An eerie grin spread slowly across his frightening face.
I exhaled wearily. This wasn't my first time to get overpowered by him.
I felt so weak at that memorable moment. I felt weaker than ever.
'' Well,'' he started gruffly, '' It's not subtleness on my part, Muhammad. It's your overflowing urge to take steps closer, alleging your ability to pause short before falling downhill.''
I arched my slender, bony shoulders forward. Heavy silence rolled over; the sort of silence that assigns displeasing noise to heart pluses and clock ticks.
I gazed up at him wistfully. He seemed to be thriving mischievously upon my glumness.
I can't give up, I thought to myself. I have to keep trying. I know I can nail it.
'' OH! I HEARD THAT. HOW PATHETIC OF YOU, '' he screeched outrageously.
He rolled his eyes and laughed his head off, jeering at me mercilessly.
'' Give me a break,'' he scolded. '' I guess it may be easier for you to voice-record your lousy, desperate statements instead of reiterating them in futility.''
His sentences impaired me. They sounded disheartening in startling ways.
He had jagged teeth. A dark, formidable face, smeared with cruelty. Tall, bony fingers, studded with edgy fingernails. Huge nostrils pouring out hot, sour exhales.
His grin grew wider in congruence with my growing feebleness.
'' AHHHHHHHH!!!'' I shouted out shrilly.
'' I am resenting this. I can't bear the stifling bitterness of defeat that engulfs me every time you win,'' I confessed powerfully.
'' Aw! Heartbreaking this is,'' he shot back, snickering.
I felt my anger growing furiously. I let out hardly audible growls through clenched teeth.
'' Look. I am being plain. I am just trying to spare you the cruelty of further defeat. You got to give up on trying. You tried strenuously, didn't you? I was there, every night you made solemn promises. You sounded so sincere and determined. I've always wished for you to succeed. But you never do. It sure does feel awful, Muhammad. It sure does wear you out. For a thousand times, I've seen you slumping glumly on chairs and couches. I've watched you growing more defeated and weak,'' he reported, sounding concerned.
I covered my face with both hands, pressing my fingertips tightly against my temples.
Is that it? Am I condemned to fail regardless of what? I thought to myself.
'' But this doesn't make sense!'' I exclaimed in confusion.
He rested his scrawny, ugly looking hands on my shoulders. '' Go sprawl idly on your bed, Muhammad. Slide into what you cannot change and wish desperately to atone for things that cannot be redeemed. You're weak and it sure is hard for you, come to terms with that, will you?'' he advised with his beady, overly black eyes trained on me as if telling me to stop being such an idiotic whiner.
'' You sure are the devil,'' I chocked out.
'' Literally and figuratively, Muhammad, literally and figuratively,'' he grinned proudly.
His eyes twinkled devilishly.
I staggered to my feet and started out my room's door.
On my way out of the room, I paused short, eying myself wistfully in the mirror.
Do you know how it feels to own so many dark secrets. Do you know how it feels to have this huge void between who you're in the eyes of many and who you're in the eyes of yourself? Do you know how it feels to feel bullied, and shockingly unable to stand your ground for more than a few fast-pacing seconds?
Well, that's how I felt at this stifling moment; defeated, bullied, and overpowered by the many devils mocking my consecutive failures.
I can't, I can't let him triumph again. When will this closed circle break for a change? Am I really entitled to fail ceaselessly? I thought to myself in severe frustration.
I leaned my scraggy arms on the counter, across from the mirror.
I awaited him to scoff at my thoughts, but he did not. It seemed as if he found it suffice to shove me to a place where the ground is slippery, where no further shoves are needed to send a human with gnawing burdens to the edge of consuming darkness.
I needed something to cling to. Something to stop me from sailing down and monstrously failing face down on cold, stiff grounds.
'' Help me---''
I failed to continue. I remember formerly promising myself to no longer seek the aid of Allah. I remember giving up on myself and accepting to mistreat my soul. I remember classifying myself as unworthy of forgiveness and mercy.
But it really felt hard to keep failing till Allah knows when!
Tears trickled down my puffy cheeks. I quivered and convulsed at the feebleness of my reflection. I attempted to blurt out the pain but nothing came out but mournful squeaks.
No longer was it easy for me to resist the urge to tumble down, declaring my crucial need of Allah's help.
Don't get me wrong. I wasn't defying. I just reached a level where I simply gave up on the goodness within me. You know how it feels, right? To shudder and quiver when you know that Allah forgives us regardless of how ugly and shameful our sins are, yet you still can't accept the idea that Allah can forgive you, not because of your weak faith in him but because of your potent sensations of guilt that reprimand remorselessly.
Maybe it's valid to sometimes justify your weakness. To rise up again, more determined than ever and shake off the devil resting comfortably on your shoulders.
I cleared my throat, attempting to drown the mournful sobs by any sound that can escape my clogged throat.
'' Help me Allah. Forgive me, please,'' I pleaded mournfully.
I fell on my knees hardly to the ground and raised both of my hands, seeking shelter from the one who lured me into favoring sinning till it depleted me.
My mind stuffed with thoughts, I murmured away to myself, repeating the name of the one I need the most. Tears kept flowing down my cheeks, failing to the ground with a soft plop.
I felt weaker at that moment, yet not the kind of weakness that can you fear disclosing. I sobbed till it hurt my eyes and made everything a blur. I grabbed the Qur'an and sprawled peacefully on my side, clutching the holy book as if clutching to something that implies a healing value.
The sobs and cries pacified me. I felt as if in a state of surrender. I fiddled with the Qur'an's bookmark, breathing slowly, gazing up the ceiling.
Reiterating religious versus in an attempt to shove myself to righteousness one more time, I scrambled to my feet, gripping the Qur'an firmly.
I trotted to the mirror, this time eying myself with a less tensed spirit.
I can't give up, I thought to myself again. I know that I can nail it this time and stick to my beliefs.
I felt as if in Allah's aid. I heard him scolding me no more. Maybe because I chose to resort to the aid of the one I formerly refrained from intently. You know, it's like when a kid goes out without his mother's permission. At such times, it seems valid for cruel creatures to tear him into pieces. He should have told Mummy before leaving his shelter.
Feeling calmer and steadier, I made a new promise; a promise that I breached a thousand times yet a promise that I cannot give up on; a promise to change to what suits me best.
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ιиѕριяє∂ ву: Trying to give myself further reasons to keep edging forward by writing about how hardships should be challenged.