The black robe hung loosely on the skeletal frame of the mysterious,

gloomy figure. As it drew breath, the air around what appeared to be its
head condensed. None other could see the figure except Badr. The
horror devoured him, as he understood the fate which awaited him, as he
lay hospitalized in his home.

His face was once synonymous with terror. His children had long
forgotten him as a father figure, and instead only remembered trying to
escape his tenacious tyranny. Once they accomplished this deed, they
exited Badr’s oppressive lifestyle and never looked back.

Ahmad, his oldest son, regretted not being able to do something about
his father. He remembered the abuse their mother suffered and wished
he could turn back time and stand up for her.

Staring into the eyes of his reflection, he scoured deep within himself,
fretting about the identity of his true self. “Who am I?” he questioned
the mirror in front of him. “Am I any better than father?”

He reminisced on his past, memories of when he caressed the scars that

were carved on the shoulders of his mother like letterings on runes, as
she whispered, “It will be fine Ahmad… as long as I’m here…”

As he remembered this, cold tears rolled down his warm cheeks and
eventually dissipated. He prepared himself mentally to meet the man
who made the life of Ahmad a miserable tale. The ghost of the past
hovered above his head and he made futile attempts at driving it away.

He pulled the handle of his car, and the door clicked open. He pondered
if his father deserves forgiveness on his deathbed.

Badr lay as he stared into the hollow eyes of death, and inconsolable
despair lay upon him like a thick blanket. He wondered whether his
children knew of his predicament and then wondered if they cared. He
faced his last minutes, and precipitously, all that was certain became
uncertain.
Except for defeat. That was the only certainty. And it will always be the
end to all our stories.

The knob on the door twisted as it screeched and opened. A familiar face
appeared in Badr’s peripheral vision.

Ahmed stepped inside the room and looked at the man he once called
father. Inspecting the state of Badr, he walked slowly to him, holding no
gifts, no roses. All he carried with himself was the agonizing reality of
the past.

Badr could not meet Ahmad’s eyes. Not because of shame, but because
it was physically impossible.

The angel had cradled Badr’s soul like a father holding his newborn.
Badr’s life left his body as Ahmad saw him flat-lining. For the first time,
he felt sympathy towards his old man and quickly grabbed his lifeless
hand.

The guilt consumed Ahmad from the inside. He skimmed at the picture
of himself and Badr on the wall. For the first time in his life, Ahmad
cried for his father, whispering, “I’m sorry dad, I’m sorry for taking your
life.”