the journal [finale]

   I woke up after hearing the birds. Crap, I accidently slept during my work… I flicked the switch on the device. When the lights came out, I was tremendously happy. My invention was a success. As I looked around my circular shaped room enlighten with the light, I felt satisfied.

   Owh man, I forgot about them. Now I have to save my guts and these formulas. When they came, bursting into my room, I managed to run away, after grabbing my journal that is. As I ran, saw a big rock and hide myself behind it.  These formulas must not fall into the wrong hands. I flipped through the pages before I made up my mind and tore the pages with the formulas apart. Not that I need it to remember.

   I utterly despise myself. How can I let myself be caught and treated this way? I was to be blame. I put myself into this situation. Well, at least I managed to burn the papers. Argh, not too rough. This was why I hate insolent people. I know as Moslems I was not supposed to think like that. I saw my journal in their priest’s hands. That smirked on his face really getting on my nerves.

   They had put it on. This was it. I can’t believe I foolishly put myself into this. Well, sorry father. I was not careful. I was about to be burn alive under charge of practicing witchcraft and wizardry. The horror of insolence. Argh, it’s hot!!!!

   “Ariff, wake son… What’s wrong???”

    “Where am I? Where are they?” Urgh, my head hurts like hell. When I opened up my eyes, I saw a lady standing beside me with a distraught look on her face.

   “You’re in your room young man. Now quit it out.” She stood up. “Wash your face and get downstairs at once. The men have come to collect that journal they asked you to translate.” She pointed to the journal I placed on the table.

   I looked at her as if she was insane. “Why would I want to let the others understand my journal? Who are you anyway?”

   The lady looked at me queerly and shakes her head lightly. “Wake up Ariff. Will you? I’m your mother and I said get yourself downstairs right now.” With that she left the room. 

   Later, after I washed my face, I looked into the mirror. A pale young man looked back at me. His eyes were red and fears clearly shone in his eyes. When was it, the last time I felt myself at disarray? I wiped my face and took a deep breathe.

   I saw those two men in black, as I called them, sitting solemnly as usual. Rigid and foreboding. I took a seat, obviously aware of their eyes following my every action. My mother left us alone after placing the drinks on the tea table. I knew my parents were listening behind the kitchen door.

   “Good evening Ariff. How are you feeling?” Mr. Meade broke our awkward silence.

   “Not quite good, I dare say.” Especially after seeing both of you, I added under my breath. “Let’s get this done. Here” Without delay, I took the journal and its translation papers and placed them on the table.

   They took the papers and looked through them. I watched them anxiously. I prayed. I really do, hardly that they do not ask any questions. Every page they read, I observe their faces for clues on what they thought are. However, their faces still resemble those of a mannequin. If they did not move, they could pass as one or even a puppet. I smiled at the thought.

   “What so amusing, may I ask?” Mr. Kennans’ words brought me back to reality.

   “Nothing.” I straighten my back. I need to keep my cool. “So, that’s it, I believe?”

   “A second there young man. Is this really all the translation there is?”

   “Yes” I solemnly answered back with a straight face. “That’s all there is it but I can’t confirm it to you because the way it was written was not liked any ordinary code.” Well, not really. I didn’t write about the last part of the journal that sparked my interest and I believe will also spark theirs. I can’t, can I?

   “Hm… Let see. Ariff, doesn’t it interest you, the origin of this journal?” It did bother me but I am not going to tell them that. Seeing my poker face, Mr. Meade let a sigh out. “Anyway, I’m still going to tell you this. The journal was found in a ruin of a church. We did some carbon dating on it. It’s believed that the journal was about 300 years old.”

   “So? What is there to be excited about?”

   Hearing that, Mr. Meade smiled and continued “Well, here the interesting part. It was found in a secret stone vault with a phrase on the wall inside. Do you know what was chiseled on it?”

   “You tell me.” I said, not meaning to be rude just that I wanted to get done with it.

   As if on cue, Mr. Kennans read the phrase from his notes. “This was a book believed to contain the key to humans’ civilization.”

  My irises enlarged of amusement. So they did know about it. Weirdly, that was what that came into my mind.

   “Have you searched for the author’s name in the journal, Ariff?” suddenly Mr. Meade asked. “Here, take a look again.” He passed it back to me.

   I flipped through its pages until I came to the back of the book. There, at the bottom of the pages, written in small and neat Arabic words, ‘This book belongs to Ariff Zukifli also known as Azimul Ariff (Paramount Ariff)’. There I sat silently after reading that sentence. I was really taken aback by it. I looked back at both of the men in front of me. I knew then that they knew I was hiding something.

