Theo, also known as The Incredible Hulk, hikes alongside his two bodybuilder pals, Todd and Kurt, also known as Dumb and Dumber. If it weren’t for a few lonely trees and bushes here and there, the stupid, never-ending trails around Eden Adventure Park would have resembled the barren landscape of the Moon or Mars. What kind of idiots would pick this oven-hot outdoors weather over air-conditioned indoors of their gyms?
It is all Kurt’s fault that they are on this stupid trail in the first place. This Einstein thinks with his dick. The two hot chicks whom he was chatting up at the roller coaster line turned out to be heading here, babbling they’ve come mainly to trek the valley, enjoy the breathtaking views of the mountains, and also challenge their hiking skills. Sure enough, the horny hippo that he is, Kurt puffed that he is an outdoor person too and hiking is the sole purpose he has come here. And Todd, who doesn’t have enough blood for both ends of his body, suggested that the girls must hike with the three of them for protection; just in case a poisonous rattlesnake blocked the trail.
It was fun at the beginning when the trail was flat and covered by smooth dirt. The three beefcakes quickly used the hot weather as an excuse to take their shirts off and show off their muscular body. It seemed it was working on the girls, especially on the ginger one. Theo was even concerned with the math of how they could divide the two chicks between the three of them. He was contemplating the possibility of an orgy, when the trail became steeper and rockier, making it harder and harder to catch up with the two weightless gazelles. Apparently, gravity doesn’t apply to hot chicks. The two girls eventually got fed up with the leisurely pace of the mixed group, made up a bullshit excuse, and took off on the three panting boys.
And now, Theo is stuck in the middle of a wasteland with two other sweaty boners and zero chicks. Not the kind of math that Theo is into. Thanks a lot, Kurt! All three of them are exhausted and barely can haul their hefty frames up the steep incline.
“I give up,” Todd cries and bends down, his palms resting on his knees.
“Come on, man,” Kurt says between his heavy breathing. “We’re almost there.”
“You said that half an hour ago. This is fucking impossible.”
“Fuck,” Theo says, looking at his phone. “I get no bars in this shithole.”
“No service here,” a brown Indian in a sleeveless t-shirt says while running past the three out-of-breath beefcakes. Holding two ten-pound dumbbells, the bearded, bald man sprints up the hill as if in his universe the steep trail is downhill instead.
“What the hell!” Kurt exclaims.
Theo seconds that. “How could anyone run uphill like that?”
“Did you see the weights?” Todd asks.
“Indeed, I did. What a monster!”
Omar heard the insult and took it as a complement. The more people fear the fist of God, the better. Pumped with the fulfilling sense of pride, he carries on with his daily routine of running the Kamikaze trail during his lunch breaks. Kamikaze is a well-deserving name since the trail, a ten-mile loop of exposed, uneven terrain, challenges most people. Most people turn back after hiking the first mile, some attempt it early in the morning when the sun is not up yet, and a few might be brave enough to walk the whole trail later in the day. But Omar is the only one who is tough enough to run the whole trail in the afternoon when the sun is up, shining at its full capacity. Both being forces of God, the Sun and Omar share a bond of alliance written in heaven, and neither would ever harm the other.
What’s up with the sun today? It’s hostile, concentrating all its scorching rays on Omar’s shaved head. Passing through the skin and then the skull, they reach deep down and heat up the core of his brain, melting it into a lava of pain. The headache erupts and spreads all over his head, grilling his eyeballs little by little. He could feel sweat squeezed out of every pore on his shaved scalp. This is the first time Omar misses his long, greasy hair, to perhaps shield his head a bit from the raging sun. The tough look was not worth the pain that he goes through now.
Although the trail has become flat and much easier to walk, Omar is no longer running. The cramp forming in his left calf renders even walking a daunting task, let alone running. Taking heavy breaths, he slowly trudges the flat trail, moaning after each step. With the last bits of strength being drained out of his fingers, they gradually open up. The ten-pound dumbbells weigh like a hundred now—each.
The dumbbells fall on the ground, one after the other. Following them, Omar himself falls to his knees. Clutching his stomach, he holds his belly tightly as hard as he can. It works a bit, relieving the pain of the boiling acid that eats his stomach from the inside. “Oh, God,” he sighs and leans back. “What a day,” he says with a muffled chuckle to keep his spirit up.
