Running in Heaven on Earth

Hūr Amran climbed the green grassy slopes. After the ‘fertilizer’, the white powder that had poisoned the crops, he had run away. He wondered now what would have happened had he told the farmer, and asked for forgiveness. People used to tell him that his eyes were beautiful, and he thought that’s why they usually agreed with him, on most things he said. It was like a trance. But the farmer was too blinded by racial animosity, it was a wonder that he had let Hūr work on the farm at all. Too blinded by intolerance, that he would probably have not seen the eyes, only would have seen his withered crops. Which was also fair. That was his living. Amran had left what little money he had on the counter by the table in the room he had been given while he worked on the farm, along with a note, and an apology, which he suspected the farmer would not accept. The apology, not the money. He was unaware of the fact that the New Zealand police had already been informed, and they were on the search for him. The world had turned into a dangerous place from the world of his youth. They would probably suspect that he was one of the anarchists, and the harshest punishments were meted out to those groups of people, as a deterrence, yet in spite of that, more kept on rising out of the woodwork. He was not one of them. Yet, he looked at his hands, sadly, it was his hands that had sprinkled the powder onto the crops. He had never seen something die like that. The roots shrivelled, a blackness that sucked out light slowly crept up the stalks, of all the plants. Wherever the powder touched them, he was too shocked to move. In hindsight, he didnt think he could have done anything anyways. The blackness crept up, followed by a shrivelling of the plants wherever it spread, curling up into themselves, they had looked so brittle. He shuddered. The corn fell out, the vibrant yellow turning brown then black. Wherever it touched the ground, it felt as if the field shuddered, and slowly, that spread to the rest of the field. Within minutes, the entire field had turned black, shrivelled. Minutes after, all the other fields had too. An ominous wind screeched through, and everything crumbled to dust.

He couldn’t blame them for thinking he was one of them. It was his fault. He should not have opened that powder. Curiosity had gotten the better of him. He had just wanted to help. The road to hell is paved with good intentions, he thought. He forgot who had said it. But this road was not. He had been trekking across the landscape for the last few days. And it was beautiful. Grassy green hills. Clear blue skies. He watched the sun set every afternoon. The sky danced with pink, orange, and purple glee. The winds whistled, tickled his face as they danced by. Animals looked up from their grazing, confused at this stranger, the likes of which they had not seen before. They looked stronger here, healthier, their eyes gleamed with intelligence, and compassion, which seemed much to be the same in this place.