and I. Just like last time." Kimberly looks Ben in the eye. Her warm smile made him uncomfortable.

Did she really not harbor any ill will towards him? Was she honestly not upset about the whole thing? I mean, that is the day she lost her sight and it was entirely all his fault.

"You were such a gentleman and very charming. I remember your hair all spikey. Your hair color is lighter than mine. A nice brown. It brings out your eyes."

"Claire always preferred my hair just natural. She said the softness of the layers made me look dreamy. Still have no clue what that means. Do I look half asleep?" For a moment Ben is happy too. But the creases in his forehead soon return.

Kimberly says nothing.

"Do you remember the car breakin' down?" Ben tries to calm himself. It was no use getting agitated.

Kimberly seems to try and remember.

She shakes her head. "No, not really. Everything is a bit fuzzy. I just remember we had a lot of fun. It was such a nice drive and great freshly made food. Not like the burgers from the chain stores. I wish you would remember the name of the diner."

Ben tried very hard to remember, but he just couldn't.

"Come to think of it, that is all I remember. I remember the color blue of the plate was so bold and daring." She scoffs. "I'm starting to sound like my color talker, 'daringly bold blue'" She mimics the talker. "It was probably just an ordinary blue on an ordinary day." She goes silent for a second. Then she inhales deeply and continues. "It is just that it was the last time that I remember seeing anything."

Ben couldn't tell what Kimberly was experiencing at that moment. He felt more responsible. The feeling of enmity towards himself grew stronger with every breath he took.

"I am so grateful to God," Kimberly says finally, "just so grateful that the last moments, with my two seeing eyes, was such a great time."

She turns her head and faces the window. There was a longing in her eyes. She closes them slowly and turns her head. When she opens them again, she was staring straight at Ben.

"I am grateful that I am still alive."

Ben nods his head. His jaw muscles were tight. Kimberly's words struck him hard in his chest. Pierced his heart and twisted their way through. He couldn't help but feel totally responsible for it all. It was driving him insane. He just wanted answers, some clarity, but there was nothing. All that he could see in his mind, was nothing.

"I am so sorry, Kimberly." His voice was about to crack. "I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me." And just there, his voice breaks away and thick spaghetti veins forms in his neck as his face lights up like hot red tomato sauce.

Kimberly was listening intently. She sighs. She wishes she could make Ben understand that she didn't blame him at all. That she accepted everything as God's will. She feels for her walking stick, gets it, and gets up. Slowly she walks towards Ben.

He didn't know how to react, but just to stay still.

Kimberly taps her walking stick on the floor, till she taps against Ben's plain white DGKs. She retracts the stick and it becomes small like a pen. She puts it in her pants pocket. Slowly she walks closer to Ben. She reaches with her hand, till she feels his face. She caresses his left cheek softly. She then puts her right hand on his right cheek. She holds his face and stare into his eyes. Her bright hazel brown eyes with the dark ring around the iris looked directly into his. Ben wanted to look away, but with Kimberly holding his face, he didn't want to force himself away. Instead he forced himself to look.

"To lose the ability to see, it's such a huge thing, that it can't just be by chance. So please, Ben, let this go. Don't carry it around in your heart anymore. I was meant to become blind. Whether in a car accident or a mirror in my bedroom smashes into pieces and the splinters blind me, or whatever. It would still have happened, regardless. There is no point in 'if I did this' or 'if only that happened' or whatever. God wanted me blind so I am blind. And I accept His will."

Kimberly manages a smile.

It makes Ben cringe more.

"If anything, I am happy that you were with me. I was happy that day, and happy to be with a friend. God was kind in that I was not alone and that I was with someone I trusted with my life."

She leans forward and kisses Ben gently on his forehead.

"There is no need for apologies, but if it will help you feel better, I forgive you, Ben. I am fine. Every hardship comes with relief. It is just for us to open our eyes and see."

She moves closer and holds Ben's head to her body. She gently caresses the back of his head.

At first, Ben was just sitting there, not sure how to react. But then he lifts his arms and puts them around Kimberly's waist.

He presses his face hard into her stomach; there was a soft sob and an involuntary jerking of his body.

"Shhhhhhhh," says Kimberly. "It's all okay." She continues to gently rub the back of his head.

As she let Ben be, Kimberly's thoughts drift back to her purple blue throb. Something about him, was familiar. It wasn't his voice, because she would remember a voice like that. It was calming to listen to. The way he said her name was what felt more familiar. She heard it somewhere before, but she just couldn't figure out where. She hoped that he would visit her again. Soon. And she prays that this time no one will interrupt them.

Slowly Ben pulls away and wipes the tears from his face.

"Such a big baby you are," says Kimberly.

Ben manages a laugh.

Kimberly stands back and turns right. She walks very deliberately to the kitchen counter and scans the top with her hand.

"I'll make us both a nice drink." Kimberly effortlessly finds a jug and two tall glasses. She swiftly moves to the refrigerator and gets out two bottles of Snapple lemonade. She twists the caps off and pours the contents into the jug. She hunches at the counter and takes out a bottle of passion fruit cordial and pours four caps of the fruity syrup into the jug. Satisfied, she returns the bottle of passion fruit to the cupboard and turns to toss the two Snapple bottles into the bin.

Fascinated by how Kimberly is getting around in the kitchen, Ben goes to join her. "Anything I can do?"

Kimberly pulls out a draw and removes a spice rack. "Is this the red pepper?" She holds it up for Ben to read.

"Yes," though Ben knew that she didn't need to ask him that. She was just being kind.

Kimberly puts the packet on the counter and heads back to the fridge.

She takes out a small packet of strawberries and mint.

She reaches for her cutting board and knife. Ben was slightly worried.

Kimberly turns and rinses the strawberries and mint in the sink and is soon busy cutting the strawberries in half. She tosses that and the mint into the jug. She takes the red pepper powder and throws a tiny pinch into the drink. She stirs it and tastes it. She coughs slightly. "Can't figure out how to add the pepper to the drink. It always makes me sneeze and cough at first. Think I should first throw in the pepper and let it settle at the bottom of the drink, not sure though. But it does give the drink such a nice kick."

Ben just shrugs. He never throws spices into his drinks.

"Be a dear and take that with the glasses to the small table next to the big couch. Thank you, Ben."

Ben takes it to the small table and pours each of them a glass. He also returns the empty glass to the kitchen.

"You know what would be great right about now? Pizza!!!" She shouts excitedly. "Will you order us some? Anything with pepperoni for me. Hmmmmm. I can't wait."

Ben eyes Kimberly and smiles.

If anything, he liked this about Kimberly. He felt much better than he had felt in a long time.

"I'm on it," says Ben.

"Great. Then you can read me that poem you wrote for 'sweet Claire.'" Kimberly croons.

Ben wanted to comment, but decides just to keep quiet.

Immediately his thoughts go back to his Claire.

The Sun is Shinin'

#Believe

#TheMysteriousCitiesofGold

"I am content."

Peter-John takes a deep breath, holds it for a few seconds, before slowly letting the breath out through his nose. He takes his spectacles off and just closes his eyes for a while as he continues this deep breathing exercise.

He was sitting on the veranda with Maryam. Her aunt was busy picking oranges and lemons. She was always keeping an eye on them, but less intrusively than before. From Peter-John's regular visits, she has gotten used to having him around. She also liked that her own children were studying up on Islam, to give Peter-John accurate information regarding the deen. So, all in all, he was a good influence on them. She liked that Peter-John was always asking questions and this kept them on their toes. More so, she was proud that her children did not just give answers when they were in doubt, but would always check their facts first. Secretly, she hoped that Peter-John would embrace Islam, but she was content with the knowledge that no person can make anyone a Muslim. We can give as much information and knowledge as we are able, but at the end of the day, only Allah decides who He guides. She scans the veranda and then carries on picking fruit.

"Those oranges look delicious," says Peter-John as he opens his eyes and puts back his spectacles. He was dressed in his grey hoodie and regular jeans. He wore his Vans sneakers.

Maryam nods her head. "They are rather juicy." She pours herself some water, takes three sips from the glass.

She was dressed in a white niqab and hijab, and she also seems at peace on the comfortable veranda chairs. Now and then she would scan the fence, but her eyes were bright and clear. Her whole face seems to be smiling.

"I don't know what it is really, but I feel very content and relaxed. I can't explain it." He focuses on Maryam.

"What have you been doing different, since last we met? That was two weeks ago, right?" Maryam focuses on him.

Peter-John reflects a bit then nods his head in agreement.

"Well, I haven't touched the drugs in a while and these past two weeks specifically, I have been reading more Quran. I finished reading chapters seven and eight. Very interesting information there and I was pleasantly surprised to read about Mary and Jesus in chapter three. Some consistent with what the Bible says, I read the King James back in the day, and from what I can remember, it all is the same. But the story of his birth and him talking as an infant is something new for me. Not to mention that it is hard for me to accept. The whole immaculate conception is already so hard to believe, what not of a baby that speaks fluently just after birth. This is even more difficult to accept." He continues to breathe deeply.

