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THE FOLLOWING STORY IS PURE FICTION AND IS NOT MEANT TO CORRESPOND TO ANY INDIVIDUALS THAT MIGHT HAVE SIMILAR NAMES OR EXPERIENCES TO THE ONES IN THIS STORY, NOR PLACE NAMES, OR EVENTS. IT CONSISTS OF NO SIMILAR EVENTS HAPPENING IN THE PAST OR FUTURE! IT ALSO HAS NO MEANS TO OFFEND OR INTIMIDATE ANYONE!

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Life was not that easy for Saleem… It all started about eight years ago; he woke up in the morning, washed, had the morning prayers together made his way to the tea-house, where he was an with all the men of the family, got ready and apprentice. He was only sixteen but had no other choice, someone had to add to his family’s financial solutions. Smart and eager to apprehend; yet school was not an option, work and Islam was the only acceptable ethic. In order to provide a better life for his son and also secure a better financial source for the family; Ashiq, Saleem’s father used all his life’s savings and managed to smuggle him into Britain. On his way to London the agents taught him all he needed to know. Once at Heathrow Airport, he approached customs and immigration, told them he was an Afghani minor, whom was seeking political asylum in the United Kingdom, as his life was at risk in his country of origin and that he had no relatives in Britain. On the advice he was given (by the agents), he lied about his age and nationality. Social-Services placed him in a hostel for asylum-seekers only, arranged a £30.00 weekly allowance, plus monthly payments for his travel throughout London. Life in London was tough; his relatives lived different lives to the one they portrayed, when they would visit Pakistan. London was too suffocating for Saleem. Now there he was free in his cage. Just like an artistic, passionate and sexy-woman; living with loving yet madly jealous man. His foreseeing of life in London started crashing. The imperial island of opportunities and freedom, turned out to be far from his expectations! On the other side had to provide for his family back home. He took upon a job as a D-J, such term was the slang for dishwasher. After a few years of hard work he had managed to gather enough money, so that his family would live a good and stable life back home. Such time had been an eloquent fight with that bitchy social-worker that kept bugging him for not going to school, his relatives in the country who would dictate living-ways, but not help, the racism in daily quests, the crap from the Bengali kitchen manager and the 12hr shift, fortnightly payments half the minimum wage.
By this time his case-worker had enough, she cut all the allowances including his accommodation. A "born and bread" Brit would not have lived his life, but for Saleem that was almost a dream. Due to the circumstances he asked for a raise at work and thinking that it would help, threatened to quit, if otherwise. They refused him and to make it worse they even "brushed him out" and told him never to even set eyes there. Without money, roof, support and jobless he sat outside the restaurant watching stabilised lives go by. Trying to pull himself away from the cliff of a fatal nervous-breakdown he sensed a gentle touch on his shoulder sleezingly looked up hiding his tearful eyes and noticed Qarim or “Slim Q” as they all called him. After a brief conversation, Saleem took upon “Slim Q” invitation to stay at his house until he would pick himself up.
"Slim Q" household was of the many self-sanctioned british-asians that somehow brought back sweet, yet a bit self-victimised memories for Saleem. That night they all welcomed him; "Slim Q" parents, his brother, the brother’s wife, his two sisters and his wife. Qarim’s father was a respected man among the community, his brother a successful upcoming businessman. They lived well and holy. The next day the men made their way to the mosque for the routinely Friday prayers. It was the place that gathered them all; white, dark, rich, poor, scholars, pacifists and radicals, etc...
Selam-alekum said a firm voice with a warm yet authoritarian attitude. It was a Yemeni man in his late forties. As he would never met Saleem before he extended an invitation to come and listen to an Islamic Lebanese scholar, whom twice a week hosted a lecture-group, attended by many devoted Muslim young men. Saleem assured him that he would try his best to make it, even though it was not his kinda of thing.
In termination of that "Slim Q" took Saleem to a bar in East London. After a couple of drinks Saleem found his benefactor’s behavior very strange and upfront towards, him nevertheless he managed to get him out of there and head home. On their way home Slim Q was very warm, friendly and also a little too touchy.
A few people on the bus gave them unseen eyes especially while around Saleem’s neck and midway between his knees lay Qarim’s hands.Yet Saleem did not burst into outrage, trying to keep a cool head in regards to such gestures. As everyone was asleep when they arrived home, all they did was go into their bedrooms in silence… Two or three hours later a noise abrupt the murmuring of that almost sleepless night. Saleem saw a blur image of a man closing the bedroom door behind him. It pushed Saleem get up and reach for the light-switch.While his guts and thoughts were being darkened under the light, at supersonic-speed; “Slim Q” said: I know it sounds embarrassing, but can I sleep here tonight as I got into an argument with my wife and don’t feel like going through the night shouting, swearing or screaming? Or perhaps at least until she calms down and falls asleep?By the time those two sentences finished, Qarim was in Saleem’s bed, making it absurd for Saleem to refuse. (After all nothing bad or unacceptable for the host use of his home as he wished. Right…?!).God you are so desirable; I bet women throw themselves at your feet all the time.I have even noticed that “I want you right now”, look in both of my sisters’ eyes, said Qarim; while Saleem was being conquered by endless thoughts and reactions rushing through his head… I do not think that is the case, however let us go to sleep and forget such talks. Goodnight, said Saleem; switched off the light and situated himself at the far end of the bed.Saleem was physically a tough-enough young man, much stronger than “Slim-Q”, so in all fairness, you could not say that Qarim raped him. But I guess he let it happen, even though there is not a convincing explanation to it.Saleem’s agony filled with rage and dirt, nevertheless it made him feel like a zombie.On his way out Qarim gave light to the room and whispered: “Do you know what <> means? –Desirable and lack! Basically is the desire for what you do not have. Hence, once you have it, it does becomes undesirable and disposable.You can leave my house now, or just before everyone else awakes; it’s your call my son…Saleem crawled out at the speed of his cry. Leaving behind everything; but his shame, bruises and cruelty.With the money he had, he went straight into a bar trying to drink his sorrows. There he encountered four men whom lured him into their their lucrative drug-business;filled with power, cash, fear, sex, danger and uncertainties. He went on such a journey that lasted him almost two years, until he was nicked and got a one year sentence for possession of a stolen vehicle.
He had no idea that while serving that sentence his cell-mate would be appointing his fate.
It was the Yemeni man; he had met at the mosque.
You can call me Abdul, he proclaimed!
Abdul did not waste time, he ingranated Saleem into his own world. He was not receptive at first, but the Yemeni-extremist had all he needed to make Saleem embrace his revelations.
Abdul was patient, smart, persuasive, well spoken, caring, disciplined, educated and holy.
He also had this fatherly love attitude. Saleem was troubled and sought redemption. I guess deep inside he felt the urge and had the need to be accepted by men and by Supernatural beings. Now that is where religious perceptions come into it. After diagnosing Saleem; Abdul in possession of his medicine fuelled with radicalism, enticed in his cell-mate the hate for the sinful west.
Saleem’s life changed forever!
He was becoming a different person, a better man. He earned the respect of his fellow inmates and guards, even though they did not share his ways of closure with Islam, Allah and civilisation.
Abdul had managed to infiltrate in him, the idea that the genesis of all his sufferings were caused by the evil ways of the west. Actually he informed him about Muslim brothers and sisters around the world, that were being prosecuted by Zionist and Christian circles.
He convinced him that it was not just the current western procedures but it had been the same for centuries. Saleem’s childhood-picture of Islam was much too different from the one Abdul had pointed out. Ashiq had taught him that Allah’s quest is peace and joy and so must be his followers’ quest simultaneously.
But Saleem needed a stronger theology; the desire to be shocked out of his nightmares in the west. Thus Abdul’s seeds became fruitful in Saleem’s search for salvation.
By the time he was set free by the authorities; Abdul had imprisoned Saleem into the idea that Allah would appoint him with a duty on a sacred mission. His master ensured Saleem, that for the completion of his mission he would receive eternal fulfillment as payments to his deed!

