I once was chosen, we would say "honored,"
to perform a hallowed action. Bride of Blood, Shaheed—meaning martyr—was to
be my vaunted name. A man, an enemy of
Islam, was marked for death—a mahdur addamm. It
was him for whom my training made of me a Mutasseb—the
one who holds an evil-doer to account. At this I failed.
So you're a...
"Terrorist" is the term applied by
those of shallow learning, disbelievers who concern
themselves with this world, not the next. The
me'erage or journey to Paradise, wherein towheed
is regained, eludes them always and forever; they lack
tam'yeez, it is said, and thus cannot discriminate
right from wrong.
Uh huh. Like me?
I meant like I... who did not detonate.
I was seated on a plane, my womb an overstuffed
receptacle for explosives. Yes, perverse. To spoil a
virgin, make her pregnant with fatality, desecrates
maidenhood. I was destined to give birth to life's
antithesis. I refused. And I have called my Faith into
question ever since.
As well you should. I've never heard
of such a fucked up rationale for wholesale murder; I
assume the plane had passengers—you know, moms and dads
and kids—who you'd have 'incidentally' blown to Kingdom
"Collateral damage" is the
term—for which your country sets
the standard. I admit, though, it reveals a moral flaw.