Maryam ponders about what he just said. She wasn't sure whether she should say what she wanted to say, but she decides to say it anyway. "You know that the English and all non-Arabic texts referred to as the Quran, is really only an interpretation of the original meaning?"

Peter-John nods in agreement. "Yes." He waits patiently for Maryam to make her point.

"So, there are various interpretations and usually the majority consensus is then accepted. In this case, yes, the majority says Jesus conception was immaculate and that he spoke as a baby and yes, that he was never crucified and that they killed him not, it was only made to appear to them that they did. But there are other interpretations, accepted by some minorities, that say he was conceived naturally, Mary actually married in secret, that he spoke with wisdom in his youth, not necessarily a baby, and that he died of natural causes." Maryam sighs and looks at her aunt. Her aunt didn't seem to be paying attention.

"What is your take on all of this, because clearly there is a big difference between natural conception and immaculate conception, not to mention life and death." Peter-John eyes her curiously.

Maryam shakes her head. "I firmly believe that Jesus was conceived immaculately. Allah repeatedly tells us that the creation of Jesus is the same as it was with Adam. 'Be!' and he was.

I firmly believe that he did speak as a baby and I firmly believe that Allah is truthful in saying that they didn't crucify him, nor kill him. I believe Allah made him die naturally and then took his body up to heaven. This is my truth and this is my conviction."

She sighs and stares at the fence.

"Other than that, I really do not know. I have thought about it and what I can say is does it really matter? The whole point of mentioning Jesus in the Quran is that Allah is trying to tell us two distinct things, that Jesus is a human being and that he was never crucified. So doesn't matter which interpretation is the correct one, all that matters is that we must accept that Jesus was just as human as you and I. He ate and slept and he was only a messenger and a prophet. Other than that I do not know what to say."

Peter-John shakes his head. "But it does matter. It is the real glue that either sticks it all together or makes it all fall apart." He breathes in deeply, rising his breath from his diaphragm, his abdomen protrudes and then his chest rises slowly. He holds the breath for a long while, before releasing it, this time slowly through his mouth. He then rolls his shoulders and neck.

"I think it really matters because what we know about Jesus is what will reveal the real agenda about the false Messiah. Or as you know him, as the Dajjal." Peter-John sighs.

"What do you mean?" Asks Maryam, she also starts breathing deeply.

"Well," Peter-John clears his throat, "I think if Jesus was raised up alive, it fuels the story of the second coming, thus aiding the stories of his return, making it easier for us to accept the anti-Christ. If we accept that Jesus died, then we are free from being deluded by the one who will come and claim to be Jesus. If we however say that Jesus is alive and will return, we open ourselves up to be lied to and deceived. You know?" Peter-John was careful with his words, but he was also firm in his conviction.

"So, the more human Jesus is, the less chance of us being dragged into the conspiracy that he will return and save us from this system?"

"See that is just the part that really has my mind in a bit of a twist, you see. My question is just that if Jesus is in fact not alive, then who is going to come and release us from the clutches of the false Messiah? That is all that I wonder about."

"It is a curious question, because it all is nice and comforting if you believe that Jesus was never crucified and never died and was raised alive to be with Allah, until such a time that he will return and come vanquish the One-eyed-liar because only he is equipped to do so. That and the Chosen one will be preparing or paving the way to this success and victory." Maryam stares at the fence.

"The Chosen one?" Peter-John sighs.

"Yes, the one that will fight against the system, just before Jesus returns. And be assured, Jesus will return. Even if he is physically dead, Allah is the one that gives life to the dead. And that is my belief."

Peter-John looks at Maryam intrigued. It was clear that he had much to say about this topic, but he decides to rather not. He had more pressing things that he wanted to discuss with Maryam.

"What I have also been doing is to wash my hands and feet and so on before reading the Quran. I figured I would give it a try, you know. I read in that one booklet you gave me that it all prepares you for the reading and cleanses away any barriers that might exist. That is the only reason really. I didn't do it for the reason of not touching the Quran when you not in a state of purity. It still doesn't make sense to me that stuff."

Maryam listens to Peter-John intently, nodding her head now and then.

"If I understand those things I read, it is not so much of an external cleanliness that is being referred to, but rather an internal state. Yes, you don't want dirt to be on your hands of course, but the whole ritual of cleaning the hands, face and feet is more an internal awareness, bringing your mind into a specific train of thought, if I can put it like that. Helping you to focus on what you will be reading and on the Creator by definition."

"You are correct. It is both an external cleansing but more so an internal preparation. It is also a way to wash away the effects of things that you might have done to cause harm to yourself. Things that others would call sin. I prefer to call it things that Allah warns us to stay away from that might cause us to do harm to ourselves if we go near it and more so if we do them. Harm done to the soul by way of the eyes looking at things that are no good, the soul hearing things that enter through the ears, things the tongue said or sticking your nose where it doesn't belong, for example. The washing of the physical parts, is by the permission of Allah, a way to purify the soul. Does it make sense what I just said?" Maryam was always concerned that she might have said too much and that she might give too much information that would overwhelm Peter-John. Some information is best kept for later, especially for a new Muslim. But Peter-John was making good progress, though he still was not clear whether he was going to embrace Islam or not.

"It does. It all comes back to the thing that it cleanses you from within and that the outer performance is more for an internal process that it affects. That and water is pure therefore it can help in this purification. Similarly, as soil is pure so it can be used for the same thing as when water isn't around. The way I see it, is that if dirt does the same thing as the water, then it is not so much an external process but more an internal one."

"I think you got it. Tayammum is another way to cleanse yourself before reciting the Quran yes, when no water is available. Allah has made the religion easy for all of us." Maryam smiles and closes her eyes contently.

"Anyway, I can agree that it does make a difference, because since I have been doing that, my thoughts are much clearer and I am more focused. I have also been saying Bismillah and been seeking protection form all evil."

Peter-John looks at Maryam's aunt as she makes her way to the veranda and throws all the fruit she collected into a large plastic container. She then proceeds with the bowl to a tap and rinses the fruit with water.

"If one is sincere, then all these things that people say are just rituals really do have a specific purpose. Seeking refuge with Allah from the accursed one, is really asking Allah to protect you. If Allah protects you, then the accursed one has no power over you. Same as when you begin with Bismillah, you take Allah's hand and He will guide you right. So, I would think that if you feel unburdened and relaxed that it has to do with that and it means that you are sincere, because no amount of Bismillah is going to help if you are not sincere. And Allah knows best."

Maryam scans the fence. Her eyes rest on the gate for a second, but soon she is focused on Peter-John again and continues to listen to what he has to say.

"I remember the first night I said Bismillah, I actually wrote the word down." Peter-John seems slightly nervous as he says that.

"Why did you write it? I am curious. Please, don't be shy." Maryam sits up and waits patiently.

Peter-John scratches his head. He shifts awkwardly in his seat and breathes in deeply.

He rests his eyes on Maryam's and says. "I have been writing a book." He smiles awkwardly and looks away.

Maryam doesn't say anything. She just keeps her focus on him and smiles her sincere smile.

Peter-John makes eye contact again. Noticing Maryam's continued interest and smile, he continues and says. "Yes, I am really writing a book. By hand. With the lovely pen you gave me. Thanks again. I really do love how the tip just rolls on the page. It makes for easy writing." He smiles sincerely.

Maryam nods appreciatively. "May I ask what it is that you are writing?" She sits back and waits.

Peter-John scratches his head nervously and shifts in his chair again. He takes off his spectacles and rubs the lenses with his hoodie, rubs his eyes with his thumb and index finger and then breathes in deeply. After a while, he puts his spectacles back and focuses on Maryam again.

"I am not clear really what it is that I am writing." He maintains eye contact. "I think the book is really about what I perceive the reality to be."

"Oh, that sounds interesting. Please, do share?" Maryam takes a custard slice and puts it on a plate and hands it to Peter-John. She then takes a piece for herself as well, peeling the puff pastry leaf, nibbling on it slowly. She was curious to hear what Peter-John has to say. He sits quietly for a second as he takes a big bite into his pastry and savors it in his mouth.

"Really great this yummy thing. Crispy pastry and the custard is just the right texture. I can eat it all day. Mmmmmm." He takes another bite.

Maryam just smiles. Her aunt smiles too.

"You know that we are a bunch of Truthers that believe that the Matrix is actually real. Not exactly like the movies, and I am most certainly not saying that we are batteries, but more, that what we perceive to be the reality, or more what we are being told what is real, is actually all fake. A veil has been pulled over our eyes and we only see and hear what they want us to see and hear." He observes what effect this information has on Maryam.

She doesn't say anything, but she was more curious, he could tell. It was her eyes. It was as if some light within them just went on. Her eyes were noticeably very bright today.

