Not a Pilot Episode. More Like A Pre-Pilot Episode.

The following was written by myself at 2 am.

Observe, if you will, the strange yearnings and subtle messages a zombified Aiman has (and how they seem to have appeared in convenient, bite-size form).

Also thinking of making these characters the main ones in a running series I'm thinking of starting up.

So, enjoy (fingers crossed).

Part 1

The pressure in my stomach grows, and it’s as if all my internal organs are going on strike. I can taste metal in my mouth, and my tongue seems to grow an inch longer. I try to hold it in for as long as I can, but the shocks that travel up by legs every time my feet pound the cement of the chalet walkway don’t help. Soon, able to bear it no longer, I slow to a halt and lean over the side of the path, holding on to an upright beam for support.

I vomit violently on the dark grass, but I am thinking that it sounds worse than it is. The metal beam feels cool, smooth and sticky under my hand. My jeans feel rough under the other.

I finish and wipe my lips on my sweater sleeve. I check my wristwatch. 3.07 am. I shouldn’t be out here at this hour. But whatever. I want to. I need to. At least I’m making better progress than I did yesterday. I kneel down and retie my jogging shoes and start off again at a fine pace.

Part 2

“Baby, what time is it?” she asks, looking up. I check my wristwatch.

“3-oh-seven. Go back to sleep.”

“Oh. Okay. Wake me up at four.”

“I know.”

She settles back down with me, her arm across my chest protectively. The bare skin of her arm is under my fingertips, and electricity sparks every time they touch. I feel her smiling against my side, and I smile too, but she falls asleep very quickly.

I lay there, silently. Her hair smells so cleanly unique. I’ve tried asking her what shampoo she uses, but she will not tell me. Just as well. I wouldn’t like to associate this scent with anything except her.

I pull the throwover tighter around us. It is cold tonight, and the sharper stones on the slope that we are lying down on have poked through the mat under us and are digging into my back. But I don’t mind. I look at her, and brush a stray lock of hair away from her face and tuck it behind her ear. I don’t mind at all. It’s such a nice night tonight, anyway.

Part 3

Without fail. Without fail, I will wake at 3 a.m. every morning. It has been like this for so very long. I cannot explain it. It is not a conscious thing. It just happens. And tonight, right now, it is no different. I get up silently and dress.

Previously, I would just stay in bed and wait until sleep reclaimed me. That would usually take at least an hour and a quarter. But since then, I have found a much better use of my time and energy. I find my kopiah, put it on, and leave the chalet, taking care not to wake the others.

It is humid tonight, but cold too. I shiver slightly and wish I were wearing something thicker. It is a beautiful night, though. God’s Universe reveals its true self only at the break of dawn and at 3 in the morning. I rub my arms, preparing myself mentally for the cold water that I know will soon come. But I don’t mind. It is good for the heart.

There is no one in the surau when I arrive. I slip my footwear off at the stairs, and enter. I perform the necessary ablution and step into the main hall of the surau.

It is dark. I find the light switch. It is no longer dark. The sight of the surau always warms me, and I smile gently to myself. The wall clock reads 3.07 am. I pray, silently, fastidiously. I never feel closer to Him than in these moments.

Comments would be greatly appreciated. Except you, Kesh. You only get to comment if you promise not to swear at me. Haha.