DOOM
DRIZZLE AFTER MAGHRIB

Lastri lowered his head. He sat down and looked at the black tips of his toes. The wind that broke through freely sounded disturbing the wall of the gedek reot. Unraveling naughty shabby Lastri hair.

The sun was no longer visible in the western horizon, covered by clouds that were marching, as if a mountain of Rinjani covered with thick cucumbers was about to throw it on the top of the hedgehog.

Lastri raised his head. The rustling sound of the wind was like bringing the sound of wildfire to his ears. Lastri turned her head and grabbed a bamboo stick that was leaning beside her pensive spot. With the rest of his strength still lingering on his thin body, he tried to get up and stand up as if he wanted to challenge the towering mountain mute covered in mist.

He sighed and smiled as if there was a sudden rush of pleasure among his loneliness. Apparently he's not alone. Apparently, the old goat herder is still seen blooming under an acid tree not far from his hedgehog. Lastri sat back down. But her nanar eyes would not turn away from an old figure who was leaning without burden under the tree while chanting its horns. For a while he was calm. At least until nightfall, he still knew he would not be alone in that quiet place. And at the very least, the drizzle that will soon come down will not invite any more tears.

Remember the world that is sure to end.

remember about Munkar and Nakir who tried in the.

Remember the court in the field of Mahsyar.

Remember God and God will remember you.

Head Lastri was down. The sound of chattering that began to flow from the discordant voice of the old man was increasingly heard loudly through the gap of the hedge. Lastri was crying. Unable to withstand the pain that felt piercing his heart. The chatter that he used to hear from his mother's mouth before bed was like trying to pluck his memory nerves. Forcibly taking him to the time span has passed. To his gray past. When his girlhood he spent on a stretch of Senggigi sand. Among the booms disco sound that stomped his sex body. From the hotel to the hotel was scratched by a silent witness as her beautiful body she halted among the heavy body crush of the bulls who bocked her. Even if the bulenya Italian, he is willing not to be paid. He was so fond of the man from the country of Pizza. In terms of material he already feels more than enough. From the results of his date with the Caucasians who mill around the beach senggigi, gili trawangan and gili meno, both short time and long time, he can buy whatever he wants. He is the only owner of a magnificent villa in the pink beach area of Tangsi. Beautiful face with a synthetic body has made it a high-class call girl with super expensive rates and specifically for the consumption of foreigners.

No time for money, but just for my satisfaction. So he said when his friends asked his habits.

Because of her beautiful face, she became a proud girl. He felt it was inappropriate to live in a small hamlet under the Rinjani mountain. Along with other mountain girls, if morning and evening carrying a pitcher on the hip looking for water. Or when magrhib arrived, flock to bring the book to teach in surau beside the house of the cadus sir. He was fed up with the voice of the Azaan and the colossal young men of his village whose days were spent in their sheaths of prayer. He was fed up with all the religious rules that seemed to curb his teenage expression. She wants to be like the city girls. Wear tights, dress up, hang out in malls and other shopping centers. In the city of human rights is more appreciated than having to be confined between the sneers and jeers of village elders with a set of customary rules. Who never wants to understand that times have really changed.

”Tempora muntantur et nos mutamur in illis.”

So often he said if there are people who try to reprimand the change in him. And of course the villagers did not understand what he said. If so, he will laugh out loud at the foolish villagers.