'The Feast' by Fu'ad Lawal

The feast is set and the guests are arriving. It is not reserved for the elite or the street thugs. This is for all, every class of people, from every place. The guests arrive in groups of ones and twos, some alone, mostly smiling, a few expressionless.

After they have taken their seats, the host arrives to take his at the head of the table.

He greets, pleased at how much people turned up at his feast.

“I hope my staff have taken good care of you throughout your stay,” he asks.

They reply almost in unison, with nodding heads left and right.

“Lets eat.”

The clanking of cutlery respond.

“What type of meat is this? Tastes really good,” someone says with a mouthful.

“I really don’t care,” another replies, “all I know is that I’m having as much as I can.”

The host chuckles. He dips a piece of meat into the thick dark oil in front of him and as he is about to eat it, he notices the man at the far end of the table, not eating, looking pale.

“You should eat up, man from the East,” the host tells the guest.

“Its hard,” the guest says, “its hard knowing where the meat is coming from.”

“But you accepted the invitation. That means you are complicit. Don’t make your feigned morality ruin your night.” The host chuckles again. “I can assure you, the meat tastes just like roast lamb.”

Every other guest is either too engrossed in their eating, or just laughing as the host chuckled.

The host snaps his fingers twice and four chefs come in.  The guests give a standing ovation in approval of the chefs’ mastery of their art.

“Tell us about this wonder,” the host asks.

“We get meat from everywhere, the West, South, Equator, Dark lands, but it’s easiest getting them in the East,” the first chef says, looking at the man from the East.

“When we see a new herd to hunt,” the second chef begins, “we make everybody see reason why they are good game. You know how these hunting laws are,” he rolls his eyes making the guests laugh.

“When we have a go,” the third chef continues as the laughing ceases, “we create bait for them, because, hell, these animals are hard to catch!”

The guests nod in agreement while the host just watches, amused.

“The most effective bait is that,” the chef points to the biggest bowl of the thick black oil on the table.

“This is the best part,” the fourth chef takes over, brimming with excitement. “When they have gathered round the black oil traps, the grazing grounds become the killing fields.”

The guests give a roaring applause to the genius of the chefs who bow and leave the hall.

“But these are my brothers you call game!” the man from the East screams, fighting back the tears, and failing.

“Calm down East man,” one of the other guests cut in. “You need to understand that they stopped being your brothers when the landed on this table. They are just food.”

“Iblis!” the East man screams the host’s name, rising to his feet. Every other guest is shocked at the guts of the East man.

“You need to stop this!”

Iblis sits calmly, like a gentle sea with storms raging at its floors.

“You’ve got guts, calling me by name, but that aside,” Iblis leans back on his throne-like seat.

“Know this. An animal can beg in many languages for mercy or even fight back. But the moment it becomes food, it becomes defenseless.” Iblis pauses, making sure everyone was listening.

“Food speaks only two words, ‘EAT ME’,” Iblis roars, sending a shiver down the spine of every guest, “and that is what we are going to do! Eat!”

Silence.

“This feast will never hold again as long as there is breath in me,” the East man says, raging out of the hall.

“I have a question for you,” Iblis says to the East man, “what are you going to do about it?”

The Messenger of Allah said: “The nations are about will call each other against you just as they invite each other to a feast.”

It was asked, “Oh Messenger of Allah, will there be only few from among us?”

He replied, “No, you will be many just as much as the foam is on the sea. But fear will be taken out of the heart of your adversaries, and Wahn will be placed in your hearts.”

It was asked, “Oh Messenger of Allah, what is wahn?”

He answered, “Love of the material world and hatred of death”

Fuad Lawalis a poet and copy writer. He blogs at rebelliousflash300.wordpress.com. Follow him on Twitter/Instagram @rebelliousxiv

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