Eyes of God

By Hani Alhemsi

A protagonist finds himself in a story that is not his. Engulfed in self-hatred, the philosophical narrator is found by who he believes is beyond humanity. His fascination by perfection takes him through a strife of questions about power, choice, and purpose.
He encounters reflections of thoughts and feelings through a road that leads him to a revalation about the truth which he had abandoned.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Hani Alhemsi
• Release date: Mar 7, 2011
• ISBN: 9780986893001

Hani Alhemsi

Man should strive for less self-absorption; individuals' identities must focus on becoming constituents of their collective rather than what they think their constitutions are in it. What is relevant here are the words and not the mind behind them.

Book preview

EYES OF GOD

HANI B. ALHEMSI

Eyes of God

Copyright © 2011 by Hani B. Alhemsi

All rights reserved.

Smashwords Edition

No parts of this book may be used, reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in any form of literature with appropriate citing. Your support for the author’s rights is kindly appreciated.

For contact information please visit:

http://hani.alhemsi.info/eyesofgod

ISBN: 978-0-9868930-0-1

Reminisce

A tragedy, just like every other tragedy. I, too, have a sad story. I was nineteen when he had come to me; like the saddest angel, fallen from the grace of god. Never had he smiled and never had he asked the question why. Every time I had stared at his face, I’d want to cry, to embrace him. I had never known why he was sad. But slowly, as I had walked behind him, as I had watched him, his pain drew clearer. For an entire year, I had walked with him in silence. Those eyes…

He came to me when I had lost hope. I was a student at college, studying engineering, away from my home city. Back when I would sit alone in my room and stare at that cracked white wall that stood before me. Oh, how I was back then. Though, I do not deny, I was right about it all. Everything I had explained, all my theories about how it all was, everything I had imagined about the world, all of it was right. I hated everything. And I wanted something no one can have. I was hopeless. I felt hopeless.

The destiny of a man is woven by his own hands. By searching for perfection within this world, my pain grew bigger. I had thought about my friends who appeared to disappear; my definition of perfect friendship. Slowly, one by one, they had died to me. I’d held on to one like the edge of a cliff. But, in the end, he too, had died. All the people I’d met afterwards seemed like empty shells; shallow entities who obeyed human desire. Everyone had died to me. I was in the end...alone.

I questioned every theory made by man. I questioned the laws of the universe. I questioned heaven and hell. Questions of purpose and identity. The questions which I had asked the eternal source of existence had opened my eyes. He, god, to whom I had directed all my questions, whom I had trusted, whom I had hope in, never looked at me with his eyes.

My faith was taken by the violent winds that blew that winter. And when I was at the highest point of desperation, pain, need, she called. She created a happiness in me which I had never thought possible. The hollow creatures around me were again filled with personalities; with life. I was able to see humanity again.

She caused a great story of turmoil and pain, yet a bliss in which I had existed. Being my best friend’s lover, his envy worked its worst as the plot intertwined. She was his and not mine. That was the pain which I somehow found beautiful. I was sick. He hated me. Constantly, I drew scars; engraved memories on skin. I loved it... She loved me. I left her. I chose him, because I knew something they both didn’t know, something neither could see. With that, everything disappeared again. They both died to me, again.

In a lifeless field of existence, in solitude, I was lost. Even god had abandoned me. I couldn’t bear it. My grades went down and my mirror seemed to reflect the most horrid emptiness, the ugliest being. I struggled as hard as anyone could ever struggle to live. I couldn’t bear the thought of life, but in death, I feared hell which I believed in more than a god that would not answer my mortal questions. So, I struggled. My mind twisted and turned; an endless distortion of anxiety. I tried to be the best in something, anything, to compensate my covetousness. In sports or literature, in science and academics, in art or music, in taste and critique, in my judgment or my philosophy, in knowledge or power, in everything I had failed. I had lost my soul again.

Even in my own eyes, I had faded into the crowd. I was an animate stroke of paint in the ever changing canvas of life; aware of the whole. The helplessness I felt was so strong, too painful at times I couldn’t stand. I was not in control. I was not the protagonist of my own story; it wasn’t even my own. There was no me. I had decided to cry inside. I had hated everything. I had hated the way people talked. I had hated the way they all walked. I had hated the choices they all made. I had hated the intra-perfection of god’s creations. I had hated why it all made sense. I had hated why it all gave just reasons for his divine cruelty. My knees had often failed to keep me standing. I’d fade every time I thought about anything. I was always transparent, evanescent as human flesh, and colorless as a human soul.

