Butcher's Shop

Chop, chop, chop.

The air reeked of death, and water, and he could smell the blood, no matter how faint. Or maybe it was stuck on him, and not the atmosphere. Ishfaq, his father had opened this shop twenty eight years ago, back when this area was still farmland, and when he saw people moving out to go into the city. He saw the opportunity, and by the grace of Allah, it worked out.

Chop, chop, chop.

The smell of death and meat hung heavy in the air, and yet stray goats brayed outside, cows could be heard a little farther away, on the main road, chickens were squawking in the backyard as if ignorant about the fate of their brethren.

Chop, chop, chop.

He had half a dozen butchers now. He remembered the days in his childhood when his brother and he would come directly to the shop from school and would help Ishfaq clean and prepare the meats. And cut them. Now there were a dozen. He beamed proudly, chest out.

Chop, chop, chop.

Crowds mingled, his air conditioners hummed in harmony, in joy. Except for that one at the very end. He frowned, he would need to get that fixed. Four air conditioners! Who could have ever thought of such a thing when his father set up this shop.

Chop, chop, chop.

He had never done harm to anyone. His mother was so proud of that. Always been a faithful man. His father though, had left some debts unfulfilled. And one of the debtors had come collecting, rough, uncouth, he was the very thing they despised. He had been shouting at their frail, aged mother, when the butcher had come home, and he had despised that. He pushed the man on the chest, this hefty, burly man. Watched him stagger backwards in shock, not out of any physical pain. Eyes widen in surprise, and then flood with anger. Red with rage. The mustached man had mumbled something, and then screamed. Shouted at the butcher, and said “just you wait, i will get you back for this.”

Chop, chop, chop.

As long as his family was safe though. He didnt mind. He did start seeing people staring at him, shadows were starting to jump out at him. That man, walking over to his butchery, the one that was a little nervous, his chest looked too big, that youngster looked suspicious.

Chop, chop, chop.

He drew a little closer, the butcher saw a mark on his forehead, that marked him as one of the fervently religious. He sighed, he hadnt realized he had been holding his breath. Maybe he would hire a guard for the house, his mother would berate him, for wasting money. She deserved it though. She was worth it. And maybe he would also get her that new oven she had been wanting. He looked around the shop. His brother had not come in. he would need to have a talk with the man.

Chop, chop, chop.

The swish of the door, the ringing of the bells attached to it. The young man was inside. He was sweating profusely. The butcher walked over, he said “salaam, how may i help you, child.” the man looked into his eyes, there was a primal nervousness and fear there, he said, “You are a blasphemer.”

Chop, chop-

The explosion was loud. It destroyed the marketplace, and everyone in it.