هذه آخر اضافة الى تحدي #بنفسج_تكتب_لمئة_يوم شكرًا لكل من تعنى وياي و قرا كتاباتي. اشكر لكل من علق و ساعدني اطور من نفسي.
A whistling breeze carved its way through the little cracks in the shabby window making my spine twist and shiver under my skin, I didn’t move.
I lay down there in utter silence like a corpse long forgotten, like a ghost just unseen, like nothing but yet another dead sheep in the barnyard.
I lay there in my old purple dress that was torn from the side and allowed cold to devour me under it cruel mercy. My hair and arms were flung about the floor as my right arm grew numb under the pressure of my body as I refused to shift from the position I lay in for so long. The whistling breeze soon became a howling wind that shook and played with this old cabin in the woods. There was no light any more so I guess it’s evening again.
I’ve been here for a few days now I don’t remember how many but I remember why I came and I remember who I am and I remember my sorrow and pain that followed me.
I moved my eye from the window to the fireplace and a long deserted chimney that forgot the definition of warmth. A small sigh slipped my lips as I muttered the only words in what seemed like a lifetime of wait for death “so this is my grave”.
Flashbacks played in my mind as I kept remembering bits and pieces of my life. I recall people saying that this was normal for a dying person. Clips from my life played like an old film reel before my eyes, I remember these memories that were just meaningless events.
“NO” I muttered to myself.
I spent my life sheltered within the pages of my religion; I was always a believer that everything happens for a reason, a good reason. Only god can see the full picture and we are mere mortals, we can only believe, and believe I did.
But I can’t seem to let go as I stress on the fact that there are memories that changed my very nature, turning points if we may say, that altered my reality completely.
It has been 10 years since I was bullied for the last time in school, I as bullied for 11 years before that. I even remember my first bully who was a chubby bronze skin boy on my school bus. Rashid was his name I guess, I still remember those psychological scars that ashamed me as a child.
It has been 15 years since I met my oldest friends, she wasn’t the first but she was the one that lasted the longest. She thought me the most and disciplined me the most.
It has been 3 years since I graduated from university with my bachelor’s degree, though it seems like a lifetime for me.
It has been 2 years and 6 months since my grandmother passed away taking with her the blessing that she once had upon us.
It has been 3 years 3months and 4 weeks since I fell in love last time. It’s the longest and the shortest one-sided affair that still twitches my heart. Every time our eyes met it was like the cold of winter night and heat of the summer day, we existed in one reality but were never destined to unit, just ignite in our flames of pain.
It has been forever since I lost faith in so many people around me, why; I can’t count the reasons why, for they are endless.
I have no regrets in life because I believe that everything happens for a good reason, yes I was hurt, and yes it wasn’t easy and it wasn’t the worst of the plagues that descended upon me. It was not nearly as big as the crime I ran away only to die this painful death, alone in the darkness, petrified in the cold. After all I deserve this. I killed my own husband.
All I could hear while hiding in the darkness is sound of my breath, as the wind decided to be merciful on my departing soul. My breath kept getting heavier as the world kept spinning around me. I was fighting now for each single breath in this pitch-black darkness. I tried to move my feet that kept touching a cold object near me; it was a shiny CD slipping from my purse that I brought with me. They were Mansoor’s CD’s that he asked me to carry. I could almost hear the music of Fairooz as those memories flushed upon me, Mansoor loved listening to Fairooz, he played her songs in every road trip we took together, I hated it.
We were on a road trip again that day traveling on sheikh Zayed road from Dubai to Abu Dhabi to meet Mansoor’s family for the weekend. He was a good husband but he was not the love of my life. That was the first of my sins.
“Did you carry Fairooz’s CDs?” he asked me as we were storming out of the house, late as usual.
“Yes” I answered.
We took the same rout, as always, listening to the same music, his phone would ring from time to time and he would spend the trip discussing future investments with his cousins and friends. I would spend the drive texting my friends on my phone and checking my Instagram, stalking people has never been easier. We were together but apart nonetheless. He was the moon when I desired the sun, I was his sea but he was afraid to dive in, we were 2 strangers brought together by the body of the car only.
