Uncitizened: A Short Fiction On The Times We Live In

I woke up to the news that all my money had turned into useless papers overnight. Apparently, the government had decided to render the country broke. Not only did all our cash vaporize like a bad magic trick but withdrawing money from our own accounts also became impossible.

I didn’t have a lot of dough in the first place but it had been enough to cover chai and cigarettes for the month. Now I was left helpless like a man stranded on an island. Amusingly, money would be just as useless in that situation as well.

After silently suffering in my bed for a few hours, I finally decided to visit my friend’s apartment. He was an activist and his flat was always a hub of activity. At any given time, all sorts of people could be found there- Marxists, pseudo-intellectuals, Islamists, alarmists. I figured with so many people desperately trying to be seen as intellectual, there would be no shortage of cigarettes.

When I reached his flat, a hot debate was raging inside. Apparently, two young Muslim guys had been picked up by police from a nearby town the previous night. Half of the group wanted to immediately launch a protest march in the university. The other half wanted to wait for more information to surface before taking action.

“What about all our money suddenly becoming worthless?” I asked the room amidst the cacophony of raised voices. Fortunately, no one heard my insensitive question, except for my friend, who shut me up with a pointed glare.

“Did you say anything?” asked the guy sitting beside me.

“Only that we should definitely protest!”

The guy nodded in agreement. I reached for the open pack of cigarettes on the table.
 
***
 
When I woke up the next morning, I was no longer a citizen of the country. The ministers had passed a law in the middle of the night that all Muslims were henceforth excommunicated and their citizenships were transferred over to cows. The money of the people of the rest of the country had turned to money again while our money remained non-existent. But we were told not to worry as we wouldn’t have any need of money from now on. Apparently each of us now had to simply look after one cow. In exchange of our work we would be fed two meals a day. Also, we had to live in the stable of our cow. I didn’t have a problem with the last part. At least I wouldn’t have to worry about paying rent anymore.

My activist friends were enraged by these developments and went off into the night to protest. I, meanwhile, made myself comfortable in the stable of the cow I was supposed to take care of. He was a well-off cow and there was plenty of room for the two of us. I collected some hay in a corner, made myself an acceptable bed, and promptly fell asleep.

I was woken up some hours later by a pair of hands shaking me.

“Asif! Asif! Wake up!”

I opened my eyes to see my activist friend standing over me. He kept shaking me as I rapidly blinked my eyes and tried to escape the throes of sleep.

“Wake up Asif!”

“I am up, I am up!” I muttered blearily, sitting up.

“Students have gathered at the main gate of the university to protest the new law. Come on, let’s go!”

I rubbed my eyes and looked at the time. It was almost midnight. I heard voices from outside the stable and saw that my friend hadn’t come alone. There were a couple of guys waiting for us on bikes. I got up and splashed some cold water on my face. The world came into focus. A chill had descended on the night since I had fallen asleep and I realized I would have to dig out the blanket from my suitcase after getting back.

I shrugged into my jacket and climbed onto one of the bikes waiting outside. The engine came to life with a roar and we were off into the bleak night. The campus was nearby and soon we were inside, rushing past students strolling in groups towards the same destination. I had always liked the serene and peaceful feel of my university but this night there was a sense of unease in the air. As if things were going to go very wrong very soon. I took out a cigarette from my pocket and put it between my lips. As I tried to light it, I realized my hands were shaking.

The road that led to the main gate was filled with restless jostling students. We had to park the bikes and walk the rest of the way. As we neared the gate, I saw the massive police force outside. The students were shouting slogans at the police through the open gate. I was close enough to see the commanding police officer staring at the students with contempt. He lifted his handheld transceiver and listened closely. He said something back and handed it to a nearby policeman. Suddenly some of the policemen with what looked like canons moved forward. Before I could even shout a warning, they had shot the canons right into the crowd of the protesting students.

Explosions erupted in the middle of the gathering and noxious fumes were released into the air. There was pandemonium as students screamed and started running in every direction. The police force charged with their lathis and began to unleash ferocious blows on the defenceless students.

I was able to avoid the lathi charge as I had been on the side pavement. As the tear gas in the air burned my eyes and throat, I began running in the opposite direction. While running, I heard more tear gas shells being fired. They clattered on the road in front of me and exploded like grenades. I was almost blinded with the smoke and my ears were ringing. Suddenly I felt a piercing pain in the back of my knee and I fell onto the ground. Students were running over me and I felt for sure that I was going to get trampled to death. But a hand appeared out of nowhere, grabbed my forearm and pulled me up. I started running together with the person I could barely see. As we moved a little further away, my vision started to clear. What I saw made me sick to my stomach. A battalion of policemen brutally thrashed any student they could reach. As we watched in horror, more tear gas shells were fired and some of them fell near us.

“Not again!” the guy who had saved my life muttered furiously. He ran into the middle of the road, picked up one of the tear gas shells and lobbed it back toward the police. It exploded right in front of them and they retreated backwards. Another tear gas shell flew in from the darkness. The guy picked it up to throw it back again but there was a sudden blast and he was on the ground with blood everywhere. I ran to help him and saw his fingers scattered on the bloody road. Not knowing what to do, eyes burning to the point of blindness, I started crawling around on the road to pick up his fingers.

That’s when I was hit on the head from behind and lost consciousness.  
 
***
 
I opened my eyes and found myself in a small room with harsh fluorescent lighting. I was surprised to see that someone had changed my clothes while I had been unconscious. I was now dressed in a simple white t-shirt and grey pyjamas. I felt the back of my head where I had just been hit and was shocked to find no sign of a wound. I rolled up the leg of the pyjamas and couldn’t find a bruise behind my knee as well.