On a weekend, when all the figures I had known had left to do what they always do on weekends, I sat on the corner of the empty street near my apartment. Alone again. The clouds descended from above. A thick mist lingered ceaselessly daunting me in between the empty buildings. In the midst of the darkness, was a beautiful picture; how the smoke floated, drifting slowly. Clouds I could touch. I looked up at the small waning moon. The white glow gave beautiful shades to the dark sky. I loved it. I hated it. I was confused. I looked at my right hand. There were purple marks on my knuckles. I remembered myself punching the stone walls a year before; walls which I couldn’t break, walls which would break me. I felt so helpless, so powerless. I remembered my insignificance. I closed my eyes and rested my head between my folded arms, yearning for a tear to console my cold face.

I looked at the empty streets again. I wanted to scream, but I knew that my physical pain didn’t compare to those who could find no food, those who could not hear or see, those who have had no family, no love of any kind. I wandered off to the meaning of the words I thought about. Hate. Love. Pain. My eyes stared endlessly at the empty grey color all around me. A strain hurt me in my chest. I clutched where the pain struck with my right hand. I saw the scars on my wrist. I remembered friendship and greed. For them, I had burned myself, cut those burns, and burned them again.

I remembered that they’d all left me and I wanted to cry. But I never did. I never screamed.

That night, he came to me.

Gabriel

He was fairly tall. He had perfectly straight shoulders. He had dark, black, hair. He had showed no sign of age. He had white skin. He had two blue eyes; two thoughtful blue eyes that would scare demons and create currents of fear within all souls. Every time I would stare at them I would want to cry. An angelic creation. But, there was no innocence, there was no mercy in them; in his eyes. There was only sorrow and pity.

Like a ghost he came to me. As if the mist knew he was walking, it drifted away, just enough for him to walk through. At that instant, I thought he was a god. Divinity in human form. Perfection in the most perfect form of its most imperfect perfection; a god as his own creation. I wanted to stand but he wasn’t god. That thought was only that; only a thought. The phenomenon before me continued pleading with me to stare, respect, and try to understand it. I tried to describe it. I tried to describe that path the fog had cleared on which he tread. His divine walk, his even steps, his confident shoulders, his poised head, they would make me wonder. Only seeing his figure, the dark figure that came closer to me, which had a strange incandescent yet black color, and I felt a presence that scared me. I envied him.

He came closer. Like curtains, the mist behind him fell and closed. I wanted to stand but I was still weak. I marveled at that invisible charisma that floated around him; wisps of magic. I looked away.

His footsteps stopped as he stood before me. I was scared. I turned my head and looked up at his face. I wanted to stand. I couldn’t. The angel’s voice spoke to me. His first words to me Come with me, Envy…

I was surprised and confused. Envy? I asked.

He looked at me. I knew why, somehow. Attracted to this power, I stood and followed him as he walked away. Later, I noticed a man walking beside me. As our eyes met, the man spoke I am Fear. Nice to meet you. As we walked the man raised his hand to shake mine. This man didn’t interest me; not tall, short blonde hair, human eyes, dull eyes…

I raised my hand and as I tried to say my name, I realized that I forgot all the names I had ever known. I stuttered.

Envy, the man said to me, telling me my name was Envy.

I could not think about anything except how I’d suddenly forgotten my name. I looked up ahead and he walked in front of us. His black coat wavered gracefully as a sweet cold gale blew.

I would take one look at him and fall into endless thoughts. I would be mesmerized and I always wondered why. A divine creation, an angel of undeniable art. A beautiful poetic mixture of sadness and evil, of pity and hate.

When I couldn’t think anymore, when my comprehension reached its limit, I realized that I had walked so far away. I lost track of time. For a moment, I forgot everything that burdened me. Only for a moment, I forgot everything I ever knew. He puzzled me. The image I’d wanted for myself. He was everything I wanted to be as a human. I wanted to leave that impression on who was around me. I remembered that I wanted to have such undefiable gravitational power. I wanted that hidden strength.

There weren’t enough words to describe the feelings that I’d felt or the things I saw. But that day, everything had changed. I asked for his name Who is he?

I don’t know… Fear, that dull character, replied.

Gabriel… I suddenly said.

What? Fear asked.

The angel stopped. For a moment, he stopped. He looked back at me. Fire. I felt fire in my chest. I clutched the pain. I saw the scars on my wrist. I remembered my name. Then, I said His name… It’s Gabriel. And I am...Daniel.

He started walking again and we followed. And for a second, my life, my future, flashed before my eyes, inside my mind. I was filled with so many emotions. I saw so much. I believed everything because I knew that it was all real. I had no future. It was as if I had died; what that kind of knowledge does to you. I decided to throw it all away, to throw that emptiness, and follow Gabriel.