"The elusive they have always been of particular interest to me. I always ask: Who are They? You know." He takes another bite of the custard slice.

"Everyone has their own theory. This one says they are a group of elite people who want to control the masses, this because of their own selfish greed. That one says they are aliens, and my goodness, there are I think more than 50 000 species of aliens, each with their own agenda, but ultimately they just want to use us for their bidding. Then there are of course the reptilians that shape shift and live underground and can manipulate our minds from afar or even possess us or walk among us, as one of us. All these missile tests and stuff in the desert is actually to blow big holes in the earth to construct these underground cities and then cover them up again. Reptilians of course, similar to aliens, they came from some other part of the universe and settled here. They then messed with the genetics of the primitive human and made us into what we are today. That is why the old brain is still referred to as the reptilian brain."

"That all sounds really fascinating. I have heard of some of this. I think there is also what they call the vril, isn't it? And what about the prawns? Those things with the funny mouths." Maryam scoffs at the ridiculousness of it, but she was curious to hear what Peter-John had to say.

Peter-John laughs too. He takes the last bite of his delicious custard slice, puts the plate down on the table between him and Maryam. He pours himself some water and sips it slowly.

"You are quite right. Donald started the whole vril thing and says it has to do with the eye of Horus and that these things crawl up your eye and what not. Once it goes there, it is lights out for you and it basically takes control of your body.

Wherever you see the eye of Horus, with celebrities, it means that vril are in the area. The vril freak me out really and if you ask me, that Donald is a bit sketchy. But that is just how it goes.

Anyone who knows anything and tells it to the masses is, one, under their control, and two, given permission to tell us, because three, they want us to know, almost like they are rubbing it in our faces. Then of course they make them out to be crazy, so no one believes them."

"I understand," says Maryam. "It is really scary at the same time too. From what I understand, they make the vril go into your eye against your will? Like literally hold you down?"

"Too true," says Peter-John, "according to Donald." Peter-John cringes slightly. He shakes his head.

"The prawns are of course mentioned in the movie District 9. This apparent alien concentration camp built in a South African dystopia. Curious, and I wonder what you think, but do you remember Nelson Mandela's funeral? Specifically, the sign language interpreter appointed to accommodate the deaf during the proceedings?" Peter-John eyes Maryam curiously.

Maryam eyes Peter-John too. Her brown eyes were sparkling with excitement. "Not really, but I do remember reading that they said he was a fraud and that he suffered from some mental disorder." She rolls her eyes and makes air quotes as she says mental disorder.

"So that tells me you do not believe that story either? About him being a schizo?" Peter-John sits up in his seat and eagerly waits to hear what she has to say.

Maryam's aunt also sits down and makes as if she is busy drying off the fruit, but she was interested to hear too.

Maryam sighs and rolls her eyes.

"I am strongly opposed to calling people crazy, schizo, bipolar, or saying they have some mental disorder." She breathes in deeply. "Yes, there are some illnesses of the mind, there is no denying that, but sometimes people just experience things that others do not.

That does not mean they are crazy.

I mean, they had me in so many places and wanted me to be on all kinds of medication, and I am still the same. I still see the stuff. And why does that mean they do not exist? Or exist only in my head? Why is it rather not that I can see and you cannot? You get what I am saying? Sorry, you know it is something I am very passionate about. And my Allah tells me these things are there, so who is the one that needs help?" Maryam exhales slowly and looks in her aunt's direction, checking her body language. Her aunt was however casual and acting convincingly that she was not paying attention to them, but Maryam knew better. She focuses her gaze on Peter-John.

"Too true. I really think there is a whole lot of people called crazy that are really just able to see and experience things that Science cannot explain and if Science can't explain it, then it can't be there or exist." He puts his hoodie up and sits back. "But anyway, they said the guy was crazy because he was not signing anything that made any sense."

"Yes, I remember."

Peter-John nods his head.

"But what I want to say, that yes, perhaps he was not making sense to the deaf people, but he had a specific purpose and that was to send a message to all of us. We are the deaf ones. People say he was signing angels and demons and yes, prawns." He observes Maryam's reaction.

She sits back and eyes him with slit eyes. 'So what is your theory?" She eyes the fence quick, but soon relaxes and rests her gaze on Peter-John.

"It is just like the rest are saying that a secret ritual was taking place. What exactly, I do not dare to even try and answer because it all is just very sinister and disturbing, but it does not make sense to me that specifically for such a high profile funeral with so many influential people, politicians, I mean, Obama was there, and many celebrities, that they would make the mistake to pick the one sign language interpreter that was crazy. You can see how ridiculous that sounds. A background search for each and every guest was obviously done way before the funeral took place. Do you think they would just let our President go there without knowing every detail of everyone? What not about the rest of the high profile guests? Do you think I am reaching here?"

He puts his hoodie down.

"Not at all. I think you are absolutely right." Maryam was clearly much more curious than before. "This is all so very exciting really. A whole big conspiracy."

"Laughing out loud. We conspiracy nuts." Peter-John laughs loudly.

"But that is what I am writing. You know. But I think what I am really writing about is Islam. That is what I think." He sits up and observes both Maryam and her aunt.

Her aunt suddenly looks up at him and gasps. She looks abruptly down when she realizes that she made it obvious that she was listening intently to what they are saying.

Maryam notices too and shakes her head with a smile, but she was more interested to hear more from Peter-John. "That is interesting. Don't let me drag it out of you now. Islam?"

Peter-John smiles contently. "Yes, Islam."

He sits up, straightens his back and rolls his shoulders and then relaxes into his seat again.

"I think and more importantly, I believe, that Islam actually tells us about the matrix. My humble opinion is that God is responsible for this matrix, and not necessarily in the way that you might think." He observes Maryam's aunt. She was clearly taken aback by what Peter-John was saying, but she didn't say anything. She just carried on drying off the washed fruit.

Maryam eyes Peter-John, while she mulls over his words a bit.

"Everything and everything is of course according to the will of Allah. His reign is supreme and He governs all affairs here on earth. So if the matrix is in fact real, you, my friend, are right." Maryam tugs at her scarf and was clearly pondering what Peter-John was saying. She was really intrigued and fascinated. More, she was glad that Islam was clearly something that was making an impression on Peter-John. She has come to like Peter-John a lot from that first day she met him in the mall, when her dear friend Jeanne introduced her to him. Back then already she saw a light in him and felt a positive energy coming from him. She felt like goodness and beauty surrounded him, the kind you only experience when you are in the blessed company of a friend of Allah's. And more, she could see the darkness that was trying to take hold of him. But looking at him now, she agrees that there is no holding a good man down. And if he were to be of the Muslims, then he would only grow in beauty. Maryam believed that each religion has their pros and cons and, more importantly, as long as there is a belief in a Creator, then kudos to you, but she also firmly believes that true contentment only came with the implementation of Islamic principles. It is the only religion that caters for the whole human personality holistically, not a single aspect of human nature is neglected to chance and your purpose here on earth is clearly defined. Looking at Peter-John, she was hoping that he would have that same realization and experience that same contentment, that same happiness and ultimately that same gratitude to the Creator. She rests her eyes again on Peter-John. He has really changed a lot. He was not as scrawny as before, more meat on his bones, his face was open and relaxed and the light from within was more prevalent. He looked to be in a better space than that first day she met him.

"Please, do tell me why you say that you are writing about Islam. What has that to do with the Matrix and the elusive they?" She rolls her eyes playfully at the mention of elusive they. She glimpses to the gate quick, but her eyes come to rest on Peter-John's. Today the brown was almost light, as if they were a golden hazel.

Peter-John inhales deeply and lets out the breath slowly. He gathers his thoughts. Then casually says.

"It is the Quran." He says that plainly and without reservation nor any hint of hesitation. It was as if he was convinced, or more, that he had certainty.

He takes three sips from his water and shakes his head as if the thoughts in his brain were lining up.

"The origins of the matrix are explained in the Quran. It starts with a conversation with God, Allah, and Satan, Iblis, as the Quran says he is called."

Maryam and her aunt both listen intently. Her aunt was no longer pretending to be busy. She was just as curious as Maryam and also very moved that this young man she didn't like, at first, was talking about the Quran and Allah.

"Right in the beginning, Satan promises that he will lay in wait for us, and he will prove, and Allah will find, that none of us are grateful for this honor that Allah bestowed on mankind. This same honor, that he feels, he deserves more than us."

Peter-John pauses and takes another three sips of water. He relaxes more and puts his hoodie down.

"Allah elevated us and he, Iblis, is angry because of this. So angry, that he is willing to do anything to get revenge on us, even if that means to manipulate and control us."

He breathes in deep.

