| Chapter 33
The grim intestine
We were now lurking around in the back of a lonely schoolyard.
It was dark and desolate there but not threatening in any way,
for it had a very tranquil vibe about it. I was just scuffling about,
not trying to make too much sense of anything. In a quiet corner of
the abandoned schoolyard, John asks Pete for one of the colorful
fireworks he had carried with him in his back pocket.
“What’s this thing going to do?” John asked excitedly
while eagerly vying for the object in Peter’s hand.
“It’s going to emit colors, shoot up into the air and then explode.”
Pete then hands the three-sided object to John,
who begins examining it thoroughly.
As John was doing this, I thought of that crazy Fourth
of July family party back in the summer of 66'.
Of all the family get togethers, none would ever top this one.
For some very strange reason, our brains lock in on certain days. I can
remember, quite vividly, the first time I drank out of an ordinary drinking
glass. I can recall my mother holding my wrist as we were coming down
the stairs, my legs trying so hard to reach each step. If she let go of me,
I would have surely toppled down them. As we got into the kitchen, she
poured me a tall glass of milk. "You have to get used to it, honey," she
said, and I was crying because I knew I would drop the glass.
My hands were so tiny, and that glass felt like it was thirty pounds.
My mom told me it was on my first birthday that I drank from that
glass. That is my earliest recorded memory.
I am more than happy to know I will never remember anything beyond this point.
The last thing any child needs is the memory of something so profound as to be
able to recall suckling on their mother's breast, and I am almost certain it would
have gone on to cause lasting psychological damage in my developing mind.
Getting back to that wild Fourth of July party.
I awoke to the sound of mortars and aerial bombs exploding in a hazy sky. Today,
we would all gather in Grandmother's backyard as we did each year. My cousins,
aunts, and uncles were among those present. My paternal grandfather, Henry, was
speaking to my Uncle Frank, (who was my grandmother's sister' Josie's husband),
about a popular Staten Island eatery known as Al Deppe's.
“I had the cravin’ for them hot dogs for a week. I took one bite, and I was in heaven.”
“They pop.” said my grandfather.
“Yeah, they pop when ya bite ‘em, and the juice, mama mia!”
From out of nowhere, my father and Uncle Bob came strolling into the backyard with a metal
garbage can overflowing with fireworks! There were M-80s, ash cans, blockbusters, cherry
bombs, Roman candles, sparklers, mats, parachutes, fountains, rockets, helicopters, and pink
elephants. You name it, it was in that pail. As they began blowing up my grandmother's backyard,
I started jumping up and down in excitement. At this moment my mother sprang up, snatched my
hand, and dragged me inside.
To the safe zone.
Fergus, the family Bulldog was cowering in the back corner
of the cellar, for I would assume the noise disturbed him.
That whole day he looked like a picture of bad health.
Indeed, he seemed to be aggravated over something, for he had that long face on.
It is a well-known fact that dogs do not fare well to enemy fire.
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My father, realizing I was gone, went into the house and decided to bring me outside
again. My mother screamed and cried as she desperately tried to hold onto me.
Not wanting to choose sides, I just sat there in Mother’s arms.
My dad gently coaxed my mother to release me.
“He’s my son too, ya know” (and) “It’s not all about you, Kathy.”
Within minutes, she had let go of me and was now crying terribly. He took
my arm and led me outside once again into the heart of a war zone.
It was incredible to walk out into a barrage of cannonry.
To see everyone’s eyes blazing at the spectacle of lights
and explosions and to just be in the midst of it all.
I could hear mom downstairs, pleading with my grandmother to do
something. That I was going to die out there, but I was without fear.
We were simply a family in our own country, celebrating its freedom.
Who could have known that we would no longer have this privilege
many years later? Then again, we didn't have a word called terrorism
on the tongue of every red-blooded American either.
It seems that every day a new law comes into effect whereby hindering
our right to choose. One day in the not-too-distant future, you won't be
able to have a few drinks and drive home without repercussions. Next
comes the speed cameras on every block, and they'll tell you it's to
protect our children, when in fact, it's just another excuse to cripple the
working-class people while the wealthy sit in judgment, unaccounted for.
