[781] Rehman

Critique [3392] : https://www.reddit.com/r/DestructiveReaders/comments/r6a30f/comment/hmvl74q/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3

Story:

The spoon in Rehman's hand remained in its position, inside the bowl of soup, as he glanced at his wife. 

"Need anything else?" she asked. 

He shook his head and resumed chewing on a piece of meat, taking more time with it. Not conscious of what moved down his throat. Two hours later, he left his home and reached the town hall. Feeling around his side, confirming that his gun was still there. A guard at the entrance stopped him, armed with a musket. Rehman removed his scarf. Scarcely; just enough for him to see his eyes, nose, cheeks, lips, but not the full length of his beard. The overbearingly tall, wooden, dual planks caved inside and he was allowed to enter. 

There were twenty men, of the Fuadi faction, prepared, waiting for others to arrive. Rehman showed his weapon to the commanding officer, and by the way of an order, took his position. 

The roof of the town hall was incredibly high. Planks of wood meant to provide support were arranged in a manner so that there was some space between them and the underside of the roof. Rehman and most of the other men gathered that morning were supposed to sit on those planks, with their firearms, and wait. And they did, for an hour. Until the very last of the Hussaini faction had finished eating and were about to leave. 

They came in, dressed in extravagant robes, followed by guards. In an easy tone, Hussain bin Qasim greeted Fuad bin Abd-al-Aziz. Both, side to side, disappeared from Rehman's view into another room. The remaining Hussainis scattered around the central hall. Forming groups around a topic. Both the factions mingled with each other, although with a degree of mistrust. The largest group was centered around Fuad's eldest son, Ali. Apparently, he was good at attracting ears. But Rehman couldn't hear him. 

Soon, the hall was abandoned. The intermingling groups moved into another room, for breakfast. Rehman raised his head. His fellows were just as nervous as him. They were in the dark about the specifics of the plan, and now that their targets were out of their reach, they didn't know what would follow. One of them would now have to take the initiative, and some were about to, but Rehman showed them his open palm. The rope to his left side stayed motionless. A quarter of its length was wrapped around the plank they were sitting on. 

Some twenty minutes later, the group once again began to pour in, but now half in amount, and mostly the Hussainis. Every moment following their reappearance, culminating in the eventual and inevitable attack, was stretched. Unbearable, suffocating, bounding. Rehman thought he wouldn't ever see the end of that string. But the attack did happen. And at such a pace, that he had little opportunity to see how he pointed his gun at the crowd, and fired. After a collective and fierce roar had sounded throughout.

Smoke filled the building. The attack continued for some more time, before the entrance was opened and sunlight allowed to spread. Proclaiming the victory of the Fuadis. Rehman dropped the rope and descended. The rest did the same. 

Fuad bin Abd-al-Aziz, with the head of Hussain bin Qasim, reemerged among his followers. He left the town hall and most of his men followed him, cheering along the way. Saying the name of Allah and thanking Him for His help. 

A few stayed behind, to clean. Rehman was among them. One by one, they dragged the corpses outside, where they huddled them together. They were to be thrown into a river. In the middle of reaching out to grab the arm of a corpse, Rehman halted. He was alive. There was a dagger in his hand. He thrusted it in Rehman's direction, but with little power. It dropped from his hand. His face was covered in blood, flowing down from his forehead. He said, "Allah will... punish you..."

"Say the kalima."

"He will..."  Breath was ripped out from his lungs, before he could say the kalima, and he died. 

Rehman's face went pale. His eyes took a different shape, no different than the ones of the Hussaini. Neither of them possessed even the slightest hint of life. The full gravity of his actions sunk in, all at once. The shock was so monumental that he couldn't think afterwards. He looked at his hands, they were covered with cloth. He took off the cloth, and saw his clear skin. Its cleanliness was disgusting. He ripped off the cloak from the corpse's chest and moved his hand over the bullet wound, spreading the blood from it over his palms.