"So, that to me explains why this big lie is there. Something does not want us to know the truth and is using this lie to control and manipulate us. The Quran further says that the mechanism he, Iblis, will use to fulfill his promise, is that he will come at us from the front, the back, the left and the right, basically saying that he will surround us, thus confounding us. And this is the veil, I am referring to. And the mechanisms of this veil is the TV, the magazines, newspapers, media, music, advertising, books; anything that programs the mind through any of our senses, is what forms part of this veil. The attack is thus on our minds."

Maryam's aunt nods her head. "Astagfirullah," she says. She picks up an orange and starts peeling it with a knife.

"That is why I say the celebrity is a critical part of this matrix, because the celebrity is Iblis's foot soldiers in human form." Peter-John shakes off an unpleasant thought.

"That is a very bold statement to make." Maryam's aunt interrupts.

"I know. But the evidence is overwhelming. The Prophet, peace be on him, says that the anti-Christ, the Dajjal, is blind in one eye or has one eye. Whether that literally means he has only one eye or is literally blind in one eye, or is simply a metaphor for being spiritually blind, by the way, I think the Prophet, peace be on him, meant that he is blind spiritually, because that is what I believe Iblis was, void of real spirituality and could thus not come to grip with why this clay figure, Adam, was special and honored by Allah. It was because he could not see our soul, he could not comprehend it. Or it was because when he saw Adam the first time, lifeless, God had not yet blown His spirit into Adam. That is my take on it, anyway, this one-eyedness is something that is very prevalent with celebrities, most of them.

All of them are always posing with one eye closed or one I covered or something is always done to one eye only, this when they pose for pictures or appear in magazines or on the covers of their albums or movie posters. It is like they are ushering in the anti-Christ. I am certain of this."

Maryam nods her head and takes a piece of the orange her aunt hands her.

"I feel really sorry for the celebrities, really. Do not think that I judge them or wish them harm, no; I wish that someone could actually help them. Remember, Iblis is the enemy and his enemy is humankind. So the humans working with him, has been lied to by him. We have all been lied to. That is just the bottom line. What I also realize is that none of the celebrities under his control are innocent. I always thought that some were forced, but I realize that is wrong.

The Quran is clear on this too. Satan will have no control over Allah's obedient servants, firstly, and secondly, the evil one only befriends the ones that are disbelievers and want to rebel against Allah. When you listen to a lot of these celebrities, it is all about my way and do as thou wilt. All this against the true God and what He instructs."

"I am really surprised with how much of the Quran you have actually read and correctly understood. I could not have said things any better. I still just wonder what your conviction is now. Is Satan an entity that is running wild and he is just allowed to do as he pleases and does evil just get to roam the world and prevail? I mean, if we look at the world and the state it is in now, it is almost like evil is triumphant. Your thoughts on this?" Maryam asks, intrigued. She could see her aunt was curious too.

Peter-John smiles. "That is what I am saying and the conclusion I have come to. Let me first say that the Quran goes to say that Iblis told Allah that he will use Allah's power to put his promise in place. And here in lies an important truth. Without Allah, without God, He who is Iblis, is powerless."

Maryam nods her head pleased. She smiles broadly at her aunt. Her aunt nods her head confused. She was really perplexed and moved by Peter-John and his understanding. She never expected a non-Muslim to know so much about Islam and in such an intricate way.

"That is why I say, God is responsible for this matrix. But not in the way that we think. It is not that He likes evil and is allowing evil to prevail. No. But there are rules and regulations to His creation. There are consequences to actions. That is how He designed it in His infinite wisdom. The Quran says that Allah makes our evil look good to us and if we let our desires take control of us, He beautifies it for us. That is a consequence of our disbelief, a consequence of doing things my way. Do as thou wilt."

Peter-John cracks his neck and rolls his shoulders. He then takes another three sips of his water. They all just sit in silence for a moment.

Peter-John takes in the orange, lemon and pepper trees in Maryam them's garden, the green grass and the beautiful flowers. He hardly ever looks at it when he is here. He is always just so engrossed in the talks and the food that he never really takes it in. He is also always hiding under his hoodie.

"Your yard is really beautiful. It really is serene and just plain beautiful."

"We are grateful for it," says Maryam and her aunt at the same time.

"That is just the crux to the matrix at the end of the day. To belief in Allah and to be grateful to Him for everything, and here I really mean everything, the good and bad in your life, and to be grateful to know that He is only good and He intends only good for you with both the good and the bad. I believe firmly that is how you escape the matrix and start seeing the truth and you break free and really start to live. That is true transcendence, true enlightenment. I think." Peter-John scoffs.

"I think, most celebrities, once they have fallen prey to the lie, they also come to the realization that they fell for a lie and want to break free, but are now trapped. If they want to break away, they are either killed or put back under control. That vril story comes to my mind and not to mention the mind control the CIA and Disney is doing to people, all of course, done by people who have been lied to to harm other people. My conviction is that Satan and his tribesman are behind the stories of reptilians, aliens, vril, prawns and whatever else, the demons and interdimensional beings. And the fact that they can change shape means they can appear and be any and all of the above and Allah alone knows what else." He puts his hoodie up and shudders. He resumes his deep breathing exercise.

Maryam stares at the fence and shudders too. Her eyes change color slightly, but not much. Peter-John notices. "Please tell me what it is you see."

He stares in the direction of the fence, then the trees, Maryam's aunt and then back at Maryam. Maryam's aunt was all ears too. She starts peeling another orange.

"Please, do indulge me." Peter-John smiles excitedly.

"You better hope you never see them. It is not pleasant." Maryam makes eye contact with her aunt and just nods her head.

"Lemons are said to keep them away, I told you that before. That is why we have these trees in the yard. I can't say whether it works or not because I also have prayers that I said all around the house, plus pieces of Quran are buried and hidden in certain places." She keeps her eyes fixed on the far end of the fence towards the front gate.

"I believe that my sincere belief in Allah and the Quran is sufficient, but every extra thing that might work, I have that in place as well."

"Is hiding things worthwhile? Do they not just see?" Peter-John was very serious and waited patiently.

"No, they are not privy to everything. Only to what Allah allows them to see. That is my belief anyway. The Prophet, sallallahu alaihi wasallam, said that Bismillah is the veil that blinds the shaytaan from seeing you, like especially if you are about to get undressed and you say, Bismillah that causes them not to see. So I figure the same works with wanting to hide something. I believe. Any way, it really is all just in Allah's control. It is like you say, He is in charge. If a shaytaan comes near you or is aware of things about you, it is only by the leave of Allah that this happens."

Peter-John nods his head.

Maryam's aunt wants to say something, but rather continues to peel her orange.

"The minions all stay out of my way, soon as I come, they all scatter away. Not sure if they are scared of me or it is because I used attar or because I smell like bakhoor, but they stay away big time." Maryam rolls her eyes.

"Minions?" Peter-John sits up straight and lowers his hoodie.

"Yes, like the fools who do slave work, really. Minions normally are the ones that go to where magic is done and people want to be rich or someone curses them. The minions get these dirty jobs done."

"What do they look like?"

"Ugly, small, really a lot like your Gollum."

"Could that be the way they look or do they just fake looking like that?"

"Well, I doubt they would all just dress up for me, you know what I am saying; just to run away from me. No, I think that is just the way they look, small, ugly and plain nasty. Better just stay out of my way."

"They really hate attar and bakhoor, I see them all line up against the wall when I buy some and carry it into places where they are. It is funny to see them all scared of incense."

Peter-John wonders. "I sometimes have strange experiences when the perfume has alcohol in, does it make a difference?"

"Well, share first what your experiences are?"

Peter-John considers this.

"I can't always say exactly whether it is because of the perfume, or a combination of things, like drugs and liquor, but I feel strange around people with perfume that contains alcohol."

"I find it similar. It is like this attracts them, rather than repulses them. I can't say exactly either, because they could also be with these people because of the drink and the rest. But I am skeptical. I think it really rather attracts them to you. And man, are some of them scary."

"Besides the minions, what others do you see?"

"Well," she sighs, "there are the pretty ones that look human, until they get close to you, there are the other darker ones that are always dark and nasty, they really scare me. Others move about, twisting their necks in strange ways, none of them have feet, they always just float about. Weird."

Maryam eyes the fence more and more.

"What are they up to?" Peter-John stares at the fence too.

"They mostly involved with the people they are with. Getting them to do and say things and just hanging around them. They like staring at themselves in the mirror. Those, I don't know, they are plotting something, but they can't come in." Maryam glances at her aunt, then Peter-John, then closes her eyes, as she just sits back."

Peter-John stares at the fence again. "Do they know that you see them?"

Maryam squints her eyes and sighs deeply. "Let me rather put it like this, once they know you see them, they never leave you alone.

It is like they hunt you down and they find you wherever you are. I think it is not so much that they want to be seen, rather that they want you to go off your mind." She shudders.

Peter-John puts up his hoodie. He suddenly feels very uncomfortable as he stares at the fence.