Soon after this, you won't be able to light up a cigarette in your car.
Then it will be your house until everyone we know is packing up
their things and moving to Europe.
The highlight of the whole day came when my
Uncle Bob went up the street with a short pink stick.
“What’s that he’s got?” I asked my dad curiously.
“That’s a nigger chaser,” he said happily.
“What’s it gonna do?”
“Oh, you’ll see,” replied my father, wallowing in his contentment.
As my uncle lit it and ran, it followed him down the block, wedged in
the crack of his ass. Luckily, he moved to the side, and it exploded
away from him. The whole block was in hysterics. Except for Mother,
of course, who was still downstairs sobbing quietly in the basement.
“Did you see that?” Replied my Uncle Bob a bit shaken;
“that thing almost blew my hole off.”
On July 4th, 2005, I put my Polk audio system to the test. Cranking up the volume,
I had the sound of a mortar going off on a TDK MA-R 90 cassette tape, the one in
the solid metal housing. With the speakers facing out both windows, but not visible
for anyone to actually see, it sounded like an artillery shell going off on a navy
missile cruiser. All day, I had the cops scrambling back and forth to the tune of
car alarms going off in the distance!
What could they have done to me anyway?
Told me I was disturbing the peace?
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John signals Pete for a match, and Pete offers up his trusty lighter.
After several attempts, John gives it back. “This lighter's a piece
of shit; you got a match?”
“Nah, I don’t have a match; let me see the fucking thing.”
You must understand that Peter was one of those fellows who never
actually used the word no. At least I've never heard him say it.
It's always nah, like nar - cotic. . . Get it?
As Pete fumbled with the lighter, I could see it was not going to ignite.
His face was becoming redder than a boiled lobster, and I was
waiting to see if he would burst into flames like the human torch.
“What the fuck is wrong with this thing?
Hmmm, there seems to be something impeding the mechanism.”
John then says, “Give it to me; let me see if I can impede the back of your head
with it.” We then fell into a fit of uproarious laughter and could not stop.
Peter then casually flipped him the bird, saying, “Fuck you, you ignorant fool.”
John then asks me if I have a book of matches...
I search through my pockets but find only coins and some pocket lint.
“No, man, sorry.” Actually, I did have matches, but I was dying for
Pete to flip out again, so I told him I didn't.
I could see Peter in the darkness, still fumbling with that damn lighter of his and
getting absolutely nowhere. “Ya know, man, I really don't need this shit tonight.”
Then like an angry pitcher for a losing team, he throws the lighter as hard as he can
at the paddleball wall, where it pops into a million pieces. The way he eliminated
his anger, I thought his arm went with it. Peter, now looking both disheveled and
disgusted, mutters, “Will ya look at that; now I don't have a lighter.”
Immediately, I thought of how comical it would have been had Peter been watching
me as my lighter emitted its last flame just hours earlier. Two lighters in one day were
unheard of. I am almost certain that he would have taken it personally. Then for
the rest of the week, it would become his mission in life to try to make it work.
Especially if there was still some gas in it.
I then handed John the pack of flattened-out matches. “Here, I just found these
in my back pocket.” Upon seeing this, Peter's eyes begin to bulge out of their
sockets, like when Ralph Kramden he gets hit on the back by Uncle Leo.
Peter then shook his head before walking away in confusion.
John lights the thing, and we scatter. A few seconds later, it began
to fizzle before puffing a huge plume of smoke into the atmosphere.
Pete then chimes in, “Oh-ho, what a fucking waste that was; I'm gonna
pretend that didn't happen.” He now proceeds to hand John one very
coveted M-80. As the flame touches the wick, it ignites.
John holds it for a moment and then throws it into the air, where it hangs for
a few seconds but does not go off. Instead, it falls to the ground and begins
smoking. It then made a loud farting noise before fizzling out. John waits
a good thirty seconds before walking over to examine the small explosive.
“The wick came out. Are you kidding me? Pete, seriously, where'd ya buy
these things in a fucking joke store? My dog makes better bombs than this!”