Anguish

For a year we moved from city to city, from country to country, from continent to continent. I had seen so many skies, so many different moons. The technicality of how it all happened, of how we moved from place to place, was beyond me, beyond human logic. It was as if from that day I had stepped into a gate of an alternate world within our world. We were free to traverse anywhere yet still were bound to time and reason. I saw so many faces. I watched the beginnings of many stories and many endings of a lot of stories. I saw situations of suffering that bled for mercy. I have understood the meaning of irony and humiliation while I had just passed the second decade of life in this miserable world. And still, I could not fathom his sadness.

He would walk beside a funeral in a cemetery and hold his hand out to something towards the casket. He would appear to be crying, but he would only continue walking on. Sometimes, as he would pass by a child or an old man, he would stop for a long time staring at them. Sometimes, he would follow them for days. Something troubled him. He saw so many things which I couldn’t see.

For a year, I observed him. I felt an aura of pain flowing out of him. I wanted to see what burdened him; to see what he saw. I wanted to live through what he had lived. I wanted to see through his eyes. My desire grew with me. For every turn earth made, my desire grew. For every dawn or sunset I witnessed, I felt that need grow. What could trouble an angel?

I followed him without asking a single question. I haven’t heard a single word from him since I had first met him. In silence we would walk and watch. Like wraiths of human sorrow we would observe human anxiety and human pain; injustice, war, slavery, famine, disease, lies for nothing but human greed. But during all that time I wanted to ask that question. I wanted an answer. His sadness saddened me. I just wanted to know why.

I wanted to talk to this Fear character, but he didn’t interest me. He would walk beside Gabriel, always to his left. He moved when Gabriel moved. He stopped when Gabriel stopped. He often spoke to me. It would appear as if he was trying to console me. He would also ask me questions about my past. He would always remark on my age. Apparently, he thought I was too young for something, too young to have seen Gabriel. I never gave in to him. I didn’t answer all his questions. Sometimes, at night, or when I was busy thinking about some of the things I had seen that day, I would just ignore him.

Slowly, he started to open up to me. He slowly agreed to calling him Gabriel, just as I did. Occasionally, he would tell me incidents that happened to him with Gabriel. I would listen. He would make me more curious to know more about him. And gradually, he began walking by my side as Gabriel walked before us. When I would ask him for his name he would always say My name is Fear. Although it never made sense, I actually began calling him by that name.

On a dark day, when it rained, Fear told me about someone he met long ago with Gabriel. You know, Daniel? There are things in this life that are too tragic.

I nodded.

He continued This rain reminds me of a night three years ago. It was raining just as hard, it was very, very sad.

I began imagining. Dark clouds shrouding the atmosphere. Rain pouring as if it were the end of the world; as if it were crying out to us. His tone was serious; dreadful music as the words he said created pictures in my mind.

I walked with Gabriel, pretty much like what we’re doing now. We never talked… That night, we saw a girl lying in the middle of the street. She appeared to be unconscious… She was unconscious.

A lifeless corpse in the midst of a horrifying shower. I imagined the scene. Her long hair fallen on the wet puddles of water continuously disturbed by the heavy rain.

Gabriel approached her and I followed him. I could swear to you, Daniel… I saw a tear roll down his face.

It struck me. The picture turned black. Gabriel knelt in the darkness with a dead girl resting in his arms. I was moved by the clear tear that rolled down from his left eye. It hurt me to see such sadness. What was her story? I asked patiently, waiting for him to continue.

You don’t understand, he said. Daniel, I could see the tear and we were under the rain. I, somehow, felt it.

What was her story? I persisted.

He closed his eyes and sighed. Then he relaxed back and sighed again. He tried to speak, he stuttered. I could see the tears coming to his eyes. For the first time in my life I felt this…helplessness, the weakness…

I felt his pain. I knew how it felt. I’ve always known. So I looked down. I closed my eyes and lay down. He reminded me of many things I had somehow forgotten. But the picture of Gabriel within the dark silence and the tear on his face, made me wonder off.

I might have had a dream that night, but I don’t dream. I wasn’t sure since I remembered nothing.

That morning I walked closer to Gabriel, gathered my courage to speak, and as I shook in fear, I said That night, three years ago, under that heavy rain, with that unconscious girl, you cried. What was her story?

My heart was pounding. My hands were shaking. But I had to ask. I needed to know. It was the only thought in my mind for an entire night. What was his anguish? Why was he sad? I wanted to know. He stopped walking. He looked at me and said You don’t need to know…

But I did. I needed to know. I asked again Why did she make you cry?