Omar takes a deep breath. And another. And another. He feels better already. That was it then. He just needed a small break. He is not the type to wail over a simple overheating. Omar is a soldier of God. More than that actually. Yesterday, after executing Project X he promoted himself to warrior. Omar is the warrior of God and it’d take an army to take him down. In a few seconds, he will go back to being the tough, badass Omar that everybody fears.
He is wiping his forehead, which is soaked with sweat, when his vision gets blurry. Oh, God. What now? Omar blinks a couple of times and then tries to open his eyes wide. It helps. He can see clearly now. It was just a false alarm. Phew. It’s all over now. He is good to go and finish the trail like an Ironman that he is. But he will probably skip the boxing gym this evening, just to be on the safe side.
He picks up the dumbbells and continues his jog back to the trailhead. He has barely finished the fourth step when his stomach lurches.
Omar throws up.
Dropping the dumbbells, he falls to his knees again; this time into his vomit. Some of the puke sticks to his long beard too. What’s happening?
He takes a deep breath through his nose. Good. And another. Better now. Before taking the next one, he throws up again, this time the entire contents of his stomach. His long beard, which is a testimony to his devoutness, is all mixed with vomit, but being in tremendous pain, he cannot care less. Neither about the dirt stuck to his beard nor the beard itself.
He can recognize in the puke the pieces of meatball sandwich he had for lunch. Taking labored breaths, he stares at his vomit, not believing this repulsive content was part of him a few seconds ago. As if throwing up was not enough to make him feel disgusted with himself, he gets stricken by a sudden urge of diarrhea. This is the first time that Omar becomes truly aware that his perfectly shaped body is also a carrier of shit. What does his beautiful soul carry then? What did I do to deserve this? he ponders. This is Omar, the fist of God. The avenger. The enforcer of righteousness on earth. Among all the people, he is the last person who deserves to go through this torment.
Omar faces the reality that the ship for a good workout day has sailed. Today is about survival. He would have called for help if he could get any signal in this dead zone. If he wants to get back to the trailhead alive he cannot go on like this. He’d better leave the weights on the trail, gather up the remaining pieces of his life, and drag his body to the end before it becomes a corpse. Mustering his strength, Omar stands up. With slow, fragile steps, he resumes the trail with the new goal of finishing it alive. He has three to four miles to go, tops.
While trudging the trail, his left toes contract from the cramp. He takes off his shoes to take a look. His toes are tightly clenched as if trapped in an agonizing grip. Walking with such a foot would be torturous if not impossible. He wonders how much more is left of the trail. He looks back to see how far he has gone since he got into survival mode and dropped the dumbbells. Sigh! The pile of vomit is just a few yards back with flies having a party around it.
The pain of the leg cramp is getting worse and worse. Omar, the warrior of God, is in desperate need of help. If only he could reach Frank, the ambassador of God. Frank is always behind Omar, no matter what. Omar checks his phone, although he knows already he’d get no signal here. And he doesn’t. Sigh! Now, his last hope is only God. Now would be a good time for Him to show a bit of His compassion to His faithful servant. Omar looks up to face God, the gracious and the compassionate.
The merciless sun shoots its burning rays right into his eyes.
Omar shuts his eyes to the sun, the sky, and the whole world, and lies back on the trail. The moment his head rests on the gravel, he passes out from the excruciating pain.
“All aboard the choo-choo train,” sings a voice coming from the skies. “All aboard the choo-choo train. Choo-choo! Chugga-chugga choo-choo. Chugga-chugga choo-choo.”
Omar’s lips sync the heavenly song, and just before the train gains speed, he leaps onto the last car of the moving train that will take him directly to paradise. The hard life is over. Now, it’s time to receive his well-deserved reward. Now is Omar’s turn for love.
Omar enters the first car. It’s filled with 72 virgins. None of them looks like Houri, though. Although Omar has never met Houri, he knows well how it would feel when he is eye to eye with her. Excited to find his Houri, he searches the train, from one car to another, his eyes darting between the female passengers on each side.
In the middle of the 7th car, stands a woman in the corridor, walking away toward the 8th car. Her head is covered with a Hijab. That must be Omar’s Houri. Feeling the joy of the world in his heart, Omar stretches out his hand and walks faster to reach her.
Houri walks faster too.
Omar runs.
Houri runs away.
“Houri,” Omar calls her by her name.
She stops but doesn’t look back.