"The really scary ones are the ones that know the Quran. Those wish to inflict serious harm. Those are the ones that take chances. They are really powerful. I think not because they have natural strength, but rather because they are busy with all sort of haram and magic. They make themselves sick, in order to come at us."

Peter-John was hesitant, but he asks. "Have they ever come for you?"

Her aunt was curious too.

Maryam wasn't sure whether she should answer or not. It was more that she doubted why the things were there in the first place. If everything is from Allah, is it not then Him letting them come at her? Why would He let them come at her? Did she do something wrong? Was she being punished? But what about her convictions of Allah, that He is merciful and kind.

That He wouldn't let harm come to His loyal servants? Has she not repented and asked for forgiveness and doesn't He love those that repent and ask for forgiveness and does He not love to forgive? Isn't He almost shy not to give His servants what they ask Him for? All these thoughts muddled Maryam's mind. It was always something that bugged her. Yes, it did. But, no, she was convinced that she was not being punished and that this was not something bad, rather something good. The mercy was actually that she was able to see and have firmer belief, though it made life so much harder for her.

Socializing was not something that was easy, so it meant that she was mostly alone. Work was made difficult especially since Muslims were in the minority and she was always working with disbelievers. They were the worst to be around, because these things were all over them. Maryam shudders, her shoulders slump a little. She looks at Peter-John.

"They do come at me. Rarely do they physically do anything to me, but they make life difficult for me. They would start whispering things to a host, if I am visiting and the host would get all cranky and uncomfortable around me and just want me gone, same at work. They would make my colleagues and superiors feel uncomfortable around me and then they would want me gone as well. Truth be told, I just leave, because it is all too much. They are uncomfortable because they know I see them and they do not like me being around, because they can't freely do what they want to do."

"But have they ever attacked you?" Peter-John felt a strange sensation that he was being watched. He pulls his hoodie tighter.

Maryam sighs.

"Yes, only twice. Both happened the same night. They successfully grabbed me around my throat, but from the main gate, through my window. And before that, another was right in front of me reciting the Ayat al-Kursi with me. It knew it just as I knew it. It was mocking me, so as to say what now? Your precious Quran isn't going to save you now." Maryam shudders at the thought. "It was scary seeing that thing so up close and all up in my face, saying the Quran with me. I felt completely defenseless, because I thought the Quran would keep me safe and look now." She sighs. "But it did. I kept reciting the Kursi, and I found that this thing couldn't say the last three verses. And that was also the closest it could come to me. The one that grabbed me around my throat came with a sneak attack in my sleep. They were together. It however physically touched the Kursi that was in my pillowcase and that freed me. I have the Kursi and Quls on my person all the time, especially my head, but at night, I tend to sleep without the scarf and that's why I have the Kursi in my pillowcases and even my bedding. You know it is against the walls and window frames. I left no place without it. Is it all necessary? All I say is, it keeps the bugs away, so I am gonna keep at it."

"I think you actually told me about this time they attacked you..." Peter-John lingers a bit. He sighs. "Wasn't it the night we met?"

"Yip. They came all vengeful the night I met you. Something about you have them stomped. Some want to hurt you, like I told you, others are in love with you."

"Freaks me out really. What would they want with me?"

Maryam scans the fence and then glances at her aunt.

They both stare at Peter-John intrigued.

He notices, sits back in his seat and pulls his hoodie up.

"Maybe you are the Chosen one." Maryam laughs.

Peter-John scoffs.

The Chosen one?

Such a silly thought.

Happy birthday

"I got you."

The wind moved through the trees.

The leaves spoke in hushes and the whispers were carried all the way to where he was standing amongst the beautiful patience trees.

His father always brought him here.

He said that this was the perfect place to reflect. The thing with these trees was that they received little to almost no sunshine. That meant that they took very long to grow. The leaves specifically could take years to become fully grown and the trees took years to grow to a size where it could then start to flower. The flowers themselves took years to bloom.

It was a rare sight to see these flowers bloom.

Not many had the patience to wait and see, but his father did acquire such patience. His father always said that he waited more than two hundred years to have a son. He was convinced that he would father a son, because his Friend told him he would have a son. His Friend of course was his God.

His Allah.

He clenches his fist as he remembers this. After two hundred years he was born. His father said that he was his best gift ever and that he was eternally grateful to Allah that he finally got his son. That year was also the year that the trees blossomed.

His father said that the flowers looked like soft pearls that were being scattered by what he referred to as the scatter-youth. The petals of the flowers resembled these small youths and attached to thin streaks were these small soft puffs that resembled rose colored pearls.

The thin streaks made it appear as if the youths were scattering the balls of puffs into the air. His dad picked one of the flowers and preserved it for him. It was wrapped in the scrolls that he was to recite on his 24th birthday.

That of course was now more than one hundred years ago.

And it was also one hundred years ago since his father passed away.

Or, as Justus remembers, that his father was mercilessly murdered.

And that by the hands of the son of Adam.

The very son of Adam that his father dedicated his life to to protect.

Justus had since the death of his father developed an intense hatred for the son of Adam, and for the particular son of Adam who killed him, specifically, and all of his offspring.

Justus was, in no small way, responsible for driving that son of Adam crazy and succeeded in pushing him so far that he went over the edge and took his own life. Somehow, his death did not bring Justus any relief, no comfort and most certainly no closure. It consumed him so much so that he vowed that he would do worse to his offspring. And he was successful in his attack because the offspring of his father's murderer were delinquents and strayed far off the path. So they were easy pickings.

Still, Justus had this void within in him. It slowly ate away at him. It was slowly but surely consuming him. It was this very yearning that brought him to the middle of the forest, to this specific spot, where his father used to bring him when he was little.

"I got you."

These words stirred an intense emotion within Justus. It was words that both comforted him, but at the same time, brought him extreme pain. It was like his father was there, but also not there. He couldn't explain it. Every part of him remembers his father, his touch, the way his knees and thighs used to cushion him when he sat on his father's lap when they sat between the two, or the surety that he felt that he would be caught whenever his dad threw him into the air and he fell back towards the ground.

After one hundred years these memories were still so vivid in his mind as if it was just yesterday that he was riding on his dad's back, the white horse galloping speedily towards their house. The exhilaration of being thrown off and the relief of his father's strong arms catching and holding him, these, were ever present. He couldn't forget.

Perhaps he didn't want to forget.

That is what frustrated him so much.

As far as he was concerned, his father was a fool that died a foolish death, and that at the hands of an inferior; a weak son of Adam.

Justus softly moves to the tree right in the center of the cluster of trees. He effortlessly hoists himself onto a thick branch and he settles on the branch with his legs hanging freely in the air. From here he could just barely make out the edge of the forest in the far distance. If he were to go further to the edge, he would be able to see their house. The house he ran away from when he saw the evidence of his father's demise.

Justus sighs deeply and was about to leave, when he notices a speck of light that was floating from the top branches of the Beautiful Patience Tree.

The speck becomes larger as it comes closer to where he was sitting. Justus doesn't move, he just keeps staring at the speck. He is somehow drawn to it. He couldn't explain what he is experiencing. The speck comes closer and closer and becomes clearer. It was not a speck. It was a tiny winged creature that gave off this soft peach, rosy color. The creature had more than twenty wings.

This only meant one thing.

It was not an animal.

It was one of them.

Justus prepares himself for an attack, slowly clenching his fists and preparing to launch himself from the tree branch.

But the sense of familiarity he felt coming from the creature made him stay in place. His shoulders and clenched jaw relaxes a bit, but he was still on guard.

The creature flutters away towards there where the Beautiful Patience Trees stopped growing.

The creature's light became more intense when it reaches this area and just like that it disappears, as if fading into an abyss of pure light.

Justus gracefully lunges off the branch and swiftly makes his way to where the creature disappeared.

To Justus' surprise, there was something there waiting for him.

He scans the area before he hunches down and picks it up.

It was a nine-layer cake. It was colorfully decorated, plum, pistachio, apricot, honey, watermelon and coconut white. He couldn't make it out, but the flavor was a mixture of vanilla, almond and cardamom. Also something that was very distinct, but he could not put his tongue on it.

It smelled delicious.

The cake was definitely meant for him.

He listens.

"You got me."

He clearly heard this soft whisper being carried on the back of the wind. It was subtle, but it was there. It was a woman's voice.

He tried to find where it was coming from, but the wind was always playful in these parts and never seems to be coming from the same direction, so it was pointless to try and establish where the source of the soft female voice was.

"Happy birthday," was what he hears next. That convinced him. Whoever it was, knew him.

They knew it was his birthday.

It must be her.

It could only be her.

His beloved mother.

Now, more than ever Justus wanted to find the source of the voice, but he knew it was pointless. The voice only wanted to lure him out, towards the house. It was just there, beyond the small incline. But this distance could just as well be to the gates of paradise themselves. He ponders this.

Something his father always said about his mother and how paradise lies at her feet.

He looks up into the distance again.

