After midnight, we assemble at the mosque to pray. It is one of the holiest nights of the holiest
month, the room, usually cavernous, is packed. Worshippers stand shoulder to shoulder behind the
Imam. His voice echoes with the sounds of prayer, washing over us, spilling outside the four walls
of the prayer room to the dark quiet night outside. Inside the mosque, the lights are dimmed, bright
enough only for individual worshippers to distinguish their outlines from one another and from the
thick carpet on which they stand firmly planted.
At this late hour, we find that our day has receded far into the distance, and we float away into a
new planet of our own. As we look down in supplication, the ground, in the darkness, seems to
expand before us.
It only takes the prick of a single pin to pierce the membrane. The surface tension meniscus judders
and then pops. Someone has turned on all the lights. They are fluorescent, with a hard white glow
that burns the unaccustomed eye. After the Imam's salam declares the end of the rak'a, the
worshippers turn and whisper frantically amongst themselves, blinking against the brightness. As
unsettlement flutters through their ranks, the lights blink once, and then the room is plunged into
darkness.
I am in the third row from the back. The watch I am wearing glows in the sudden absence of any
other light. Where before, I had felt the shoulders of the other worshippers pressing into mine, I am
suddenly untethered. Even the ground seems to fall away. Bitter panic rises at the back of my throat,
I gulp in breaths of air, which is suddenly sharp and hot against the soft tissue of my trachea. I open
my mouth to scream, but the darkness absorbs the sound, so that I am left only with the O of my
lips, like a fish out of water.
The voice of the Imam calls me back as he begins a new set of rak'at. I rest my shaking hands
against my chest. I start to feel the threads of the carpet again, cushioning the soles of my feet. And
the others, I feel their forms solidify around me once more. And we pray with no further
interruptions. Afterwards, we emerge from the mosque and go our separate ways. The next
morning, I have forgotten that anything strange happened at all. At work, I sit at my desk and type
rapidly, not needing to look at the letters on the keyboard.