“And proclaim among men the pilgrimage: they will come to you on foot and on every lean camel, coming from every remote path." [Qur'an 22:27)]

I opened my eyes today. Low light flooded in through the high window, for it was early evening before the sun fell. The pain was still there. The pain, ever-present since my brush with eternity, a thorn in my sanity, tormented me with its resilience. My mind, set ablaze by sin, slowly fired electrical impulses to coax my hurting body into movement.

The clouds moved to cover the sun.

Why did these people help me? Me, with all my guilt and damnation. They hardly know me. Almost two weeks after my fall, they’ve kept me in this shelter from the Hell outside for an eternity. They told me we’re one, family, all because we believe in the same god. That’s why they help. I don’t know what I believe anymore, except for one thing.

I believe that I’m going to go outside.

Stepping out of the mosque, the light dimmed across the street ahead. Behind me, the imam’s advice reverberates into the mud. With each shift of the muck, he breathes into my ear. It’s deafening now, as the sludge flows off of the road I’m approaching. I must continue my trek. To rid myself of the pain, the voice, and the shame, I’ll embark on an odyssey.

My trial is upon me.

Forcing my feet ahead of my discomfort, I started towards the stand. The courtroom around me seemed already decided: The defendant buildings lay empty and lawyer-less to my left. The tower’s accusing gaze bored into my right side, never letting up the assault. The jury of the impoverished judged me from their shantytown, gathering on the sidewalks to observe. The spectator cars honked as the squeezed by me.

I’m going east.

The voice in my ear buzzes incessantly, but now I do not question it. Lightning cracked as the first stop on my journey drew nearer. With no watch and an ever-wandering mind suddenly all-too-focused, I’d lost track of time. But time was of no importance. It was still a day, and the selfish spin of the world still occurs every hour of every day.

It’s getting ready to stop, just for me.

A once-beautiful girl stumbled in the street, briefly blocking my advance. Stricken with hunger and confusion, her almost-empty gaze reminded me how far an angel could fall. I stopped to help her up. Without a word she moved off of my path. My eyes rose to fall again on that nearby bus stop, which I sought. A freshly posted sign told me the bus had broken down.

Mistrial. Because of this, the pain is gone now.

“Whoever takes partners with God has gone astray into far error.” [Qur'an 4:116]

I went up too far today. I was nervous about going that high. It’s not that I’m afraid of falling. I’m more scared of what’s up there, above everyone’s heads. They say it’s enlightening to elevate oneself. To almost touch the clouds. To almost touch what’s above the clouds. Tempting, but I know better. I know those things should not be touched. The dirt under humanity’s fingernails has no place scratching at the Lord’s doors. We were put here on the ground for a reason.

But still, I ascended.

At that altitude the irrelevant fabrications of man shrink away, leaving only the imposing divinity of the Tower superior to me in position. Every incident of hurt and suffering diffuses through it into the sturdy foundation. That lightning rod of this miserable district, absorbing every celestial misfortune towards itself until the ground around it burns without bearing a hint smoke.

It’s a flash point.

An edifice like that is built to handle nature’s bombardments. But only this one, filled with violators, liars, and butchers, has been reinforced by something greater than the carnal steel of this world. Wilshire Tower has been blessed. It’s the only explanation that justifies it standing through its wicked history. Nothing inferior should endanger itself by approaching that height.

This Ferris Wheel comes close.

My seat climbed higher and higher. The air was colder up here. Cold and inhuman. I could feel demons brush against my dark, fragile skin. I wanted to go down, but there was no stopping this rise. Going up and up, like it was my time already. With a slight charge building in the air, it was all too clear that this aberration could be struck down at any moment.

I’m not ready to go yet.

In a panic, I began to yell for help. Ten stories below, the mostly-empty lot listened dutifully, but gravity expressed no inclination to expedite my descent. At the apex of the machine’s torturous climb the motor stalled and the world froze. Above the earth but not quite able to reach heaven, would I be allowed to return to the carnal planet below me? No, going back was impossible at this point.

The ground was on fire.

With current passing above me and heat rising from beneath, my shouts became screams of terror. Stretching over the sweltering tents and dubious rides, my cries were returned by the wailing of echoes off the back walls of the distant library and theater. Below, surely the uniformed officer strolling to his car must have heard the desperate stereo. A man in his position ought to have come charging to the rescue. But no, he was gliding away in his car with somewhere else to be.

After all, why should He care? To Him, I was just another freak at the carnival.