We were now laughing loudly and completely out of control.
“What do you want me to say? They're old! You know what, man, I think
I'm just gonna leave.”
Looking at Pete, all dejected and more or less spent, I was yearning for one last hurrah.
A loud howling bellow that would pierce through the heart of the night, like the cry of a
werewolf on a full moon with an ass full of buckshot, but the man didn't have it in him.
Rather than curl his tail up and die or fall to the ground like a satchel of dry bones,
he surrendered. Inconspicuously, I examined his face and was quite surprised to
find that he was now older than my grandfather, and my grandfather’s been dead
for quite some time now. . . I really hope he doesn't expire on the way home.
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As my disgruntled friend left for home by way of Amboy Road, we watched
his ominous shadow depart into the night. After the laughter subsided and we
regained our composure, I looked down at the faded tarmac to find a most
disturbing sight. A squirrel, it seems, had been eviscerated, and its innards
were sprawled out along the uneven ground. Some lights were on at the end
of the street, shining dimly, but were enough to see the atrocity that either man
or beast had created. I did not want to think that anything could be that bad.
In reality, I knew someone or something was responsible for its demise, and so
I desperately tried not to look down at the mess of slow-drying entrails, which
adhered to the ground like glue. Even if we were to leave right now, I would not
be able to dismiss the fact that it happened. The smell of rotten meat decaying in
the evening air started to make me feel like I had been exposed to a deadly virus.
One that was beginning to mutate and multiply inside of me.
The archimage had waved his wand from where he stood in another time to befoul
my world. Now a calm and peaceful environment had been turned into an implacable
miasma. In no way, could I stop thinking about those microscopic organisms arising
from that viscous pile of decaying entrails. Mixed in with the very air we breathe were
those nasty and invisible little spores...
And now they were wreaking havoc in my brain.
The next time you go to the movies, sit in the last row of seats near the projectionist.
All that warm fuzzy matter you see floating around in the light is nothing more than
dead skin cells and airborne bacteria from various patrons throughout the years.
Now that you are aware of this fact, how comfortable do you really feel taking a
nice deep breath and allowing all those filthy little particles to enter your body?
Seriously, the next time you're in a theater, begin patting the cushioned seats,
and you will see all that dust and foreign debris exploding upwards into the
eye of the movie projector. Actually, these germs are around us constantly.
It’s only because the light makes them visible to the naked eye.
And now your mind is working. . . So now you understand.
Why do you think people with compromised immune systems are so sick.
I felt nauseated as I thought of being riddled with tiny sores from within.
A life-threatening infection that would take root in my lungs and keep
growing. It almost felt like pathogens were swimming around in my
bloodstream, making my chest feel tighter whenever I took a breath.
It was around that time that I started to feel like I had eaten a meal of
raw bacon, and my heart was slowly being strangled by all the worms.
Like a chemist who has mistaken anthrax for cocaine and begins snorting.
In the blink of an eye, a happy and joyful night would be stripped
of all meaning and turned into a combative struggle for survival.
Majic Ship - Nightmare
The pernicious drug was running rampant through my system
like a random cancer cell. One that can form its own army to
destroy healthy cells and eventually disrupt organ function. It
made me feel as though a demon had crawled inside my head
and was now holding a gun to my brain.
How could I have known that by simply looking down at the ground,
would leave me in a nightmare of unparalleled proportion?
That revolting smell of rotting death seemed to linger in the air
until I realized what had happened, and by then, it was too late.
I was imbued with wrenching terror as I came to realize that in but a
few short hours from now, I may ‘very well’ be dead. Before long, I had
come to the conclusion that the end was, indeed, upon me, and because
of such foolish knowledge, I began to feel the onset of anaphylaxis.
I must distract myself somehow.
All right, just calm down.
I was perspiring from worry and trying to keep myself together,
but as I thought of the infection pumping through my heart valve,
I felt the uncomfortable sensation of fluttering palpitations.
Believe me when I tell you that I started to pray like
I had never prayed before, but I felt like a hypocrite.