I looked around the room for some clue to figure out where I was but found nothing useful. The room was unfurnished except for the chair I was sitting on and a corner table. The walls were whitewashed and there was only one door opposite to me. I had just stood up to try it when the door opened and a man poked his head in.

“Mr. Ahmed?” he asked politely.

“Er… yes” I stammered.

“Come with me.”

Confused, I followed him out of the door and into a hallway. The hallway was carpeted and dimly lit. Soft music played in the background even though I could not spot a speaker anywhere. The man started walking briskly down the hallway without a glance backwards. I hurried after him.

“Er… where are we going?” I asked him.

No reply.

“Where am I?” I tried again.

The man kept walking as if he had not heard me. We must have been walking for around ten or twenty minutes when I started losing track of time. I didn’t have a watch or a phone on me and the hallway was mostly bare except for some portraits of serious looking men. Now and then we would pass a door and I would be tempted to open it and peek inside but I restrained myself. We kept walking. I could not figure out if we had been walking for one hour or several. I noticed that even though we had been walking for a long time, my legs didn’t feel tired in the least. Finally, the man stopped at one of the doors and opened it. He waited for me to catch up to him and then we entered the room together.

It was a small courtroom. A judge was seated behind an impressive desk looking through some papers. There were benches for viewers but these were currently empty. The man led me to the front of the courtroom and seated me at a table in front of the judge. I was suddenly feeling very nervous. I had no idea whether I was supposed to say something or sit quietly. Thankfully, the door opened again and two men dressed impeccably in black suits walked in. Both of them looked very nondescript and were completely expressionless. One of them took a seat beside me and the other sat on a table across from us.

I realized what was happening and my throat suddenly became very dry. I looked around for a glass of water and was shocked to see it suddenly appear in front of me. I picked up the glass with a shaky hand and took a sip. The man beside me, who was obviously my lawyer, had a file in his hands which had my name printed on the front.

The judge looked up from the file in front of him and stared at us through his spectacles.

“Is Mr. Ahmed present?” he asked.

“Yes, your honour,” my lawyer replied before I could say anything.

“Good,” the judge said, glancing at the file again.

“Well, I have surveyed the contents of Mr. Ahmed’s file and I have to say that it’s not looking too good for him. Unless you have some strong arguments in his favour, I will be sending him to the underground level.”

My heart dropped into my stomach as my entire being was filled with dread. I desperately turned to look at my lawyer and saw that he had stood up.

“Yes, your honour. The counsellor would like to argue that my client’s case be considered under the Genocide Act.”

The judge gazed thoughtfully at the lawyer. The other lawyer, obviously the prosecutor, spoke up immediately.

“Your honour, the incident in which Mr. Ahmed lost his life has not been classified as genocide. Hence, his case cannot be considered under the Genocide Act.”

The blood in my veins seemed to freeze at that moment. The incident in which I lost my life? I was dead? This was a trial to determine where I would end up in the afterlife? 

“But your honour,” my lawyer replied, “the incident can be considered a precursor to the genocide which took place a year later. In the case of Mr Okinawa vs. The Court, it was ruled that any incident which was clearly a precursor to genocide can be considered under the Genocide Act as well.”

“You are right, Mr. Estevez,” the judge averred, glancing down at his file again. Suddenly the door opened and a man entered with a thick folder under his arm. He hurriedly walked up to the judge’s desk and passed him a single sheet of paper. The judge looked at the paper and I saw his bushy eyebrows rise slightly.

“Well, it seems I won’t have to make a tough decision today. Mr. Ahmed has been granted an extension. Case closed.”

The judge hit his gavel on the desk and stood up to leave. I turned to my lawyer in confusion but he was already walking away. I stood up as well and saw the man who had accompanied me to the courtroom standing at the door. He gestured at me to follow him but I was too anxious to leave without at least trying to understand what had just transpired. I walked up to the judge’s desk and asked him what his ruling meant.
The judge was placing his files in a slim briefcase. He didn’t even bother looking up.

“You will know soon enough. Hurry along now.”
 
***
 
I was walking down the hall again. This time I was filled with trepidation. I knew the case had not been going well even though my lawyer had been trying his best. What did the surprise ending mean? Extension was good, right?

“Do you know what happened back there?” I asked the back of the man that I was once again following.

No response. As expected.

We continued walking down the hallway in silence. My mind was churning with thoughts about what had just happened and before I knew it, we were there. The man stopped at a door and opened it. He gestured at me to enter. I walked in expecting him to follow me, but when I turned to look back, the door had vanished.

I looked around and I saw that I was in a vast room filled with beds. All the beds were vacant except for the one in the middle. Feeling fear coil tightly in my stomach, I walked up to the only bed that had an occupant. When I reached it, I was not surprised to find myself staring at myself. Only difference was that this version of me was dressed in the clothes I had been wearing when I had been hit on the head. Speaking of which, his head was heavily bandaged. As I stared in bewilderment at this version of myself, his eyes opened and he looked directly at me.

Suddenly everything turned dark. I looked around blindly and could not see anything. Something told me to close my eyes and open them again. When I closed my eyes, I immediately realized it had worked because I could feel light trying to enter through my eyelids. I opened my eyes and found myself staring at a ceiling. My head was throbbing with pain and my body felt as if it had been used as a punching bag. I groaned softly and looked around. The room was dimly lit and I could see that most of the occupants were asleep.
“Oh, you are awake,” a voice said from my right. “For a moment there, we thought we had lost you.”

I turned and saw the guy who had rescued me from getting trampled earlier in the night. I quickly looked at his hand and saw that it was heavily bandaged. He saw my glance and shook his head sadly.

“They couldn’t reattach the fingers. The damage was too great.”

I looked up at the ceiling again, eyes burning with tears.

“Do you regret it?” I asked.

There was a moment of silence.

“Not at all,” he replied.