The man lay awake at night looking at the lights flickering at him from above, he saw some moths hovering around the light, it reminded him of Icarus; a fool who flew too close to the sun only to have his wax wings burned, but unlike Icarus the moths were clever, they knew which light harms and which light warms. No moth ever flew towards the sun and they never will, it is simply not in their nature. Defiance, arrogance, stubborn; this are human attributes and this are the downfall of men. Humans only exist because of their innate nature to be subdued and enslaved; to love is to be a slave to someone, to study is to be a slave of society, to die is to be a slave to God and to live is to be a slave to desire. The man thought to what is he a slave to, this loneliness is tearing him apart, perhaps he seeks love but will love make him happy, maybe it is glory but will glory bring him peace or perhaps it is to die but does death hold the answer to his problems or will the imposing figure of God befriend him after death. All this uncertainty muddles the mind of our protagonist or maybe he is the antagonist, he did harm people and other times he did help. We are the heroes in our own story and who cares what we are in someone else’s. After thinking for so long it finally dawned upon him what he did, ahh! he killed someone, the bliss it felt to drive the knife into a beating heart, it felt so perfect, so smooth, so true. It was like when Eve reached for the Apple of Eden; it felt wrong but the taste so harmonious, so majestic she couldn’t stop and, in the process, doomed the entire human race just for a bite, that’s how perfect the knife felt in the heart, the heart welcomed it, it wanted to die, it was tired of beating in a cold, dark, damp place. It was a sweet kiss between someone that kills and someone that heals and the kiss ended with death, this is the only thing humans could not fathom, we love only to die and we die only to regret not loving. This cycle of love begets death is in our nature, and why deny it when the first humans killed each other, like Abel and Cain. His thoughts interrupted when a tiny moth landed on the shoulder of our protagonist or perhaps the antagonist, he could swat it away or kill it but he wanted to see what it does. It just stayed there with its round eyes looking at him, its eyes reflected the sweat and the sadness of him. He wondered what is it to be this tiny, insecure, pitiful, worthless insect but quickly shooed the notion away; this weak and pathetic insect is perhaps the reason why the world exists, humans are not needed here, it is this insect that helps the world flourish and nurture it when we humans only serve to destroy it. The world does not need us, we are still primitive and did we truly grow beyond our animalistic tendencies; we see a woman we immediately think of mating, we see our competitor we immediately try to eliminate, we see our children and we think of them as our legacy, we see a land we try to make it ours regardless of the inhabitants. Did we truly change or are we still the same? He forced his irrational thoughts to a halt with much hardships as pausing his thought brings him to reality, which is the body lying in front of him. The person he killed was someone he loved dearly, she was his world, he wanted to be hers, she was the moon that lit up his starless life. They met under mortar and fire. He a soldier and she a widow. He was death and she gave life. He now looked at the flickering lights again, now slowly dimming, it reflected the happiness on her lifeless smile, she is content. Is she content? He thought, will he see her again or is she cursing him? Is he the protagonist or the antagonist? Nevertheless, he is doomed to never look back, his life will forever be tainted with the thought of him killing an innocent woman. Why did this world not stop him, why will the world revere him a hero when he goes back? He wanted to stop, wanted to die but he is also scared to die; what if she awaits him from across the river and she is the God he killed, what if she obscures his way, What if? What if? What if? He became a prey to his thoughts once again, his mind now playing her death like a vintage cassette over and over again. Yes, he was not alone in murdering her, ahh! the bliss is it to blame it on someone, but who to blame, is it his president, is it his soldiers or is it the nine million people that will call him a war hero when he returns. He is proud warrior who loved his country even when he was tasked with ambushing a remote village. He loved his country when they were burning civilians and killing innocent children, he thought of going home and marrying a simple girl and raising two children in a happy loving neighbourhood even when they were singing and dancing beside the large fireplace they made off of the dead corpses. Ahh! the bliss is it to get into mischief alongside friends. His only regret was meeting her, when they came to the village, she was hanging the clothes to dry, at first glance it was clear she was the beauty of the small settlement and the soldiers knew it. He saw her, he loved her and already started weaving a future together, but alas the soldiers killed her loved ones in front of her and tore her piece by piece. When they were done, they left her mangled dishevelled body for his use. Of course, he did her, he loved his country dearly and finally when the symphony of pleasure ended, she looked at the knife and said “Kill me” and he did. He got up from the mud floor and glanced one last look at the woman, his love, his Goddess; hoping she would call him back, but her time is gone, so he went outside to his friends; singing and dancing to the hymns of moths and waiting for the night to never end, for if the night ends, how will they conquer the wretched goddesses.  

By Noor Mohammad