Out there in the open air, the world suddenly seemed different and simpler, compared to the west he had bumped into prior to his enlightenment.
The Yemeni’s contacts had sheltered Saleem and helped him get a few jobs here and there.
He would work, speak and provide for his family, visit his friend and pray; during and in between the above…
After enrolling himself at college he became friends with a younger science whiz-kid, whose anger towards western lifestyle was likewise Saleem’s. Political events and people who Saleem and his new friend would interact with, would draw them into the clichéé that Allah needed warriors to suppress injustices; injustices the world had plenty! In their eyes something had to be done in regards to what they had gone through. And believe me; it seemed like they had experienced a lot…
Moussa the science student, was only seventeen years of age but he was sure that the world had not shown fairness towards him. His parents had immigrated to Britain in search of a better living, seeking equal chances and opportunities. At the age of four after his father’s heavy approach to alcohol, his own mother left them for a loaded white man with the excuse of self-independence, romance and her husband’s unreasonable behavior and treatment in her direction.
Moussa’s fragile yet aggressive personality had enough space for people to mould him into what they thought was best.
Following the response and the attacks by western countries (such as Britain), upon Islamic (eastern) countries. Extremists found a loop-hole into people’s minds; people like Saleem and Moussa, implying that the only situation and location where Hebraism and Christianity, aka west meets Islam aka east is on the battlefield of an open war.
Almost two years on, since being free, Abdul phoned Saleem and gave him the good news: Saleem, Allah has granted my request and prayers, his justice has prevailed; only nine days to go…
Allah-akhbar, said Saleem out loud. Abdul’s release filled him with thrust and content.
Now all my confusions will be cleared, said Saleem to himself.
Moussa was awaiting them, in Saleem’s company van (for whom he delivered exotic fruits to convenience stores). Abdul greeted Moussa, they all got into the van and Saleem drove away…
By the time they had reached their destination, Moussa thought Abdul came across, like he had imagined him to be, just like he was told.
Saleem had done well in life but still his past experiences and deeds kept haunting him.
They did not seem like an awful obstacle, nor a significant way towards an ideal redemption. As Abdul was out, both boys were keen to kill as much time as possible with him and make the most of it. Such got them into trouble; Saleem got “let go” at work and Moussa expelled from college. However it did not really matter; the most important thing was that now they had their great teacher to guide them through…
After sometime Abdul decided to make a move eastwards for a short period of time; in order to meet his family and catch up with some muslim brothers, faithful warriors.
Saleem provided all travel expenses to cover his flight and saw him leave at the airport.
A few days after Abdul called them to inform that he would get back sooner than planned. OK, have a safe journey; Saleem will pick you up upon your arrival. In-Salah, replied Abdul and ended the phone-call.
Saleem was waiting at the airport as arranged… As Abdul was walking towards passport-control, he got stopped and aggressively put on the floor at gun-point by plain clothes and uniformed officers. While such was happening Saleem made his way close towards him but Abdul signed for Saleem to escape, get away from the airport and avoid capture, rather than approach them.
As he arrived home, he noticed a bunch of people helping Moussa pack rapidly as much stuff as possible.
They arrested him, Saleem screamed. Yes we saw it on TV; Special-Branch nicked him in connection with a bombing in his home country, where a handful of sinful-infidels (including Brits), said Moussa.
Quick, let us pack and get the hell out, they will come here as well, someone else shouted; so they did, gathered it all and were out in no time…
Once they found a safe house where they could lodge, plan and reach a solution; thought they had taken everything into account and decided to wait for a signal…
As the days went by every law enforcement and government agency in the country focused into getting to the bottom of Abdul’s activities. Their primary task was to find out all of his connections in the UK and around the world . Where there plans to attack British soil, or any other targets? Who was the mastermind behind all this, etc…
Obviously the media and Home Office’s public standing was that: an Al Qaeda activist possibly a significant leader was being held in connection with a particular bombing abroad and other charges. There were voices that he would be transferred from a maximum security prison to a secret location .
At the safe house panic was taking control just like cold gets you sitting in a sandwich shop, if you spend too much time next to the open fridge. There was confusion, fear and anger among these men. On the other hand none of them would know Al Qaeda if it hit them in the head!
Saleem came up with an idea, something he had seen it happen hundreds of times before; a leader ends up in the can, his followers turn up terrorising the place and threaten to end the hostages' misery in exchange to the leader’s freedom. Saleem had watched lots of these movies; Hollywood was full of them. He gathered them all and told them his plan. It would take only two people to do the job. Moussa volunteered; Saleem was to carry a gun and his friend the explosives.