   After retrieving back the journal, to my surprise, both of them rose to their feet and bid goodbye with a promise that they will be in touch with me. Seeing their back, I knew that they were willing to do anything to get the formula. At that point, I realized that my life will never be the same again.

   Also be known, when you are reading this, I am not sure whether I am still alive, running for my dear life with helps from my grandfather or I am dead, died for the greater good. One thing that you can be sure is that I will not give this formula to those that may harm the ummah. If one day, that if I am still alive, the ummah rises up and stand tall, I will willingly give the formula to its leader.

                                                                                                                                      -Azimul Ariff-

*****

sorry for the delay due to some technical problems. still, hope you enjoy this story and support me in the future...

the journal [part 2]

   Poor guy. Never had a chance to say what he wants. I guess I'm pretty lucky that I could still have my say in my matters. Father and mother respected my views and decisions like declining all of the offers made. Well only grandfather opposed. He said I'm wasting my precious talents in high school. Can't blame him at that but was it wrong for me to choose a normal life. Maybe I was being selfish as he said I was.

   I turned to love reading this journal. It was as if I was reading another me but entirely at different era. I found no use of reading it further as I saw that it contained normal adolescents' entries on their journal. But... As I said, I turn to love reading it. Maybe I do need a break.

  Father sent me up north, in provinces not yet governs by the Moslem's. He let me in the care of his friend, Sir Ferguson. Watching the people here from the castle tower, I must conclude that these people are still barbaric. Their feudalism is corrupted. Their ways of living are still uncivilized. This is exactly the opposite of life in the Moslem's' govern. If Moslems are in the golden era. Here is like living in the dark ages.

    I could not help but to smile thinking how the opposite the reality we are living in now. Sadly all those fame were just history now. Moslems now are the uncivilized, always pointing fingers towards one another and using violence to solve their problems. Are we in the dark ages now?

    "Ariff, Fatima! Come down here! Your grandfather is visiting."

  Crap, how could I forget. He did mention to come one of these days. In a blink of an eye, I was in the living room. Fatima, my little sister tailed me. We approached him cautiously. Not because he has a contagious disease but more because we never see each other eye to eye. We greet him, shaking his cracked hands. But as I was shaking his hands, suddenly he grabbed me and hugged me tightly. Man, that was weird.

   "I knew one of these days, people will acknowledge your talents and put them in good use."

  Where were my manners? My grandfather's name was Max Taylor. Yes, he is a European and a Christian. He was my mother’s father. He was kind but still as a retired navy general he tended to get a tad bit of strict. Especially with me. You see, he was kind of expecting some greatness within me with all my so called talents but I just want to be me. That day, when he hugged me, somehow I knew my mother blurted out about the visit.

   “It’s nothing special grandfather. They just want me to translate an old journal. Nothing much.”

   “But a journal that holds the fate’s of our Nation. Son, you’re destined to be a great man. A man who will make history.”

   “I rather be history.” I didn’t know how I could said that. Sure enough, he got mad.  

   “That attitude of yours that keep you down! Always saying to be a normal kid. You’re born special. Get that fact into your head. Life is not with reasons. If your prophet choose to be normal and neglect his duties and gifts, where do you think you’ll be now?” he sneered into my face.

   Argh! Why am I bestowed with such a look? It’s a pain strolling in the forest with girls stalking your every move from afar. No, I must be grateful. This face of mine was my mother’s. She did came from this land. How she met my father, I had no idea… I miss them both. Oh, that’s right! I found an amazing, what should I call it, invention? Whatever. Anyway I found a formula that could lead men to produce energy for all kind of power without wasting any. I must try it tonight.

   Was he talking about cold fusion? I thought that was just a scientific myth. Well, if he does then, that’ll be cool but why there are no talks on this finding? That was the last entry on the journal. The next pages seem to be torn off from the book. Looking closely, I thought of an idea. Mysteriously, there seem to be a trace of what last written. A few minutes later, the letters resurfaced.

  It was a mistake. I shouldn’t finish the work here. I forgot my father advice on these people. They were still ignorant of science. I’m in hiding now. These may be the last entry. I must burn the formula. I don’t think how it can reach the Moslems’ hand. Letters from father convince my deduction that the Moslem’s empire will perish in about fifty years or so. They are now power stricken and love luxuries. This formula better be destroyed than having it in the wrong hands.  They are coming…

   I was silent after reading the last entry. What happened to him then? What a waste that the formula was destroyed. If not, we might not be having wars to gain more energy resources now. I brought my thought with me when I sleep that night and it changed everything…