Was paradise still an option for him? After all these years and after all that he has done? He seriously doubted it. No, he had made his bed and it was to serve his Lady.

She, he knew, had no goodness in her. She just wanted to be adorned and loved and worshipped by these Apes.

She and her following liked to refer to the son of Adam as Apes and all the things that they did and said were Apes**t.

Just like this cake.

Justus picks the cake up and admires it.

Gull must have made it. She was all about colors and textures. She was also the best at baking, cakes, especially. And the funny part was that they only baked cake for him.

Why only him?

What was so special about him that his dad would do things that only the son of Adam did, like celebrate birthdays and have cake when they did? Why not for all his other twelve daughters? Why only him, born more than a century after his youngest daughter?

Justus takes his finger and runs it along the green pistachio coloring. Slowly he puts the frosting in his mouth. It just melts away. There was a very subtle fiery taste in it that Justus found very appealing. He couldn't quite put his tongue on it, but it was something he liked a lot and it blended nice with the flavor of the green layer.

Why would his father insist on cake for his birthday?

Why did it have to taste just like he liked his sweet things to be, with a hint of some heat that was also sweet?

Justus raises the cake high and was about to smash it into the nearest trunk of one of the Beautiful Patience trees, when a bit of the honey colored frosting drips onto his finger.

He lets the cake down slowly and then licks the golden frosting off his finger.

It was nicer than the green pistachio and had a richer, stronger flavor. Justus couldn't resist it. He puts the cake down and sits down next to it.

Just then a soft speck bounces off one of the leaves of the Beautiful Patience tree to his immediate right. It made a few spirals in the air, before bouncing onto the soil right next to the cake and then it bounces off into the darkness.

It was not always that one sees these specks.

His father always called them the watchers of the forest. They would not come near if there was any danger in the area. That is why his father was always relaxed whenever they came near him, because it meant that there was no immediate danger nearby.

Justus watches as the speck completely fades away.

The two balls in his pocket stir.

He takes them out.

These spheres still look just as they looked when his father and mother first gave it to him before he could even speak. Now it has been years since his father was killed and still they looked the same, and still, he could not figure out how they worked.

He rolls the two balls in his hand.

His jaw muscles tighten and he clenches a fist with his free hand.

Immediately he is reminded of his father's death.

He stares at the cake.

Then back at the spheres.

"Ya Allah."

Undone

#Blessed

"Bismillah."

Peter-John was staring at the wall opposite his couch.

Ever since the day he called home, he found himself coming back here and just staring at the wall more.

"Bismillah," he says again.

He becomes more aware of his surroundings. There was a draft coming from the main door. Drew was the only one that used to put the door draft stopper in place. The stopper was made from old socks that no longer had partners. There were a lot of those. Thinking off the slithering snake door draft stopper, suddenly reminds him of her.

Madison.

Madison always said that the socks went to Utopia.

Utopia according to her was a place in her dreams where she was the Queen and she reigned supreme.

These socks were all eager to end up there and got up to all sorts of fun things to entertain her with. Singing, whining and mending their hurt feelings, was a few of their favorite activities.

He giggles.

Peter-John found this very intriguing about Madison. She was full of interesting, sometimes strange stories that spoke of a vivid imagination that he found very appealing. She was never boring and always fascinated him. Socks singing in her dreams. Peter-John laughs.

He wonders where his socks ended up. Was there really a place where socks go? Is that why so many of his socks had no partners?

Utopia.

Sock heaven.

He giggles again.

The socks for the stopper were all stitched together and were like a very bombastic, hip and bright piece of art, wrapped around soft plastic in this funnel shape. The funnel was filled with raw, dry beans. He remembers that he made the stopper, but he couldn't remember when or how he even went about it. Many of his memories were gone.

He blames it all on the gardening. It affected him more than he thought.

Apart from the draft in the room, he was also aware of the buzzing sound that was coming from the fluorescent light in the kitchen. It was very subtle, but it was there.

Other than that, Peter-John was just aware that his surroundings were much more peaceful and much more surreal. It was almost like it was tangible.

Drew would be happy to know that the bouncing marble noise was no longer there. It was all very curious. The noise stopped almost the same night that he said Bismillah, as he was sitting by his desk and started writing in his journal.

Peter-John ponders about this.

He remembers that his mind was cloudy and very disorganized as he got out of the cab. It was all also very weird, these accidents that the cab driver so narrowly escaped.

He takes his head off to that driver. He was very skillful and true to his word that no one who was in his chariot would come to any harm while he was at the wheel. But it was bizarre. All these unrelated accidents and narrow escapes. It was as if the cab was under some sort of attack.

Peter-John sits up straight.

What if it was him that was under attack?

The driver did say that all this only started happening when he got into the cab. His whole day was pretty ordinary and boringly uneventful.

But when he got in, the whole drive got a whole lot more exciting. Not a single moment on their route was without some bizarre surprise.

All this bothered him and muddled his thoughts, but as soon as he said Bismillah, his thoughts cleared up and so did his writing block. The words just started flowing much more freely and he felt somehow unburdened. The writing was cathartic, but it was more than that. It was really as if some physical weight was off his shoulders.

It was similar to what he was feeling now as he was sitting on the couch, staring at the wall. Thinking about it, it was directly related to saying Bismillah. There was no other explanation.

Peter-John recalls his chat with Maryam.

Before he left, she gave him a small booklet with short prayers in it. This collection of prayers was handed down to the Muslims, for all of humanity, from the Prophet Mohammad, peace be upon him.

The first of the prayer collection was the last three chapters of the Quran. It was recommended that these be said three times in the morning and three times in the evening. Maryam did mention that it wards off and nullifies all effects of witchcraft or magic that one might have been exposed to. Most of the time you won't even be aware that you were exposed to magic because it is something that is not seen nor is it necessarily felt.

And most of the time it was hidden in plain sight.

So there was a way that all of it could be undone.

Peter-John ponders more.

It was Florian that was always on about the fact that popular music from the industry was riddled with magic. He went as far as saying that sometimes we like music because we were made to like it by some magic that accompanies the song. He was convinced that songs became popular not because they were necessarily good, but rather because the magic it came with made us like it, or think that we like it, or whatever. It was really hard to put one's finger on it.

It was an unsettling thought to think that you like something because you are under some spell.

"Bismillah," says Peter-John again.

Florian also says that with every physical record you buy, you also willing bring a demon along with you. This all was part of the trickery of the industry. An industry insider, who started whistleblowing and was ultimately silenced, revealed this to the world.

The industry of course only run by a group that was hell bent on corrupting all of us.

Could it all be true?

Was what he told Maryam about the Quran and the Matrix all real?

Was he correct in saying that this group was not at their core human beings at all and was actually run with Satan at the helm? Were the humans that were involved all tricked and fooled into this and were now mere puppets of this whole elaborate scheme?

Could it also be that perhaps he was right to think that perhaps the people were just silent somewhere living their lives, and that the fame and influence was reserved for their clones, and they were all gagged from saying anything? Or that they were killed if they happen to let anything slip?

It was just like he said.

"All I want to say is that they don't really care about us."

Peter-John was convinced that it was all linked.

It was all part of what the Quran was saying.

And he was also convinced that the only way to escape it all was to believe in the one true God and to be obedient to Him.

Peter-John was convinced of this.

And this is also why these prayers made more and more sense to him.

It was even meant for today.

Magic is not something that died away with the witch trials and Salem and the lot. Babylon didn't seize to be. Magic is very prevalent and very much in our faces still today.

Muggles!? They don't see nothing, do they?

Peter-John breathes in deeply.

He holds his breathe for a few seconds and then slowly breathes out.

If this is true, then it means that not even him was immune from its effects.

Now he had ways to protect himself.

It could all be undone.

But he had to believe.

That was the big thing.

In theory it all made sense.

But this bothered him.

What was holding him back from accepting Islam? Why couldn't he say that he believed?

He breathes in deep, holds his breathe and then breathes out slowly.

It had something to do with Mexico.

Miguel.

He wasn't sure.

Peter-John stares at the wall.

It was a plain wall.

A dirty eggshell color.

It was cracked in many places.

Again Peter-John's thoughts go back to Drew.

It was almost time for him to come back home.

He wanted to do something nice for him. Something that would make him feel at ease and at home.

Mi casa esu casa.

Then it dawned on him.

This wall.

He knew just the guy to call.

The gate

#Home

"Here goes nothing."

Peter-John makes his way up the stairs of the apartment building and heads to the first floor.

He was nervous.

If anything, Omar has warned him many times before not to come to his crib.

Peter-John shrugs as he knocks on the door. "Knock on wood." He sighs and waits.

Just as he was about to knock again, he hears a noise inside. Someone was definitely home.

He straitens up and lets his hoodie down.

He breathes in deep, holds it, then slowly lets it out.

It was now or never.

Just then the door opens. "Yeah?" It was Omar.

"Hey, bro. It's me."