Why does everything I do seem to exemplify failure?
It was always the same, and now my prayers had no
meaning at all. If I was the Lord, I wouldn't want to
hear anything I had to say tonight, either.
Why was I always pushed into praying?
Why couldn't I just pray like a normal human being?
Maybe because I wasn't a normal human being.
Always off, dabbling in mystery.
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Maybe all this documentation is just an excuse to do drugs
in the first place. I don't know anymore. Everything's come
together, and I felt like I had just painted myself into a corner.
What the hell is going on here?
Please, God, forgive me for this.
It was a dumb thing to do.
Do you ever wonder what God thinks of you?
After you sin and you're basking in the sweet resolve of your immorality.
What does God think of us in that hour?
“You pray now? Now you pray?
You had your whole life to pray, and you
dare do it now, in your moment of weakness.
You insolent fool, get ready to be cast into Hellfire!”
Lucifer was mean.
He wanted me to suffer like he and his followers were going to suffer for the rebellion.
“I didn’t tell you to leave Heaven.
You made that choice, and now you can’t go back.”
It’s not my fault you tried to be king and failed.
You should pray because you want to, not because you have to.
At that very moment, I truly felt as though God had forsaken me.
In my mind, I watched the doors to the magnificent kingdom of Heaven close.
I was renounced by the God I exalted for not putting at least one hour
aside each week for the consecration to sanctify my soul.
There was nothing I could do or say that was going to change anything.
I was doomed.
I tried to believe in the power of prayer, but the whole concept
of it seemed to be against me. Still, I persevered with total
reverence and fear, yet, without any result whatsoever.
Could I blame God for not hearing me?
Was I supposed to see an immediate result?
Was God supposed to stop what He was doing and come to my rescue?
I wouldn't have been too surprised if He suddenly appeared and punted
me into the end zone of eternal damnation for not being smart enough
to avoid this irresponsible tragedy.
There are literally billions of people in this world afflicted by incurable
diseases that do not discriminate. One, in particular, is called hunger.
How many illnesses and sicknesses are there in the world?
How many variable and resistant strains of bacteria and viral infections?
Start counting. . .
There are more illnesses in the world than your mind
can imagine, so be thankful if you are in good health.
“Do you go to church on Sunday?” I asked John,
trembling with fear but trying not to convey it.
“I go two times a year; that's about it. And you?”
“Maybe once a year.”
“Do you pray?”
“Yeah, but not like some people who can pray for hours at a time.
Usually, I run out of things to pray about after the first minute.”
I then started to think of the Bible and its philosophy on us as human beings.
Catholics and Protestants fighting over the body and blood of Jesus Christ
is about as ridiculous as two Jews fighting over which piece of meat in the
pot is kosher and which piece isn’t.
If we both believe in God, and we both believe in Jesus,
then what the hell are we fighting about?
That's almost like a man turning two things that are pure and
good into two evils, and God just wants to fucking explode!
We are all born of free will.
Mankind is able to commit countless atrocities in the name of religion,
but it appears they have lost sight of one thing.
Proverbs 11:21 – The wicked shall not go unpunished.
We live for today, and tomorrow we lay down and die. In the following life,
we will not have a free will, but we'll live forever, either in the purest of
bliss or the most horrible of agonies. This is the will of the Lord.
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Here children die; in the next life, they will not.
Here people kill one another in war.
In the next life, there will be no war,
only peace, for those who have earned it.
It is hard to imagine an amorphous being such as a soul that comes forth when
a life should perish, but even more difficult to fathom is the creator of all life.
There is only one crime that is punishable by death in the hereafter, and that is suicide.
It doesn't matter how good you are as a person or any wonderful thing that you might
have done. If you happen to be above the age of accountability and decide to end it all,
just remember, the pain you will suffer in the afterlife will be far greater than any physical
pain you will experience here on earth because it will be forever. Death will become your
eternal damnation... However, Satan is likely to convince you otherwise.
In John 8:44, the Word of God states that the devil is not only a
liar but the father of all lies, and if you wish to believe that any
mortal could ever change this, then you are sadly mistaken.
