[ WP ] A suicide bomber has completed the mission , only to wake up in an afterlife waiting room resembling that of a doctor 's office or school administrator 's office . Looking around , the bomber notices the others in the room are the victims from the blast .

( ( Just so it's clear, with the recent North American attacks by ISIS involving suicide bombers, the focus has been pretty heavy on ISIS attacks. It is n't necessary to understand the piece, but it might be good to know this is set is pre-ISIS by a long shot, think mid 1990's. The victims are Israelis, the suicide bomber is a member of Hamas or other related groups, the conflict is over land promised to both ethnic groups. More than that, really, but the explanation is much longer and more confusing than I have time to go over. ) ). 
 
 The dog was my first hint. Specifically, his leash. 
 
 It was a little mutt of some variety, if it were n't for the red leash tethered to his neck you might have expected he was a street dog, nothing particularly noticeable about him other than that cloth leash. He was brown and white, with wiry, dirty fur, he could have been one of many dogs from Tel Aviv. Even now, even here, the dog smiled, his tongue lolling out of its mouth. Did the dog notice his broken and bent leg? Did the dog care? Did he feel the wound on his chest? 
 
 No, apparently not, because he continued to smile. 
 
 The familiar dog was what clued me in to the identity of the ghouls around me. I had n't noticed their features before, and through the gore some of them were impossible to identify. Even more disconcerting were the shadows in two of the chairs, attached to no corpse. A vague sense of unease set over me. 
 
 My first instinct was not to look at my old friends, though I was now certain they were looking at me. I fixed my eyes to the green carpet below me. It was dirty, and dusty. The nicked and beaten up wooden legs of the chair upon which I sat had dug a hole into the carpet, and other holes were indicative of where the chair had once sat. 
 
 This is not how I imagined the afterlife. Not even just the general setting, which confused me greatly. Not even my inability to stand up from the wooden chair. What scared me the most was how mundane this place was, how much like home. I expected better things. I expected different things. 
 
 Who would kill themselves with the hope of going right back to where they came from? 
 
 `` Baumann,'' a tinny voice on a loudspeaker croaked. A female voice. She sounded bored. `` Baumann, please enter.'' 
 
 There was only one door in the room. Unusual for a waiting room, but I was beginning to get the feeling this was not the typical waiting room. 
 
 There was a noise to my left. Against my better judgement, I peered up. Baumann was an old man, balding and revealing his poor posture. Fat accumulated over his pants, hanging in a pouch. Well-fed. It must be nice to be well-fed and to be able to eat to excess. I'd remember that the next time I saw the starving children in Southern Lebanon, orphaned from Israeli attacks. 
 
 Baumnn was otherwise of note because of the remarkably good condition he was in. Other than the numerous purple and blue bruises covering him and a lump on his head, he was well off. The others in the room seemed not half as lucky, to the degree I tried not to take note of them. 
 
 Blood makes me queasy. 
 
 He made eye contact with me. `` They trampled me after the blast,'' he said in way of explanation. `` I hit my head. I guess I can forgive you for killing me, but because of you... well, I do n't know what's on the other side of that door, but if you change the result for innocent people, I ca n't forgive that.'' he shook his head. 
 
 He walked off. 
 
 I scanned the room nervously for the first time. Not including the two chairs filled only with shadows, there were five people and the dog in the room. Six people before Mr. Baumann left, I supposed. 
 
 I did n't have time to adjust before the next name was called. `` Kaufman,'' the intercom called. `` Kaufman, please enter.'' 
 
 A young man across from me stood up. Mr. Baumann had seemed disinterested in life at best, but Mr. Kaufman's mangled features betrayed his rage. His chest was splayed open. He did n't walk directly to the door as Baumann had, but instead he crossed the room to visit me. His fists were clenched tightly, and I entertained the thought he might hit me. 
 
 But he did n't. He stood in front of me, and with one hand he pulled a ring off of one of his fingers. He did n't quite speak as much as he growled, `` Some societies gave gold and jewels to their dead, so they could use it in the afterlife. Have it.'' He tossed the ring at me, without the care the fine ring deserved. `` It's my engagement ring.'' 
 
 He spun on his heel and stomped to the door. 
 
 I held the ring. Gold, certainly. 
 