The door to the 8th car opens. Frank, the ambassador of God enters, blocking Houri’s way. He is the one who taught Omar about the 72 virgins in heaven and trained him to become the warrior of God.
Omar smiles. “Frank, look, look. That’s Houri.”
Peering at Houri, Frank smiles too, and strokes his beard, which is one fist longer than Omar’s. “Wa-ha-how. Indeed she is,” he says and pulls her into his arms. What the hell?!
“No, no,” Omar shouts. “I mean, that’s my Houri.”
“Is it? Cool!” he shrugs, sticks his tongue out, and licks Omar’s Houri.
“No-o-o-o-o-o-o-o,” Omar screams and wakes up. The scorching sun is still up there, ruling the sky.
“Chugga Chugga Choo Choo. Chugga Chugga Choo Choo,” sings the voice of a happy boy.
Fighting to keep his tired eyes open, Omar lifts his head up.
A six-ish-year-old Caucasian boy is hopping forward, his long, blond hair dancing up and down. His mother trails behind, unable to catch up with her tireless kid by ten or twenty yards. She wears a Hijab.
Omar smiles. He knew that God, the compassionate, would not abandon His favorite warrior. He has sent a righteous person of faith to save another from this unjust torment. That makes sense. That makes perfect sense. This is how God wants this chapter of Omar’s story to end, and this is the way that sounds right in Omar’s view of the world.
The kid stops next to Omar. Pointing to Omar, he turns back and asks, “Mom, why is he sleeping here?”
As his mother approaches, she turns her gaze onto the vomit and the flies around it. She recoils in disgust.
Raising his shaking hand toward the kid, Omar musters all that is left of his strength and whimpers, “Help.”
The cry for help is barely out when the mother arrives, grabs the kid’s hand, and pulls him away. “Don’t get close, Hans. It could be contagious.” Without saying another word, she takes her kid away. That is something that probably every mother would do.
Although the kid’s curious gaze stays with Omar for a while, he eventually takes his eyes off Omar and hops ahead of his mother, singing, “Chugga Chugga Choo Choo.”
Omar’s hopeless hand drops. A solitary tear escapes his eye as he shuts his eyelids and rests his head back on the ground. I would not be tolerating this damn pain if I were dead, he considers the thought.
The cramp gets much worse, intensifying the tremendous pain that Omar is already in. The contraction slowly fractures his bones, little by little. In all his life, Omar has never found himself so miserable. So helpless. In need of another human being, their mercy, and their compassion.
He opens his eyes to the cloud that has dared to defy the raging sun, blocking its blazing rays from reaching Omar. It feels good, like the sweet release of death. He is not sure if he is dying or if he’s already dead. It must be the former as otherwise like a weightless saint his body would soar to the skies above, where it belongs.
More than ever, he feels the force of gravity pulling on each and every cell of his body. He feels the gravel shifting under him, making his body sink into the ground inch by inch. Earth makes a claim on Omar’s corpse, and apparently, nobody from the sky cares to challenge it. That doesn’t sound right! In a few seconds, Earth will swallow Omar, the favorite warrior of God, into nothing. God, where are you? Omar calls from the bottom of his heart.
Omar is at the bottom of his grave when an angel appears above him, wearing a blue tank top and light green hiking shorts.
Omar recognizes the ensemble. And he recognizes the woman too. She is the pretty girl he insulted a few days ago on his way out of the adventure park. She must hate Omar with all her guts, and he wouldn’t blame her.
Why God? Why? Among all the people on Earth, why should God send one of His enemies? Someone unrighteous who commits mischief on Earth and blatantly advertises that with the revealing way she dresses.
His calf contracts further, bending his shin on the verge of cracking.
As much as he hates the ironic situation, right now, Omar’s life is put in the hands of the weaker sex. Anguished to find relief from the agonizing pain, Omar would gladly ask for help from anyone, even from someone like her. But asking would not be enough, given how Omar has treated her in the past. Omar, the proud warrior of God, would have to beg for forgiveness first. From one of His enemies! Why God? Why? Why did you put me in this humiliating situation?
“Do you need help, sir?” she asks as if she doesn’t remember Omar. Phew. That’s a relief.
“Sharon,” a male voice calls her from afar.
In his entire life of seeking attention, this is the first time Omar is glad for being forgotten. Otherwise, there would be no way on earth that Sharon would return Omar’s insult with kindness. Wincing in agonizing pain, Omar can barely respond to her question. In desperate need of help, he moans and gestures to his contracted foot.