You cannot commit suicide without facing God's wrath!
To destroy the body, which is a sacred housing
of the holy spirit, is to reject God's precious gift.
Suicides cannot be forgiven by God!!!
Mark 3:28-29
28) I tell you the truth, all sin and blasphemy can be forgiven,
29) but anyone who blasphemes the Holy Spirit will never be forgiven.
This is a sin with eternal consequences.
Your body is a temple of the ---- ------.
Every second that brings strife on this earth carries with it a million years
of bliss. Hell has been described as holding your arm over a raging fire,
while Heaven is said to be that of indescribable bliss. A place that has
no end, and the beauty which lies therein is said to be immeasurable.
In other words, it is better to live a hundred years in misery on earth
than to live eternally in the bowels of all anguish and suffering.
I have found there are two types of people in this world.
Those who like to hurt and those who like to help.
It is for you to decide who you are.
In the hours of the evenfall, when the laughter of children begins to settle, the world comes
to realize it is another day older. That is the time for being counted. For every birth, there
is death, and for every little one born, there is a renewed sense of hope that we may offer
something useful unto the next generation.
Those who give pain shall indeed receive it, and those who provide
comfort shall be comforted in a land of untold glory forevermore.
What I find most difficult to understand out of everything in the Bible is that Jesus Christ, the
only begotten son of God, who had the power of infinity at his side, could have, at any time,
summoned legions of angels to rain fire down upon his enemy, and yet, He chose not to. Instead,
he let the Romans beat him, whip him, and then, being barely alive but not quite dead, allowed
them to lay him upon a cross and put nails the size of railroad spikes through his wrists and feet.
How easy it would have been to destroy them all, but if that were the case, then the son of
man would have been weak because that is what anyone with eternal power would have
done. It is certainly what you or I would have done and with incomprehensible fury.
Those of you who possess an ounce or two of faith shall indeed
see the Almighty Kingdom of God. Like the saints who came before
us, whose trials were so great, they pleaded for death to arrive.
The time for being stoic and the time for having faith was now, for there are people in this
world who go to work every day, never knowing that today, they will become a statistic.
You’re driving home from work one night when you fall asleep behind the wheel, and
suddenly, your scattered remains are being nibbled on by forage fish under a catamaran.
Or you decide to dive off a shallow pier rather than test it by jumping in feet first, so now,
you're paralyzed from the neck down, unable to move your arms or your legs.
Try to imagine life as a quadriplegic.
Confined to a hospital bed with a respirator tube that someone
must clean hourly. Unable to clear your throat or even cough,
for that matter. All because you made a life-altering decision.
So now, who do you curse?
Who is the target of all your blame?
It's never going to be you; it is
and will always be God’s fault.
The one with infinite power who could have stepped in
to save the day decided not to.
As my mind began to fill with all these images, I tried to convince myself
that the burden I carried was small. But the truth of the matter was plain
to see; I am here, and they are there.
No matter how I chose to look at it, the fact would always remain. I was really hoping
it was a simple case of hypochondriacal anxiety that would subside as time went on.
I was overcome and grief-stricken by emotions I had absolutely no control over.
I was crying for a world that hated me while I, myself, was dying.
How ironic is that?
I felt myself slipping away into the great abyss, and I just wanted everything
to be normal again, so I could further deal with the problem at hand. But the
drug was not going away; rather, it would be I who would be going away.
My brain will be in a jar by the end of the evening,
I thought, and who will explain how it happened?
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You long for the comforts of home and the things you took for granted
all your life. You'd change everything about your life to make it better
if you only could, but now, you're left stranded in the very nightmare
you created. A world so cold and lonely it defies reason. The barren
plains of time where nothing grows, and no one ever comes to visit.
A land more desolate than the calm stillness of an abandoned heart.
Strange voices call out to you in echoes from the earth, but your mind
no longer works in the traditional sense. I thought I knew more than the
rest of society, but I knew nothing. How bad it hurts to find you've been
left all alone in the shadows. No one to ever talk to again. Nothing to see
or touch. No emotions to feel. Just heartbeats and long-forgotten promises.