 I was n't quite sure why he had given me the ring, but it killed the doubts I'd had in my heart. They have gold. We do n't have enough schools for our children. 
 
 Mr. Kaufman did n't leave without another shot though. He turned to face me, his face contorted in rage. For a second he could n't find his words, and he stood frozen, pointing at me with his mouth open. `` If there's justice in this world, your punishment will be to tell her I'm dead. Our date was next month.'' 
 
 And he was gone. 
 
 As was the ring, formerly in my hands. No afterlife purchases for me after all. 
 
 `` Massad,'' The intercom croaked. 
 
 I started. The last name was so close to my own, I almost thought they were calling me. 
 
 The young lady to my right stood up -- though she was so deformed it was hard to tell she was a lady at all. I winced, dropping my gaze. She must have been closest to me. 
 
 She did n't trifle with her words. One sentence and she was gone, through the door with the rest. That sentence would shake me though: `` I am Palestinian.'' 
 
 I hung my head in my hands. Still two people and a dog. I was beginning to get the feeling this would be a pattern, a parade of the people in front of me. Some divine plan to get me to regret what I had done. 
 
 `` Jacir.'' 
 
 Jacir's reaction made me feel a bit better about myself. She looked upon me with disgust. She had nothing to say to me, she simply walked away. 
 
 *That's what I'd expect from one of them. Why would Israel start recognizing our right to exist now? * 
 
 It was just I, another mangled man, and the dog. I had decided to not let them break me. Forces were at work, ones I could not understand. Perhaps, a test of my faith. I scanned the now mostly empty room, looking for clues. I do n't know what, maybe anti-semitic graffiti, maybe an atlas showing Palestine in her rightful location, with Israel nowhere to be found. 
 
 Nothing about the nature of the divinity presented itself to me. But, the shadows had changed. One had disappeared entirely since I had first noticed them, leaving an empty chair. The other was moving, twisting and turning. It had become more solid than before, and features were becoming visible. 
 
 Slowly, as the shadow was born into a human, I began to realize the importance of the shadow. 
 
 A youth appeared out of the shadow, a boy of maybe thirteen. He was wrapped in bandages, useless tubes dangling from his veins. 
 
 He looked up at me. Wide eyes. 
 
 `` Rabban,'' the intercom croaked. 
 
 The mutilated man who had been with me since the beginning stood up. He did n't walk over to me, but spoke where he stood. `` My father was injured in a mining accident. I'm his only caretaker. My father was a good man. He always wanted peace with the Palestinians -- even if we had to concede our land.'' 
 
 I was n't listening. My eyes were still on the little boy. Clearly an adolescent, but short and with a boy's face. Fear written on his face. 
 
 `` I'm scared,'' he told me. 
 
 I bit my lip. `` Do n't be scared.'' 
 
 He looked around. `` My father told me I would be okay. The doctor said I was stable. I'm scared. You do n't understand. I do n't always eat kosher. I do n't study that much. I-I-I curse sometimes, and I-I-I --'' 
 
 `` You do not need to be afraid,'' I promised him, uselessly. He was sobbing into a bandaged hand. I wanted to tell the boy that I was the one who truly needed to be afraid, but I did n't know that that would help him. I supposed I just wanted somebody to tell *me* that I did n't need to be afraid. 
 
 `` Bomberg.'' There was no emotion in the intercom's voice still. How could they not be moved by the sobbing of the child? 
 
 The boy stood on shaky legs. He looked around, as if he was going to run. But where could he run other than out the door? 
 
 `` Promise me it will be okay?'' he asked, his voice shaky. I promised him it would. And out he went. 
 
 I put my head back on my hands. I did n't want to look up. What if more shadows appeared? It was just the dog and I now. I would like it to stay that way. 
 
 But it was n't to be. 
 
 `` Orion. Here boy, come here.'' The intercom again. It was strange to hear a dog called in complete monotone. 
 
 The dog's tail wagged. As if he had been waiting for permission all along to stand, he hopped up and ran around the room. Even with the broken leg, the dog certainly could move. He had been a young dog, I suppose. 
 
 The dog stopped at my chair. He stared up into my eyes briefly, and then gently licked my leg. 
 
 And then he was gone. Into a door that had opened for him. 
 
 I sighed. 
 
 I leaned back. 
 
 And I closed my eyes. 
 
 I knew I would have to wait before that intercom would call my name. 