They all synchronised their tasks and before you know it, everything was in place; now all they had to do was find a target and hit it.

Fatima Douche was a half French-half Arabic, lustful investigative journalist working for a daily tabloid in London. She was engaged to a man she loved; however she also had lovers, right, left and centre.
She believed the Good Lord, had given her such gift and mission; so did Drini Kacorri, her favorite lover. He was an illegal Albanian immigrant, married to his high-school sweetheart and the stressed-out owner of a few car washes in the outskirts of London.
Saleem felt like his hormones had managed to take control of the whole street. Fatima’s worshipful tender-walk, her sensual look and passionate aura, got his van straight into the parking-meter (on the opposite side of the road; her side).
So they shared a night in each other’s company. She drugged him with her sexual fluids and regained her powers by taking his…
The next morning she asked him to leave; as a woman needs her personal space and time. He agreed but also implied, for them to meet up again, that very night or the evening after.
She told him that an outrageous powerful muslim man regarded her as his possession (in his own way); he would be home that night, meanwhile the following evening she had planned to attend a party on a boat, anchored next to the parliament with a lover of hers.
Huh, the fucking bitch! Saleem had told her the story of his life, he had totally and utterly opened his heart to her; he was ready and happily willing to marry her and go through his entire life with her and now she turns out to be nothing more a degenerate western-like slut! He headed back home, fuelled with fury and rage; told his fellows he had found a target.
They planned everything to detail and waited until the evening after to proceed with the attack…