That is the drug's design.
You think you were abandoned the first time?
This may be even worse.
Never hearing another sound again because your brain shuts down. Not being
able to get up and move about as you've so often done in the past. No longer will
the scent of a flower exhilarate your senses, nor will the taste of a gourmet
cooked meal delight your taste buds.
No one to ever hold again.
Nothing more for the one who threw his life away.
Mother prays for you, and she cries. She pleads for your safe return,
but it's not real, for you're not there. You now reside in a distant void,
another galaxy, where no mortal can ever go. And even if they could,
it would take light years for anyone to reach you; look around.
Our capacity for higher learning is strained, and we've simply no technology for
advancement in that area. Time is at a standstill, and your motor skills have stopped.
Communication is lost, and the world you've come to know is gone. So, abandon all
hope for rescue; no one's coming. Still, you'll take to your grave that one question.
“How did I get here?”
Knowing we couldn't stay here forever, I was now in a catch-22.
If I begin walking, it will spread like wildfire through my entire system
until I succumb to the realization of my body going into shock. And if
we stay here, I will only dwell upon it until it ultimately happens.
Full of anxiety and worry, I made the decision to leave.
As I picked myself up from that spot, I felt like an old Civil War soldier gallantly
forging ahead toward his imminent death. My only hope for survival would be
to completely forget about my current predicament.
So weak and weary was I now; I felt like I had hardly any life left in me.
How I wished I was home. Safe in the comfort of my undisturbed bed,
to turn on the radio and just relax in a sleep-conducive environment.
I wanted nothing more than for this whole night to be just a bad dream. To
open my eyes and forever be beside the one I love. The one who adores me.
If I could become Almighty God for but one millisecond, I would do just that,
regardless of the implications involved or the consequences arising thereof.
That blissful thought was the key that unchained my heart, and the more I
thought about being with Harmony, the less I really cared about living. So
now, it didn’t matter one way or the other. God loves me, and I knew it, and
nothing more needed to be said or done to confirm it. I was no longer dwelling
upon being killed by invisible germs from afar, for ‘all that is negative’
(and) ‘all that is woeful’ only flooded the town with rain.
Moving like a hapless cripple, I continued to trudge through
that field as though I were marching for my own country.
As any good soldier would.
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The morning that followed our grand excursion, I would write
a very bizarre song. I could hear all the instruments in my head,
and would arrange them to the melody that was forming.
I believe it went something like this…
My brain is damaged
I need physical help.
The world revolves
on a turntable on the shelf.
Walking down a black corridor.
Figures move silently down the hall.
Nothing good ever will come to be
as I find myself at the edge of a dream.
And I’m gone.
If I hold your hand
would you get uptight?
Would you say get away,
or would you hold it firmly all night?
Love is a challenge that’s often sad.
One wrong move and the whole thing’s bad.
I haven’t the time, nor the moment I fear
to come into your life but I know how it feels to be gone.
And I’m gone.
Running through a dark abandoned forest.
Never comprehending what I see.
Climbing to the highest point of refuge.
I fall into a swirling endless sea.
I wish I could exist in time
as a bead of sweat or a drop of wine.
I’d be nice to know that there would be no sorrow.
Could the human race ever understand
what our purpose was before it all began?
How is it that we never reach tomorrow?
I found my calling
in a spiritual realm
that lies on a plain
between the doorway of Heaven and Hell.
Serpents crawling around my feet.
Confusion abounds from the webs that we weave.
In the sanctuary beside the lake
is a dormitory for the insane, where I’ll bond.
When I’m gone.
Pg 250
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Reviews for chapter 33
Siobhan Lunsford - What a strange chapter title the grim intestine. But it works so I won't knock it.
I just wanted to tell you I find you wrighting top notch and will eventually start at the begining , eventually.
Thanks for this!
