They always frightened us of the first night in the grave. First night in the Grave, Nakir and Monkar on my sides, interrogating me about my life; my deeds, my thoughts. Nothing private. No longer.

Now the First Night is upon me. The night of the Unknown. And what I know no longer exists because the world breaks in two: Before, After.

It is in the space in between where the truth lies. And lies here are truths never faced.

They call: How did thou live thy life?

I was in the garden when they came near. The hands stopped squashing the hardened soil; the hands that bloomed in the garden every year. Fingers crushed. Broken skin. Year after year.


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