Sharon’s man arrives and joins her to stand above Omar. The moment his gaze falls on Omar, his face twists into a grimace of disgust. Hatred waves in the menacing glare that he shoots at Omar as if he’s thinking of kicking Omar in the balls. “We should be going, hon,” he complains, his teeth clenched. No doubt he remembers Omar. So must his woman. Then, why is Sharon being kind, acting as if Omar hasn’t done her wrong?
“Oh, my God,” Sharon says, looking at Omar’s contracted toes. “This must be very painful. This is…this is because…ah… Oh, I know. You’re probably dehydrated. Yeah, I’ve read about this before.”
Sharon swiftly removes her backpack and takes out the only water bottle she has in there. “You should take some water. It will be—”
“Honey, we should be going if we—”
“Shut up, Karl!” she yells over her shoulder and then turns back to Omar. “I’m going to add mineral pills to it. That will help with the cramp. Alright?”
Having no option but to trust Sharon, Omar shows consent with a blink.
She immediately searches through her backpack. She doesn’t seem to be able to find the mineral pills. Getting hysterical, she turns the backpack upside down and empties the contents on the ground. After a few seconds of searching, she sighs. “Karl, give me your mineral pills.”
“Ah… Yeah, I’m not sure if I have anything left.”
“Karl!” Sharon shouts, knitting her eyebrows.
“You always do this. Fine. Fine. But, remember that I warned you. Look who’s a pushover now.” Karl reluctantly brings over his pack of mineral pills while nagging her. Wrinkling his nose, he takes a disgusted glance at Omar while handing over the pink tube container to Sharon.
Sharon snatches the container without looking at Karl. She adds one tablet to the water bottle, closes the lid, and shakes it thoroughly. After a few seconds, she says, “I think it’s good now,” opens the lid, and brings the bottle near Omar’s dried lips.
In spite of his best efforts, Omar can barely raise his head.
As if she hasn’t been kind enough, Sharon sits by Omar’s side, lifts his head, and holds it in her arms like a merciful mother Omar never had.
“Unbelievable,” Karl says before he looks away. “And I’m the one who’s not hard enough!”
While drinking, Omar stares at the heart-shaped necklace that hangs from Sharon’s neck. The word ‘Love’ is carved on it. Starting with small gulps, he eventually chugs half the bottle. Turning his mouth away, he rests his head back into Sharon’s arms. As he feels life flowing back into his corpse, Omar breathes a sigh of relief.
Although he shuts his eyes, he sees nothing but Sharon’s necklace that says ‘Love.’ His whole heart tells him that the compassion that Sharon shows is nothing but ultimate righteousness. And he ponders, trying very hard to figure out why unrighteous Sharon does what righteous Omar would never do. Perhaps Sharon is righteous too. But, how can it be? If Sharon is righteous, then what is Omar?
“How do you feel?” Sharon asks while still holding Omar’s head in her arms.
“Better,” Omar replies, opening his eyes. “Much better.”
“We can stay more if you need.”
“Jesus,” Karl nags, sounding distant.
“I’m good,” Omar says. “You can go now. I’ll be OK.”
“Are you sure? We can carry—”
“For the love of God, he says he’s OK,” Karl shouts. “We carry. We carry,” he says mockingly. “Who’s we? I’m not carrying anybody.”
“It’s OK,” Omar says and tries to wiggle his toes. “My cramp is going away already.”
“See,” Karl nags. “His cramp is going away already. Can we go now, please?”
“I’ll be OK,” Omar reassures Sharon.
“OK, then.” Sharon retracts her arm and gently puts Omar’s head on the ground. “I’m leaving the bottle here,” Sharon says and packs her bag. She then gets up and goes to join Karl, who stands ready like a speeding car waiting for the signal to take off. After a moment, she comes back to Omar and puts the pink tube of mineral pills next to the water bottle. “Just in case,” she says and leaves.
After all the selfless compassion that Sharon has shown, Omar should say something, at the very least. But there is something in him that resists. He is having a battle inside. It’s like he is stuck in a pit, and each time he tries to drag himself out, at the last moment, a monster grabs him and pulls him back down. He finally manages to drag half his body out of the pit. Before the monster reaches him again, he says with a trembling voice, “Thank you.”
Sharon and Karl are too far away already to hear that. Overwhelmed by shame, Omar grabs the pink tube and puts it on his chest, near his heart.