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This review was posted on Apr/7/23
kanchanninawe's review
The Embryo Man and Other Tales of Woe: Chapter 33 - The Grim Intestine
Reader's Report by kanchan
DD
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This review was posted on Apr/26/23
iqrabashir871 's review
The Embryo Man and Other Tales of Woe: Chapter 33 - The Grim Intestine
Reader's Report by Iqra
IB
i
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Reviewed by yashodha_95
YH
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HJ
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LIR
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TW
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Tayyaba17's review
The Embryo Man: Chapter 33 - The Grim Intestine
Reader's Report by Tayyaba
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This review was posted on Apr/30/24
Reviewed by mariya
MR
Here is my sister's review that I forgot to add earlier..
The chapter switches to the story of Charlie and his addiction of drugs.
However, there is a nuance of being compassionate and emphatic for
him in this chapter as the scene transitions from war to his addiction to
drugs. As the book has so many chapters about Charlie and his use of
drugs with Pete, the readers have become accustomed to this life but
now their view of the entire situation has shifted.
I like how the scene progresses from a scene about war destruction
to Charlie and how his life is devastated. It feels like the theme from
the previous chapter is being continued all the way from the external
environment to his own self. The close contrast is very interesting
especially since the overall scene is very monochromatic with the
only tinge of joy being that of his friendship with Pete.
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This review was posted on Jun/26/24
Reviewed by sababaloch292
SB
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Saleha Zainab - June 25 - Chapter 33
SZ
Intake of psychedelics affects the sensation of a person at a greater level. A person gets emotional
and hallucinate about things that do not exist and sometimes that do exist in the past. Feeling nostalgic
about the childhood memories and recalling the blissful time spent with family. This type of beautiful
past memories come to us mostly when we are remembering a particular person or sometimes when
we are relaxed and calm.
Here i think the protagonist is thinking about his mother's affection and her care for him which later
in his life seems somewhat unapproachable.
The safe zone, the place where her son will stay protected. She wants to protect him from all the outside
harms and hazards even though other family members were there but she thinks it is not good for her son's
safety, so she kept him inside. But it's ironic his mother cared for him when he was young but she neglected
him when he needed him the most. From chapter 32 i get a lot of insight into mother's character, she is a good
mother but she failed in certain cases because of her own relationship problems and than dealing with job and
day to day affairs, things become tough and she forgot to become friends with her son.
Charles was just laughing and enjoying with his friends but now suddenly he is struck with the reality of life.
Happiness and sadness comes hand in hand. Death is an undeniable reality of life, and every one has to follow
through this path. Death is the horrible but absolute truth of this world, and every living being is moving in this
circle of life and death one gets a life and the other one dies at the exact moment. We as humans remember death
only when we see a dead and start pondering and worrying about the day when their time will come to an end.
The author has a knack for drug study, you should try being a chemist or you can work with them in a lab because
you quite have a knowledge related to drugs. "I Just said it, as it randomly came into my mind while reading over it."
Death itself is not painful but the thought of death makes man feel the unbearable pain of death.
Your description of God is exactly what we Call Allah. I am Muslim and believe in One God (Allah)
and believe that Prophet Muhammad (S.A.W.) is the one to whom Allah revealed his words what we call
Quran The Words of Allah Almighty. We believe that Adam, Noah, Moses, Abrahim, Joseph, Jesus Christ
they all are also prophets and (about 124000 prophets) are sent by Allah Almighty with one message that
God is one and he creates us so that we can serve him offer pray, and submit ourselves to him.
He is most Benevolent and Merciful.
We believe Jesus Christ whom the Quran also called as Isa is prophet of Allah and he is not dead in Quran
it is mentioned very clearly and let me remind you Quran is the words of Allah Almighty you can search
about it, in whole world since last 1445 years there is only one book read by all Muslims and you could
never find any variety in the text of Quran.
*Here are two verses from The Quran*
And [for] their saying, 'Indeed, we have killed the Messiah, Jesus, the son of Mary, the messenger of Allah.'
And they did not kill him, nor did they crucify him; but [another] was made to resemble him to them. Indeed,
those who differ over it are in doubt about it. They have no knowledge of it except the following of assumption.