Omar looks at him with dagger eyes.

If looks could kill, he would surely be dead right about now.

Omar smirks. "Do I, you know, look like a fool, you know? I can see it's your annoyin' self.

What confuses me though, fizzle, you know, is why you're here, you know, and why you're still callin' me bro? I told you to buzz off, you know. I am done with all of that, you know. I ain't gettin' myself involved again. You're gonna get flexed. Let this go."

He starts closing the door.

Peter-John however holds his foot in the door way and holds the door open with his left hand.

'That is not why I am here, please Omar. I came to ask you for a favor. It has nothing to do with them. I want you to draw me something. I need your skills. Please, b...Omar."

Omar stares at him.

"Please, I just want you to draw something for me, on a wall, a mural." Peter-John let's go of the door and removes his foot from the doorway.

Omar relaxes and opens the door again.

He shakes his head and laughs to himself.

"You're just full of surprises, ain't ya? Who told you, you know, that I dabble?" Omar leans into the side of the door with his cheek.

"Everyone knows you did those murals against the walls of St Jude. Mad skills, bro. Sorry, I mean Omar. Heck, I can see you scribbled on the side of this apartment building too. Deny it? Peter-John was more relaxed.

Omar shakes his head. "It is my handy work."

"Genius." Peter-John was sincere.

"I try." Omar was a bit flattered. He too relaxes more.

He opens the door a bit more and invites Peter-John inside. "Come on in and let me hear, you know, what you had in mind, you know."

Peter-John heads inside and Omar closes the door behind him.

We can talk in Tiger's room.

"I think you, you know, probably met Mya, you know," Omar points to Mya who was seated on a chair next to the window in the lounge, "and this is her brother Mario."

"Beautiful lady. Hi. I am Peter-John. Pleased to meet you," he makes a slight bowing gesture.

"Mario, nice to meet you, bro." He extends his hand to Mario.

"You dig," says Mario as he shakes Peter-John's hand.

"This way," says Omar as he heads into the room right next to the lounge. Mya eyes Peter-John curiously as he nervously follows Omar. She shakes her head and focuses on her phone. Mario continues to watch something on the small black and white television.

"I hope, you know, this ain't another scheme, you know, to get me to talk about them. Be straight with me, you know. Is this, you know, your way to get to me, you know, so I will let my guard down, you know?" Omar gestures for him to sit down on the bean bag closest to the window. Omar goes to sit on the large window sill. He was wearing a red sweat shirt and pants with black sneakers.

Peter-John sits down on the bean bag, shifting in it awkwardly, before sitting up in it with most of his weight on his legs as he hunches forward on the bag.

"Omar, seriously, dude. I just want to do something for my friend Drew. Not sure if you remember him from the Christmas ballet. You guys had words regarding your cat or something, back stage?"

"I remember him. He was quite good as ballerinas go, you know." Omar smirks.

"Well, he, he has been in rehab for a while, and will be coming home soon. He stays with me. I just want to, I don't know, change the environment he is in, if I can put it like that. Surround him with positive things. Plants, fresh air, you know. I just thought the egg shell wall is a bit depressing to stare at. Why not make it something colorful, something mesmerizing and inspiring, you know." Peter-John scratches his head nervously. He keeps tugging at his hoodie.

Omar smiles and nods his head. "I feel you. And I will agree to it only if I have freedom of expression. If you're after calm, serenity, and, you know, like tranquility is what your goin' for, you know, let me interpret it my way and let me do my own thing, you know. You can always paint over it if, you know, it is not your cup of tea. You know."

Peter-John shakes his head. "I don't doubt you for a second. You can do whatever it is you want." Peter-John seems less nervous. He lets his hoodie down.

"Sorry, you know, about your friend. I hope, you know, he stays on the wagon when he, you know, gets home." Omar sighs and looks out of the window. "It is never easy, you know, pickin' up your life, you know, after hittin' rock bottom. The only thing that, you know, makes it easier is, you know, findin' new purpose, you know. A reason, you know, to really want to live again, you know.

I know from, you know, myself and my peeps, you know, from St Jude and so, you know, that it is only when you have somethin' worth fightin' for, you know, that you really bounce back, you know."

Omar looks at Peter-John and for the first time he really makes eye contact with him and really looks at him. "For me, you know, it was Tiger and mamaw, you know, that gave me the drive, you know, not to go back to that, you know, dark place. Weird really, you know, that we think the light, you know, is there, in the dark, when it all is just dark and, you know, an illusion. But still, we go there, you know, if only to numb the pain. I really feel for your friend, you know."

"He means a lot to me. I really love him, you know." Peter-John maintains eye contact with Omar.

"Well, you know, one thing is for sure, you know, hittin' rock bottom, you know, only means up, you know. You can only get up, you know. And you become, you know, a force to be reckoned with, you know, because you really have nothin', you know, to lose, except, you know, perhaps your life." Omar says this casually as if that is not an option.

"We all, you know, just want to have a reason. If your friend, you know, has that, then the battle is already won. Well, so I think, you know."

"Means a lot you sharing this with me, bro. I appreciate it." Peter-John gets up and slowly approaches Omar. He balls his right fist and extends it to Omar.

Omar eyes him curiously, but doesn't let him hang long. He connects his right fist to Peter-John's.

"They will come for your friend, you know. You must do whadeva, you know, you can to help him." Omar puts down his arm and looks out of the window again.

Peter-John instinctively knows that he should not comment on this remark. He just accepts the advice and says nothing about it. He was sincere when he said that this was not an elaborate scheme to get closer to Omar and most certainly not a ploy to get him to tell him more about them. This really was only about Drew and helping him on his road to recovery.

"They are everywhere." Omar says.

Peter-John says nothing.

"When I first saw them, you know, I didn't believe my own eyes, you know. I have heard people say that Jesus came to them and spoke to them and of people seein', you know, small little ugly people followin' them around and so, so I just assumed it must be the pink and blue dolphins, you know. But no, it wasn't, you know.

Yes, it was the diamonds, you know, but those things, you know, were real. Or, you know, I should say, are real, you know. It is only, you know, the drugs that open you up, you know, to them." Omar sighs.

Peter-John was almost too afraid to breath. Any interference from him at this moment, might cause Omar to clam up again.

This was a lot more than what he has ever heard from Omar and could ever have hoped or bargained for. He deliberately controls his breathing more, inhaling and exhaling softer than usual.

Omar finds Peter-Johns eyes again. He just looks at him like that for a long while.

Peter-John maintains the eye contact. Resists the urge to smile or move.

Omar sighs deeply, putting his head between his two hands. "Once I saw this beautiful young woman, floatin' towards me, you know. I say float, you know, thinkin' at the time that she is just, you know, light on her feet, you know, and was just very graceful and eloquent, you know, on her feet or so. But, hey, you know, she was floatin' and when she was, you know, up close, she was nasty @ss lookin'." Omar shudders. "Scariest thing I ever saw, you know. I don't wanna see sh!t like that again, you know."

Peter-John just nods his head. He was about to say something, but decides against it.

"Anyway, how we gonna do this, you know. How often can I come, you know, to your place and, you know, what times suit you best?"

Peter-John ponders a bit more on what Omar just said about them. He really wanted to know more. Between Omar and Maryam, he was sure he could learn a lot about them. He figured it must somehow be awesome to actually be able to see other life forms that no one else can see, yet these things are involved in everybody's business.

They were really fortunate to be able to see what he, Peter-John, refers to as the enemy.

ARRIVAL

#ThankYouAllah

#HiddenWithin

LOS ANGELES

City of Angels

"Look!"

The little girl shouts excitedly.

"Wordy, what are they?"

"I have never seen things like that. So pretty."

He smiles shyly. "Rightly you are. Positively pretty indeedy."

The giant beings were gathered in circular formation all around where the pink fluffy balls seemed to end.

"How many are they do you think?"

"Can't say surely, but thousands, definitely."

They float past the ones to their right.

The things they were staring at seemed to be on guard; facing the empty sky, with their backs to the girl and boy.

The girl and boy stand towards the edge of the bouncy pink fluff.

"Almost there."

"Let's go. I am ready."

They jump and land on the next ball of pink fluff. The boy is immediately on his feet and helps her up. "Those are wingy thingies, I tell you."

They both stare at the things that seemed to be prostrating in the air.

Some had their faces right into the pink fluff, giving the appearance that they were on their knees and face flat on the surface.

The others were merely bowing.

"Are they praying you think?" The little girl asks him enquiringly.

He admires her curious eyes.

"I can't be sure, Pretty, maybe."

They focus on the one that was standing to the front.

"Wow."

"Yes, wow, exactly."

"How many do you think there are?"

She points at the giant wings on its back. They seemed to span the entire length of the pink balls of fluff in the air.

"A few hundred, surely."

"Many wings for one creature. Do you think it can fly with them?"

"Why merely have wings if they can't be of any use? Surely they must be able to fly highly, yes?"