The boat left the riverbank and anchored by the houses of parliament, where the party was taking place as expected. While Fatima was conquering Drini’s entire being through his ears, the phone rung (as usual, it was her lover’s wife). Drini made his way out and carried on mumbling some manipulative, controlling and authoritative love-phrases to his beloved life-long partner…
On his return to regain Fatima’s sensual shock, Drini noticed two masked men in dark-military outfits. The big one held a gun and the other one had something strange on the inside of his raincoat that Drini could not distinguish. He assumed it was a robbery, yet he found himself inside, against his will as if a mysterious power dragged his aching bones inside.

The big one pointed his gun at Drini’s direction and just as he was about to speak; Drini realised they were Islamic-extremist. At that point Drini shouted “Allah-Akhbar, extortion to all infidels”. Turning to the terrified hostages, Drini said “Time has come for you all, to get a taste of our prolonged pain, the same pain that you have been inflicting upon us, since forever".
Coming closer to him a young voice questioned Drini’s intentions; there Drini observed those fragile fingers resting on what seemed to be the detonator of a poorly hand-made explosives, wrapped around the upper part of his body.
Let us take charge of the situation and make sure, we get, what we are here for (the coppers will be on our way soon), said Drini, to the two boys.
The teacher sent you, did not’t he; said the gun-man. You could say that, replied Drini. What are we to do; asked the explosive-mannequin.
Well first of all, we need to make sure these people take us seriously, so let us at least shoot at one of them and reached for the gun…
Beyond Drini’s belief the gun-man handed over the gun. Drini looked at it ,checked it, saw four bullets and pulled the trigger in the roof’s direction. Now let us finish our job, he said…
Drini approached the man with the detonator and shot him in the head, then turned around and fired the big one in the stomach.
Asked every one to keep calm, urged a few men to help him make sure that both the men were kept motionless, reached for Fatima, who was in total agony and hugged her.
Awaiting for the police someone had unmasked the wounded man, Fatima looked at the scenery and froze.
SO19 stormed the place and as they were about to cease the unmasked man, he grabbed the gun, Drini had dropped on the floor and shot himself in the mouth.
They identified Drini and he was met by the head of Scotland Yard that very night. He thanked him for what he had accomplished and then asked him if he had any requests, so they could show their gratitude towards Drini. He only had one: I want you to pursue the idea through the media that Mother Theresa was Albanian; hence whenever British people come across an Albanian, they should remember such, rather than portray us as pimps and DOLE-dodgers. Ah yeah, one more thing, please chief: I do not want the media to pin me down, or identify me. I am a family man not a hero; said Drini.

He was eager to claim his prize, he floated outside; where Fatima was awaiting her hero in illegal armor. They parted the building together and booked into a city/corporate hotel, for the night…

What a better prize, for a casual-heroic wolf, than Fatima’s sweat, saliva, divine-fluids, inner-walls of her femininity, chocolaty-skin, diabolic-whispers, angelic-moans and wild screams…
He removed her dress like the cloth off an altar, worshipped her temple : with his paradoxal lips, spoony-tongue and manly yet sensitive hands. Then thrusted his being within her and sucked her godly-nipples. It took his breath away…

She waited for the emergency ambulance services; in doing so, she wondered…

Who reached heaven… ?!
A casual hero and a cheating husband, taken away by orgasmic-nipples; or a fucked-up kid, taken away by religious and political miss-interpretation…???!!!

PS: THE ABOVE STORY IS PURE FICTION AND IS NOT MEANT TO CORRESPOND TO ANY INDIVIDUALS THAT MIGHT HAVE SIMILAR NAMES OR EXPERIENCES TO THE ONES IN THIS STORY, NOR PLACE NAMES, OR EVENTS. IT ALSO HAS NO MEANS TO OFFEND OR INTIMIDATE ANYONE!


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The authors rights are protected by international laws.
This fictional story (or parts of it) can not be used in anyway without the authors consent!
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