You soon come to regret your decision. There’s no worse fate than that of a thief in the hands of other thieves. In place of a greeting, one of them says:
– Where are you headed, and whose dromedary is this?
– To the nearest city, and it’s mine, – you reply — but it sounds like a poorly rehearsed line in a play whose ending you already know.
– I don’t think so,- the same man says.
– What part is so unthinkable to you?
– All of it.
In unison, they surround you, unsheathing their swords. You raise your hands in submission, but say nothing. You won’t give them the satisfaction of begging. They’ll do what they must—but at least your dignity will remain intact.
The man who spoke smirks, while the others strut on their horses around you. Suddenly, you feel a blow to the nape of your neck, followed by overwhelming darkness. Voices stir you briefly—“He has no coin. Just let him be, poor bastard!”—but consciousness slips away again.
You awaken to a dull, throbbing pain throughout your body, which has just been unceremoniously dropped to the ground. Your head pounds, your muscles ache, but worst of all is the searing heat radiating from the earth beneath you. You can’t—or won’t—move.
You wish the ground truly could swallow people whole, dragging them into the pits of hell. It would surely be cooler than this accursed place.
But—as you’ll come to learn time and again—your wishes never come true. A female voice addresses you, as if you were capable of holding a conversation at this moment. It assails your dazed mind with a question:
– Do you hear me, sir?
You don’t answer. You can’t.
You’re lifted by the arms belonging to that voice. You can’t reconcile the incongruity of it all. Perhaps it wasn’t a woman’s voice after all. Or perhaps, in hell, women are stronger. Amid the chaos of the city’s murmurs, the only word your mind manages to grasp is: Zahrabad, probably the city’s name.
Some time later, you’re laid down on a bed. Your eyes remain shut. You don’t want to know whether you’re still alive or already in the underworld. Maybe this is what dying feels like. You know your brain and the sun don’t get along, and the former has had far too much of the latter.
You shut down completely .
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