They both jump to the next ball of pink fluff.

"Almost there!"

This time they land on a much larger ball of pink fluff. It was as if there were several layers of the balls that were stacked together. The pink fluff was however not of particular interest to the two of them.

They were more interested in the giant being with the many wings.

It definitely had more than six hundred wings.

Upon closer inspection, they could see that the wings were covered with precious stones. Rubies, emeralds, sapphires and even different color diamonds.

These precious stones were intertwined with the feathers.

The being also wore armor that was made of a metal that they had never seen before. This armor covered its torso and back. Its pants were emerald and gold silk.

He looks at her curiously and says. "Pretty, I think that is an angel? What do you say?"

She nods her head almost as soon as he asks.

"I absolutely agree. They must be angels!"

She runs more to the edge of the pink fluff and inspects the giant angel from up close.

He wants to tell her to be careful, but he knows it would be in vain.

Instead he makes sure the surface he was standing on was solid and was not going to disappear beneath him.

Was this a cloud?

But how?

These things muddle in his brain as he fights the fear of being so high in, what was definitely, the sky?

He wasn't sure.

The landscape was not like a place he has ever seen before, nor was the sky ever really the sky he was used to.

What sky was he used to?

Does he know what the sky is?

He suddenly doubts whether he knows anything.

This whole trip from when they got out of the pod, has only been strange. The landscape had this murky violet color. In areas it was amber mixed with green, but not a lot. There was the beautiful golden bird they saw that just disappeared right in front of their eyes, but somehow left them with an immensely warm, comforting feeling inside.

It filled them with such gratitude.

Pretty even said that she is grateful for this moment.

Grateful for this feeling.

"I am grateful for this feeling. I am grateful for this moment. This is living," were her exact words.

She described the feeling as tingly and he more tickly.

Point was, that they both experienced something and it was a result of the giant bird.

And this place.

Where were they?

The only thing he was completely sure about, was her.

She was the only thing that he could really trust.

Everything looks real and seems tangible, but he couldn't trust himself.

Only her.

From the moment she asked him so sweetly, "tell me if you could, would you up and run away, with me," she had his complete trust.

He wanted her to know that she too could trust him.

Especially now, with all that has been going on.

He watches her as she inspects the giant angel that was standing in front of them.

It was just staring into the space in front of them. It was however moving as the pink fluff was moving. Like it was moving along with the pink fluff.

He manages to turn around without falling because of his fear of heights.

More and more of these angels were gathering around them.

There were literally thousands.

And not one was similar to the other. The smallest of them, he could tell had only two wings, but these were all closer to them. Others had four to six wings. These were the ones that were bowing and prostrating. The ones that seems to be on guard were much larger and had many more wings than the rest.

But none had more wings than the giant one standing right in front of them.

"This angel really is pretty. It is hard for me not to stare at it. I think it is here to help us."

This was a strange statement from her.

"Why would we need help, Pretty?"

She turns and walks back to where he was standing in the center of the pink fluff.

She looks into his soft, open, sky-blue eyes. The pupils in her mesmerizing hazel eyes grow larger.

"I am not sure. Perhaps we are in danger?"

He entertains her words but says. "I can't think why anyone would want to harm us? We have just been here, minding our own business, in this pretty ugly place." He scoffs at himself.

"It isn't ugly, we are just not used to it."

He nods his head.

They stand next to each other and watch the large group of angels that surrounded them. All of them as if they were on guard.

Now and then they see what seem as if it is shooting stars to their right and left.

"So pretty."

"Very pretty, really, Pretty."

"I wonder where they are taking us."

"Surely somewhere nifty?"

"Maybe."

She suddenly moves to the edge of the pink fluff again.

"Look!" She shouts excitedly.

"What is that? It looks really darkly."

His curiosity was greater than his fear of heights.

"Wow!" She kneels on the pink fluff.

He slowly kneels next to her.

The pink fluff stops moving and just seems to hover above the big black hole.

The more they looked at it, the bigger the hole seems to get.

"Why have we stopped here, you think?" She asks him sincerely.

"Not sure pretty, but maybe, we must jump?" He says that nervously.

She looks at him and then back at the hole again.

"You know, I think you are right. Maybe we must jump into this big black hole."

He nods his head. "Maybe it will take us on-ly."

She looks at him again.

"Where is that?" She asks.

He stares at the black hole and then back at her.

"I am not sure, Pretty."

He sighs and says quickly. "But I am not scared. As long as you are with me, I am okay."

She smiles. "And as long as you are with me, I am okay." She sits down flat on her behind and tightens the laces of her pink sneakers.

He loved her in her lovely white dress and pink sneakers.

She gets up and so does he.

"Wherever this takes us, it must be somewhere spectacular." She was excited.

"Truly, Pretty."

They both breath in deep.

"Ready?"

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Explanation of Arabic words and quote references

Allah is sufficient as a friend and Allah is sufficient as a helper

Quran Chapter 4, Surah An-Nisa (The Women), verse 45

Arabic word here is Insha'Allah

Allah will not change the condition of a people until they change what is in themselves

Quran Chapter 13, Surah Ar-Ra'd (The Thunder), verse 11

Arabic word here is one of the names of Allah – Al-Musawwir – meaning The Fashioner, The Shaper, The Designer

If you are grateful Allah will surely increase you in favor

Quran Chapter 14, Surah Ibrahim (Abraham), verse 7

Know that the ungrateful are never successful

Quran Chapter 28, Surah Al-Qasas (The Stories), verse 82

Arabic word here is one of the names of Allah – Al-Karim – meaning The Bountiful, The Generous

My success is only by Allah

Quran Chapter 11, Surah Hud (Hud), verse 88

Arabic word here is one of the names of Allah – Al-Ba'ith – meaning The Raiser of the Dead

Give each other gifts and you will love each other

Abu Huraira reported: The Prophet, peace and blessings be upon him, said, "Give each other gifts and you will love each other."

Source: al-Adab al-Mufrad 594

Grade: Hasan (fair) according to Ibn Hajar

Arabic word here is the name of Prophet Muhammad along with the salawaat – sallallahu alaihi wasallam – meaning peace and blessings of Allah be upon him

The four Quls refer to Quran Chapters 109, 112, 113 and 114 which are Surah Al-Kafirun (The Disbelievers), Surah Al-Ikhlas (The Sincerity), Surah Al-Falaq (The Daybreak) and Surah An-Nas (The Mankind)

So wait indeed we along with you are waiting

Quran Chapter 9, Surah At-Tawbah (The Repentance), verse 52

Arabic word here is one of the names of Allah – Al-Fattaah – meaning The Opener, The Victory Giver

Arabic word here is also Sabr meaning patience

And to Allah belongs the dominion of the heavens and the earth and Allah is over all things competent

Quran Chapter 3, Surah Ali-Imran (Family of Imran), verse 189

Arabic word here is one of the names of Allah – Al-Wahhaab – meaning The Bestower

For this third book in the Thank you Allah series, the Verse of the Throne, and other interpretations of the meaning of the Quran, are extracts from the Clear Quran – Talal Itani – God Edition

https://blog.clearquran.com/download/ \- 02 July 2019

The hadiths were taken from

 https://www.iqrasense.com/quranic-tafsir/nothing-happens-unless-decreed-by-allah-in-the-book-of-decrees.html - 02 July 2019

"If I had taken anyone as my Khalil I would have taken Abu Bakr as such, but my Khalil is God'.

Taken from the book Hadrat Abu Bakr As-Siddiq by Adam Hani Walker, UK, referencing from Hadhrat Khalifatul Masih II. Tafsir Al-Kabir. Ft.261

 https://www.alislam.org/library/articles/Hazrat-Abu-Bakr.pdf \- 4 July 2019

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I wish to thank you for reading and I ask that Allah will reward you abundantly. I also leave you with this special form of sending blessings on our Prophet Muhammad, sallallahu alaihi wasallam. May it benefit us all.

This Durood Shareef was very dear and near to Hazrat Ghaus-e-Azam, Sheikh Abdul Qaadir Jilani (radi Allahu anhu) of Baghdad Shareef. He ended all his lectures, recitations and writings with this Durood. It is for this reason that it is called Durood-e-Ghausia. It is very sacred, very important, very effective and 100% success.

The Saints say that if a man recites this Durood Shareef 10 times in the morning and 10 times in the evening, Allah Ta'ala fetches him nearer and nearer and loves him a lot. The reciter becomes a Saint himself. Apart from this, he will be safe from all the catastrophes of the world. The Mercy of Allah will start pouring upon him endlessly.

(Sourced from  https://www.slideshare.net/zakir2012/11-durood-eghausia-english-arabic-translation-and-transliteration \- 4 July 2019)

May Allah grant you this and much more.

Your friend,

Salaam

Khaleel

As Allah wills

Khaleel Jooste Thank you Allah – Gratitude 92
