Among Thousand Journeys

Accused of maling sandals

I immediately entered the mosque, and asked for the prayer I was staying in, and followed the morning worshipers, finished my prayer and went out of the mosque and hung out on the side of the road, while being wired and looking at the passerby, starving my stomach I filled it with the water I had brought from the mosque, and it had at least fooled the appetite of the worms in my stomach, and no more fighting.

Hari jum’at, ah to not think that this

jum’at day, people flocked to

mosque, I also stepped slowly to

mosque, first I do is fill the stomach with water as much as possible, then ablution and enter the mosque, perform tahiyatul majid prayers, then sit in the corner, then sit in the corner,

I don't want to disturb others, well the seedy clothes, the homeless prayer in the mosque, of course many people who look with an ostracizing look, and a little bit of an insult, in every spark of their eyes, he said, even in their hearts,

But I tried to drown in dhikr, after praying jum’at, and did dhikr for a while, then I exited the mosque, wearing

slippers and steps away, but suddenly, the,

a hand pulled on my back shirt, and I was just dragged away,

“Sandal stealer..!” sniping the man

dragging me, to the office of the mosque manager, I saw the man was tall and had a thick moustache

dragging me, continuing into the office, and inside were some people, I was immediately slammed onto the floor, sitting down, sitting down,

“You're maling slippers hina..!” snapped again.

“Ah..., until wrong..” I said, calm down.

“Mistakenly how, it's clearly stealing

sandal.” snapped.

“Come ngaku..!” I just shut up. And suddenly the man pulled the belt, and the belt was slammed into my back.

I just closed my eyes, when the belt hit my back, and without complaining, because somehow I didn't feel any pain, but it made the person who dragged me even more violently whip me.

Because I did not feel pain, I still remained silent, just the sound of a belt whip that kept raining on me, like a bus, like a hill,

“Already....!” yelling at the person in the room, while the person who went along with Jum’atan was on the arrival of the glass, looking at me, also from the door, and all the holes that exist, I was like a thief who was called.

“Come ngaku you have stolen sandals.” says

the one who beat me.

“La I do not gush sandals, how to ngaku nyuri sandals.” I said still with a gaze

wonder.

“True, you didn't steal the slippers?” ask wrongly

there was one person in the office.

“No..!” I said steady.

“Steel..., would be upset, if the sandals you wear are not stolen sandals, is there a gembell

the sandals are good..?!” sniping the man

beat me.

“This is my own slipper..” I said.

“False, abject padlock... want to be beaten again?!” snapped

the one who beat me.

“Already....,” said the middle-aged person who interrupted earlier,

“True you didn't steal the slippers?”

“No...!” my answer.

“What is the proof that sandals are your sandals

alone?” ask the middle-aged man. I

think for a moment, and then I remember,

“Sandal is below me pinches, because it has broken.” I said steady. Then the man who beat me, pulled the two sandals I was wearing, and looked on with disappointment, because what I said was true.

He showed the sandals to the middle-aged man, he,

“Makanya do not recriminate.” says

that middle-aged man, that,

“Then this.., profit is not until severe injury.”

said the middle-aged man grumbling,

while the man who beat me up, seemed to go awry, the sandals were then placed on me again.

“Heh... heh what is this?” a young man arrives

arrived urging the crowd at the door and into the mosque office where I was beaten, one man

a young man my age, skinned

yellow and quiet face, “What's up?”

ask again.

“This is wrong..” said the middle-aged man who forbade me from being beaten continuously, while his hand pointed at me, and the young man looked at me.

“Maling how, this is my friend, why say

moling?!” said the young man who had just entered, in an angry tone, then shook my head to stand up.

“Yes we were wrong, sorry..!” said the man who beat me.

“Sorry how? Mbok if there is a problem do not play hit,” said the young man who broke in, who frankly I did not know at all, I remained silent, and did not care about their conversation, and did not care about their conversation,

I feel weird sometimes, though,

the more doomed, the more I will be

the more calm, resigned, or maybe if

said not too, I'm getting sleepy, if

stricken with misfortune, the heart is immediately filled with

Alloh so the calm is very deep, until

it feels like the eyes are sleepy.

I am not concerned with the debate

they, until I was dragged by a young man like me, and invited to walk into the Sun

plaza, I recited it and was invited to sit in.

shoe store display case.

“Where is sick?” tanyakanya.

“Nobody is sick.” I replied.

“Ah cook, see your back?” said

go straight behind me and open the mousy shirt I was wearing.

“Ran, how come there's no wound at all? Though I saw you beaten up till the ancur-destruction.”

he said he was done looking at my back.

“Ndon't know yes, I was surprised myself too

some are sick, also the time hit ndak sick.”

I said chimed.

“Wah strange too, when only a week ago there was also arrested, accused of stealing slippers, then beaten until his nose and mouth bleed, and his face was bengep, njerit-njerit ndak karuan.” he explained.

“Coach?” many wonder.

“Yes, that's the person who guards the mosque the most

I like beating people, I don't count

beaten.” he said explained again. Then another came closer.

“What's Ed?” ask the man who came,

he's my age too, black.

“This was beaten by the mosque guard.”

“Wah..., wrong what?” ask the man.

“Avicted by slippers.”

“Wah must have been a severe wound..” said the young man who.

just came the one I knew named Ikhrom, Ikhrom,

“Malah ndak luka at all.” replied the young man named Edi who helped me. They

the two were talking about me, I kept quiet until Edi asked me.

“Where do you live?”

“I?” ask again.

“Iya.., where to stay?” repeat Ed asked

the question.

“Wah I don't have a place to stay.” I replied

lightly.

“La trus when sleeping where?” ask again.

“Ya where aja..” my answer is still light.

“Where are you?” ask Ikhrom nimbrung.

I am not surprised to hear either

questions people who used to sleep at home

with a soft mattress, and turn on the music

lullabies, I don't blame them, I don't,

who must have felt strange with people who used to sleep carelessly, maybe their shadow if bitten by a snake how? If robbed by how many people? Or maybe the question is very trivial, well if bitten by a mosquito can sleep, but all this time I also sleep, whether the mosquito is already known, or maybe my blood is bitter, bitter, because they eat from the trash.

“Yes sometimes on the street, in the storefront, sometimes in musolla, or even sometimes sleeping in the grave.”.

I answered while glancing at them, and lit the Djisamsoe cigarette that was thrust at me by Edi.

Seriate.......