He continued walking without a reply.

I didn’t follow him as a frustrating anger built up inside. Questions. Helplessness. The tears of god. I would always be angry when I couldn’t understand. Why did she make you cry? I shouted.

A crowd gathered around us from both sides of the small street beside those little markets. And he, Gabriel, still walked away.

Gabriel! I screamed.

He stopped. I felt his reluctance. He wanted to tell me. He wanted to scream it all. He wanted to burst. He didn’t. He said I am not an angel. I am not god.

The people walked away. A few minutes passed and I felt like I was alone again. Gabriel was gone. Fear was gone. I was lost but I didn’t care. I was confused and that was what hurt me. I walked on my own for about an hour until I found a quiet place where I saw the horizon of the cloudy sky clearly. I sank in my thoughts again, marveling at the size of the sky; the magnificence of what stretched all over us, suspended above us. I watched the clouds as they raced. I watched the world as its sky became orange. The weather was mildly cool. The things I loved in this world were always more intense than what saddened me. But the sadness was much more and at times, unbearable. And unlike love, the sadness never seemed to end.

Before the sun went down, he came to me, again. He stretched his hand to me. Gabriel. Come, he said to me.

He never told me what anguished him. I never heard her story, but I thought. With each passing day, I created a new page for her story. My creation consumed me. I walked with Gabriel and Fear, but I always thought about that girl. I created her life as I would see it.

Angela

I named her Angela. She had beautiful black hair wrought of silk. Her skin would glow white under the darkest sky. She had exquisite hazel-brown iridescent eyes. Her mother had died right after her birth. She never felt her mother’s hands, her mother’s love. She had her father. They loved each other. The man had seen her mother in her. He had loved his wife. Her death had shattered his heart but he saw her within his child. His love for his wife stayed with his young daughter’s existence; wrapped inside the child’s soul, beneath her soft skin. He kept her close to him. He protected her as much as he had loved her. Every night, he would sing her beautiful songs. The songs were sweet, happy, yet they reeked with a tone of sorrow. To him, the days soon turned into blithe agony. His daughter’s first smile, her first words, her first steps, every moment worth happiness, worth a great memory, turned into a painful curse. He had to hide his pain, to hide in a facade of happiness. The happy memories would grave in his heart a sadness as he would realize his beautiful wife did not live through it with them.

Four years had passed. Angela grew with the love of her father, with his songs of mysterious tranquility. He was all she had. He was her joy and sadness. He was her angel. Her innocence grew undisturbed, untouched. She never felt the need for a mother. He was everything to her. With all her heart she loved him. He would hold her in his arms and tell stories of bravery and beauty. To her he was perfect. To him she was his essence, his reason for life. He would stare at her eyes and get lost. She would smile and jump on him bringing him back to her. He loved her young smile. He loved her round cheeks which curved with each giggle. He would tickle her and she would laugh. He would always smile when he feels his pain ache within him; his own sad story. She would know he was thinking about something. She loved that about him; his thoughtful smile.

His pain never ceased to grow. His heart hurt him; stabs in his chest that would paralyze his entire body; something we had in common. He would slowly lie on his bed as the pain would strike. She would watch him. She would cry for him when she would lie on her bed wishing he would tuck her in, wishing that he would sing for her by her bed. Just before his heart could bear no more pain and as his daughter sat by him on his bed, with tearful eyes, he whispered to himself I was blind. I am sorry, Angela. I should have loved you. I should have loved you. And he repeated it again I should have loved my sweet little Angela.

She innocently bid him Daddy, please get better.

He smiled and continued whispering to himself Look at her crying for you… I am sorry my little angel.

Later that day, he died. There was no one with her. His eyes were both in tears and they were both open, lifeless. His silence scared her. She didn’t understand why her father had stopped moving. Daddy, sing to me… she asked him.

He wouldn’t reply. Gradually, he got colder. She shook him and pled Daddy, talk to me…

His eyelids didn’t flutter. She knew something was wrong. She wrapped herself between his dead arms and covered her and his cold bodies.

The cold, bleak, sad memory remained with her, within her. I drew this tragedy. I was sick. Evil. As I thought about her, I loved her. I longed to hold her in my arms and try to make her sadness go away. But I gave her the sadness. And I loved her as I did. Oh, how sweet, it would be to hold her in my arms… I stopped. This tragedy was far too great and I made her suffer no more. Oh, how beautiful, her smile.

Prophecy

When I had decided to end my creation, my own vision of the girl,