And they did not kill him, for certain. Rather, Allah raised him to Himself. And ever is Allah Exalted in Might
and Wise." (4:157-158)
"When Allah said, 'Jesus, I will take you and raise you up to Myself and clear you of those who disbelieved and
make those who followed you superior to those who disbelieved until the Day of Resurrection. Then to Me will
be your return, and I will judge between you concerning that in which you used to differ.'" (3:55)
I heard this word and i remember that once in my life i felt a situation like this, it is called sleep paralysis.
I was so afraid at that very moment I could hear, feel and see everything but I was not even able to move
my finger nail and felt soo desperate. And after a few seconds my limbs get relaxed and I thank Allah
Almighty for the life and healthy body.
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This review was posted on Jul/17/24
Reviewed by nusratjahan603
NR
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This review was posted on Sep/15/24
Reviewed by sarah1409
SR
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This review was posted on Oct/3/24
Reviewed by adeeba
AD
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This review was posted on Oct/29/24
Reviewed by poesiha
PE
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PG 243) We don't want peace at any price by Charles Twelvetrees - http://tinyurl.com/nzkkqw5
PG 243) Oedipus by Aart Prins - http://tinyurl.com/pgvu2cs
PG 243) Al Deppe's restaurant photograph, Circa 1950's - http://tinyurl.com/pznkq8o
PG 244) Will you go off with me on the 4th - (vintage greeting card) http://tinyurl.com/nrrhqxo
PG 245) Letting go by Esao Andrews - http://tinyurl.com/2b9t7aa
PG 245) Dragon match box cover
PG 245) Werewolf by Uwe Jarling - http://tinyurl.com/2mwjdl
PG 245) Polkran by Waldo Retamales - http://tinyurl.com/kc2jkym
PG 246) Unawang by Satoshi Sakamoto - http://tinyurl.com/l6sucbk
PG 246) Creatures of a luminescent sea by R. S. Connett - http://www.grotesque.com/
PG 247) Disease spell by Szalai László - http://tinyurl.com/lzkzuj2
PG 247) Gruss Vom Krampus (Vintage greeting card) - http://tinyurl.com/757bn
PG 247) My bad by Tim French - http://tinyurl.com/nft6lg2
PG 247) Careless love by Randy Mora - http://tinyurl.com/pmfbm89
PG 247) Flight of the churches by Brigid Marlin - http://tinyurl.com/nes37u7
PG 247) The iron morning in the metallic sunrise by Victor Safonkin - http://tinyurl.com/khtzwg8
PG 247) Flames of the apocalypse by Victor Safonkin - http://tinyurl.com/khtzwg8
PG 247) Discovery of Plutonium by Judson Huss - http://tinyurl.com/kn32xb5
PG 248) Eggness by Chenthooran Nambiarooran - http://tinyurl.com/o8te9df
PG 248) Jesus Christ our savior and the saver of all lost souls who beseech him - http://www.kingjamesbibleonline.org/
PG 248) Sin by Joe Scorsone and Alice Drueding - http://tinyurl.com/lavecy7
PG 248) Presa del Araf by Carolina Eade - http://tinyurl.com/q28985m
PG 248) Confess by Joe Scorsone and Alice Drueding - http://tinyurl.com/lavecy7
PG 248) Elemental Struggle by Craig Maher - http://craigmaher.net/
PG 248) The Crucifiction by Victor Safonkin - http://tinyurl.com/khtzwg8
PG 248) Calvary by Octavio Ocampo - http://tinyurl.com/m4gs4j
PG 248) Sacred Heart of Jesus with Saint Ignatius of Loyola and Saint Louis Gonzaga by José de Páez - http://tinyurl.com/nhan5v3
PG 248) Les petites trônes by Claude Verlinde - http://tinyurl.com/ot47wz2
PG 248) A return to functioning by Chris Mars - http://www.chrismarspublishing.com/
PG 248) Paysage de Stéarine by Claude Verlinde - http://tinyurl.com/ot47wz2
PG 249) Enroll in Federal adult schools
PG 249) Disconnected by Samy Charnine
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