The Zealot

Dubai shone like a mirage.  Something in the air brought on from the heat waves from the sand below.  It is a magical city that is as wicked as Gomorrah.  To the Zealot, it represented everything evil in the modern world.  The buildings and towers rise toward the sky like so many steel penises looking for whores to service them.  And the infidels stream in and out like so many worker bees, moving dollars, yen, for the Zionists.

This newest one.  Dubai Tower.  The local media celebrates its entry in the Guinness Book of World Records as the tallest occupied building.  It is finished, but not.  Only the bottom 20 or so floors are being used and everything else is for show.  It reminds him the story of the tower to heaven he read in the Jews’ scripture. 

The man had traveled much from his home in the Saudi desert and was considered wise in his homeland.  He had been to Evil Zion, Evil US and Evil Deutschland, but this monstrosity was a greater insult than any of those places.  How Allah himself had not smote this place was beyond him.  

The Zealot peered into hotels and restaurants. They were all giving their patrons a taste of the lap of luxury.  He saw infidels and the hypocritical pious as the same.  He understood where the Wahabists got their rage.  The use of resources for wasteful purposes.  It was easy to demonize the masses.  Most did not understand.   All had lost their way.  Yet, the Wahabists were as hypocritical as the “pious” Imams sitting at the cafes, with their constant killing of the infidels.  The Word on high prohibited killing in all circumstances.  

He was at a loss.  Many voices from the past claimed they were the voice of the One.  Prophets, Messiahs, and Oracles all implored the people to turn away from violent  and deviant behavior. The people then twisted their voices to justify the violence towards each other.  The falseness and pretense was overwhelming to him.  He could not speak.  A line from a song he heard in New York played in his head.  Zero Hour, 9:00AM.  And I’m going to be high as a kite by then.  He took a swallow of the sacred wine in the flask at his side and said a brief prayer.  

He went to the front of the Dubai Tower. A Zealot’s statement is always his own.  He would not involve any of the infidels.  From his jacket, he pulled the jar of petrol.  Even as the Phoenix must perish in the flame in order to rise again, he hesitates.  The cliff edge for his life.  He did not feel the oily substance as it cascaded over his tunic.  And he did not feel the heat when the match was struck.  He only saw  light.  And the light was good.