Hur Amran all alone

He wished he could say he woke up with a gasp. He wished he could say he had been dreaming. But no, he couldn’t say it. Couldn’t write it off as a dream, couldn’t think anything of it but for one of two options. Usually both. One, he was losing his mind. Two, it was that gut feeling that he was coming to trust. The one that was guiding him.

He didn’t wake with a gasp. He had felt it. Awake. It was here. It was alive.

Hur Amran had never felt much like he belonged anywhere. He didn’t feel like anyone had ever wanted him. An outcast, misunderstood, under appreciated. But how would anyone appreciate him, how could anyone value him when he didn’t value himself. His own father had left them. His mother had told him as she brushed his hair. Those were the only memories that remained of her, a teardrop fell from his eyes. His hand on the weak wooden table, a loud slam. Why was it that only the bad memories remained. Why was it that everyone only thought about the negative and never the positive. Himself included. He didn’t value himself, so why would others. He barely believed in this mission, in his mission. And even if he did, there was a part of him, deep inside, that wanted to, was hoping, begging, pleading the universe to have him die. He wanted it to end. He was too terrified to end it himself. Whether it was because of a dogma inculcated in him, and fear of everlasting damnation if he slit his wrists, or whether it was because he was afraid, whether it was because he was all alone. And just so scared. Courageous on the outside. Stoic even. Yet inside he was afraid. The little boy he had always been, banging on the closet door to get out. Searching for purpose. Maybe he needed something to do. He definitely needed something to do. A distraction. Something to make him feel like his life had meaning. He had not squandered it. And what better than some fool’s errand for some grandiose delusion, and a secret world superimposed onto the real world that held magic and jinns and a massive battle with good against evil. It made him feel, sometimes, not alone. He would look up at the sky, arms cupping his head, and think about the others who weren’t surely on the quest. To one end or another. Wonder what they were up to. He had never seen sight nor heard sound of them. With the exception of the man in the cavern. The one who had found him and set him on the path. But surely there were others. He was not the one carrying the burden alone. Because if he were, he was sure he would fall. And he refused to believe it.

He wished he could say he woke up with a gasp. He wished he could pretend it had been a dream. It would have been easier to deny it. As it was, there was no denying what he felt. He had heard the rumbling, the kind he knew no one else would see or hear. Their minds would be foggy, a memory from the past playing over the reality of the world. A break in time. Dejavu. But he heard it. And he knew something was coming towards him. Hurtling, he felt. His heart was glad.