Run. A whisper in my head. I hesitated. I know I shouldn’t. Run. I turn around to search for the origin of the voice. Truth is, I want to. I want to run, sprint to the end of the earth where no one can see me. Somewhere only I know.
Are you stupid? This is wrong. Another whisper but of a different voice. Gentle and full of tender and care.
I can’t think. I bend down to tie my shoe lace. I said. Run. Now. The other whispers back. Full of force and anger.
At that, I set off. I bounce slightly as I jog. Faster. Aren’t you ashamed? It said. Please, I am sorry. I am. As a matter of fact, I am too ashamed of what I have done. I want to scream at the top my lungs if that can shake the guilt away. I quicken my pace and break into a run. Taking left and right turns but never a U-turn. Straight and left and left. Then right. You’re doing good. It whispers, praising me of my action. But I am not proud of it. With every step I take, my heart ache more and more. I glance at my wristband. 10 miles. How far will I go? But I keep on running. Taking longer strides to cover more distance. I run and continue to run until my legs screams in pain. It feels like I can run no more but the shame, the guilt pushes me forward.
Running has always been my thing. In anything – on the tracks, from home, from people and especially when the world seems gray and bleak, without a sign that the sun will rise up once more, I run. I feel helpless and hopeless. After all that I have done, He must be really mad at me. Maybe He will unleash his anger on me soon. I am sorry. It breaks me to think of how I appear in front of Him now. I blink a tear away. Please. Forgive me. I can’t run anymore. Not from you. I don’t want to. And at that, I make a turn. Back to where I started.
O Allah, Ya Ghaffur, Ya ‘Afuww, please. Please forgive me for I have sinned and here is my repentance.