Sister Souljah - Life After Death

At least that’s how I felt when Succubus and her father, who apparently was Shayton, were arguing. She revealed so many things about him and the sideways filthy shit that he do and the fucked up way that he went about it, I felt completely deceived. I was completely down for him only to discover that what he and I had was not special. Every night he brought a new bitch into the Light House, pumped her in the ass, turned her into some type of creature, and threw her in a wall or cage or tank. Every night he threw a crowd of hundreds, maybe thousands, into his nightclub fire pit. He was handsome, charming, and deceptive. He made each of us make the choice to destroy ourselves as though he was not controlling the action and the actual reason it was all happening. That’s why if I had not had that 3 percent doubt and suspicion that all hustlers, gamblers, and go-getters gotta keep for everybody and every situation, I might have crumbled. When I found out he was lying and fucking everybody, even men… I mean I don’t give a fuck what two men decide to do with each other. But if you are supposed to be my man or any woman’s man, and you are also out there fucking men without saying that’s what you’re doing, that’s wrong. That’s bringing me into some bullshit I never signed up for and never agreed with. That will cause a good bitch or an evil bitch to go crazy and hunt for your head.

That’s one thing I could give Young Drummer. He needed to reserve at least 3 percent doubt in case the whole Allah thing was not real, or true, or in effect. That’s the only way he would be able to bounce back onto his feet if he found out he got betrayed or defrauded by his faith.

“Are you hearing me, Ma? Follow instructions of the ones put in place here to help you. This city as you can see has sunlight, nature with healing capabilities; clean, clear water; pure foods; and peace. It is one tiny glimpse of the Grace of Allah. Lastly, remember that I have told you that Allah is All-Knowing, All-Seeing, All-Hearing, and Forever Present. There is no secret that you can have or hide or withhold, that Allah is unaware of.” Then he hugged me.

I felt hot tears spilling from my eyes. I was like WTF? Winter Santiaga, what’s going on? What’s going wrong with you? He stepped aside and flagged me forward. I walked slowly in a line of every kind of person of every color, race, and culture, men and women both. They may have each felt the same way that I did. They were shedding quiet tears and also moving slowly in single file.

29.

A dot, a tiny dot with a tiny pin that must be placed behind the ear of each person walking through the even-more-amazing-when-seen-up-close ivory doors. The dot was like one stud earring that once inserted could not be seen by anyone unless they pulled your ear back, or you pulled it back to reveal it. Once I put mine in my right ear as instructed, I was guided to the entry line for women. Of course the men had an entry line exclusively for them as well, although we were all entering the same building.

I was glad that there were men here, unlike at the convent. A bitch has got to have something to look at and someone to admire, talk to, and potentially hook up with. I know Young Drummer said not to, but isn’t it natural for it to happen? That’s not a lie. I remember that he warned me not to lie. I was concentrating extra hard on that one. I don’t like the consequences that he described. I don’ ever want to be a burnt bitch.

Women wearing fine fabrics, immaculately pressed so much so that everything they wore seemed brand-new, guided the women’s lineup. Each of them had fine footwear and each pair of shoes and heels were different. I liked that because it was not all uniformed cheapness like the horrible convent sandals. I also liked it because even though they were clothed similarly, they were obviously able to express their fashion personality on their feet. The line was silent. There really was no need for guides. The sensual scents lured each of us in. The first stop was set up like a spa. It was crystal clean. We were each instructed to remove our clothes, shower in the marbled-out shower stalls, and take from the pile of bright white fluffy towels. One for the body, one for the hair, and one washcloth. Our clothes were all sorted in bins, I assumed for laundering. Once we arrived on the other side of the showering area, we were each given a tapered, long-sleeved, mint-green, shoulder-to-ankle dress and a hooded black robe to wear over the dress. The shoes being issued were black leather slides. I could do that. They are seven steps up from dollar-store flip-flops and the manmade plastic convent sandals.

We exited the spa area into some kind of main hall. It smelled incredible and looked even more incredible. This afterlife, City of Mercy, reminded me of the exquisiteness of Midnight’s properties and palaces, although not exactly. The Self-Reflection Center did not have diamond, platinum, pearl, or pure gold doors. I was recalling the unique and unmatched architecture of Midnight’s place. It outshined every place anywhere in the universe, to me. If Midnight’s property had those purple wisteria trees, or was located inside of that forest that the City of Mercy has, it would be unfair. No, a crime against every person dead or alive for him to have it all. I smiled at the thought.

Someone kicked my chair. I turned around. It was Pretty. She was wearing the same thing I was wearing and the same that the seven hundred or so women gathered in the main hall were wearing. She was smiling brightly.

“Hey!” was all I said. I was so excited to see her. It allowed me to feel more comfortable and familiar. Not on some type of lesbian vibe. I am still strictly dickly. What she and I did, we both did for his pleasure. And even though we both felt pleasure, I am sure she knows it was a mistake for us to go that far just to entertain that man who I had lost my lust, love, and respect for.

“As-Salaam-Alaikum,” a voice from the front of the hall said over a microphone. I turned back from Pretty to face front. “In the name of Allah, the Beneficent, the Merciful…” the voice said. I was like, Oh here we go, using words that regular people don’t ever use. What is ‘beneficent’? Then it was as though she heard my thoughts. She said, “Welcome to the Center of Self-Reflection. We mean to make everything simple and clear every step of the way, as you journey towards reflecting, cleansing, learning, understanding and putting into practice what you have learned, understood, and felt. There will be many words that I will say that you may not have heard before. I greeted you in the words of peace and welcomed you in the name of Allah as everything begins with Allah.

“That is how we set the right tone. In your previous life, you were not knowing, or not acknowledging the ONE who created your soul and every living thing and the sun and the moon and all stars and of course the wondrous sky. There is no woman or man or Prophet who would or who could rightfully say they created any of that. Nor could they say that they lent a hand in the creation of any of it. Nor can they duplicate the creation of any of it. So praise be to Allah, Lord of the Worlds. Allah the beneficent, meaning kind in action, giving good, and causing everything good that happens. Merciful, meaning knowing your heart, your intentions, and your circumstances and, despite the fact that you have not earned it or may not even deserve it, giving you a new opportunity to do better, live better, be better than you chose to do on your own. Allah is… the Most Beneficent, the Most Merciful, and the Most Compassionate. It is Allah who each soul must seek and ask and pray for help. Allah is ONE.”

After her welcome talk, we were directed to a hall of computers in groups of one hundred at a time. There were a hundred computers atop of individual stands with touch screens. One woman standing at each screen. I was dazzled. On lockup, I couldn’t wait to get free to have my hands on all of the new technology. While behind bars, the world had moved from hard lines and pagers to cell phones with no texting, to cell phones with texting, to cell phones with Wi-Fi, music, movies, and television, and to a social media explosion. Of course I was aware of it. Technology is a part of fashion. Bitches were styling and profiling by having their tech be the highest available on the market. Even some were making designer cell phone cases and diamond jewels and accessories for their phones and pads and tablets. Now here I was, a dead bitch in a high-tech hall filled with light and marble floors and walls and high ceilings. I didn’t have to pay for my stay. I didn’t have to sell anything, gang up or knock no one out, steal, strip, suck, or fuck for my access. In everyday people’s language, that is the real definition of merciful.