Musings, ruminations, thoughts and discussions on life & living, music, religion, politics, love, philosophy, and all other eccentricities of this sort.

Saturday, 18 September 2010

“…is a kiss from a sleeping child.”

Corafus wrote:
“I hate to let my extremist side show, but I want them to get more than caught. I want to brutally torture and kill them in a public display. And not just them, all who are biologically related to them. The theft gene needs to be exterminated.”

This. This. Exactly this. Well, perhaps not the extreme prejudice part, but definitely the brutal torture. My mother came to me as I lay listening to Happy Hardcore. I don’t why I lay listening to that trash, but I found a CD of it in my Dad’s car after my brother–in–law borrowed it. I liked one of the tracks on it. Well, the start.

Aaaaaaaaaaaanyhoo, my mother came into the room. I asked: “Wassup?”, to which she replied: “Nothing.” Then sat down next to me and burst into tears. Yes, folks, not all muslims burst in explosions of flames, burnt meat and bits of grenade.

The cops had, apparently, told her today that they were closing the case as they couldn’t take it any further. They couldn’t do jack with the fingerprint they found.

It broke my mother’s heart.

She was literally wracked with sobs. I’ve encountered that phrase before but only understood it now. It was awful. I didn’t know what to do or say, so I hugged her tight and kept kissing her tear–streaked face. Between sobs she cried out about what had happened, and asked how allah could do this. What lesson could it possibly have intended? “They’ve taken everything!” she cried, referring to all the memories associated with the huge amounts of money the jewellery was worth. The last remaining memorabilia of her long deceased parents, expensive things my father gave her on their wedding, sets she wanted to give my sister when she gets married. Every fucking thing.

I didn’t know what to say. I couldn’t exactly tell her allah did nothing because allah doesn’t exist, could I? So I said nothing and carried on hugging her. Eventually I spoke about how lucky it was that we hadn’t walked in on them robbing the place — we would have had my sister not suggested going to my other sister’s house after our trip back from the restaurant — we would have gotten beaten down by the robbers as they tried to make their escape. Perhaps they would have killed my parents by bashing them over the head with the safety deposit box whilst trying to open up an escape route.

So eventually my mother concluded allah may have wanted to ‘save’ us, ‘save’ our lives. Pretty sadistic way to do it, though I never voiced that thought.

She’s ok for the moment, but it’s almost like she’s grieving as though experiencing a bereavement. Ultra–harsh.

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