I wished for this to end, this forced reality of endless complements, responsibilities, expectations, pride and formalities. I closed my eyes as the voice of Fairooz’s music and Mansoor’s laughs were suffocating my very existence. A dim voice in the horizon of a nearby mosque reciting Athan forced that prayer again from my lips, I wished I would get rid of this life, this was my second sin.
Not a moment passed next as I saw us drift from the road into the fences of Ghantoot forest. Mansoor lost control over the car and tried to gain it back with no luck. Endless lines of trees passed by quickly before we hit a trunk of an old tree really hard. Mansoor saw us approaching the tree and couldn’t stop the car so he shifts his right hand from the steering wheel to me to hold me still as his other hand swung the steering wheel to the right to make sure that the tree hit Mansoor only. It all happened in a flash of a second, so fast as though it was a dream I ought to wake up from soon. But the reality was malicious as always. This was not a dream at all.
I woke up moments later to the warmth of Mansoor’s wet hands; he was covered in blood and dirt. He couldn’t speak he just gestured by his one good arm and kept pushing me out of the car. I was petrified with shaky hands I opened the door and carried my purse while abandoning my husband.
I looked at him from the shattered windshield as seams of hot tears burned my bloody cheeks. I watched him dripping blood until his white kandoora wasn’t white anymore. I watched as my husband took his last breath of life and I didn’t even help him nor comfort him. I watched as the car engine burst into flames burning everything I loathed in that car. My prayers were answered. This was my ultimate sin.
I ran into the woods until everything looked the same and there was no path to follow. I didn’t expect the forest to get cold, the reality remains that I haven’t been in a forest before, and we were enjoying the January winter of the UAE at that time, nevertheless the cold was unexpected.
I don’t recall much of what happened next all I know is that I found this old wooden cabin and took shelter in it. Little did I know this was going to be my grave. I haven’t seen or heard any human pass this devilish place when I was there.
It was another cold night in a long winter that refused to end like an uninvited guest determined to stay. It’s a dark shadow; they call them clouds, its grey grim grip tightens on our hearts. It’s ironic that I desire Mansoor’s hands around me now to keep me warm, but I lay here unheard, unseen, I can feel my senses numbing as life slip through my fingers.
“Its Karma , its my time to go now.” With those last words I departed from this world. My breath vanished, my gaze darkened, and my heart embarked upon an agony, that’s the story of the last turning point that stole the music out of my heart beat and my symphony was forever lost.
Hey all, so submitted this piece for the December “Crime” theme on Untitled Chapters website. you can see more pieces submitted for this theme by others writers on their website from this link: http://untitledchapters.com.
Hope you enjoy 🙂
She lay there listening to people pity her on loosing her husband thinking that she must have lost her mind after his death as she was struggling to take last breaths of her own life. She knew they would cover her in a white bag after removing the little metallic gun from her hand declaring it another suicide. They were still trying to save her, those People in white coats, she didn’t know if they were humans or angels, but suddenly her life flashed in front of her eyes and paused at the moment she lay her eyes on her murderer the first time.
When Aliya & her husband Saif set to camp while backpacking in Europe 5 years ago they didn’t expect to encounter any danger before them or close to them within miles.
But when the wind whipped her black hair’s lock away from her eyes she could almost hear it talking to her. Maybe she was too sensitive, but later that evening she came face to face with one of the most dangerous and mysterious people in her life.
“I am Jamal” He introduced himself, he had a charming face like the meaning of his name but what those eyes were unleashing were the exact thing the wind were warning her about earlier.
The rain splattered as she stamped a forceful foot on the little muddy puddles on the street. She traveled from pavement to pavement absentmindedly towards her destination as her Abaya kept sinking and dragging its dirty wet ends behind her while her eyes kept glistening with tears hiding terrors that haunt her. Slowly her sleeps became dreamless, her nights sleepless, the darkness was no longer convent of the night, even the sun didn’t shine bright enough for her. Every time she closed her eyes she would see her husband’s dead body with his piercing eyes looking right at her.
Deep down she knew he wasn’t the kind that committed suicide; waves of happy memories and sounds of laughter crossed her mind. His hugs were warm, his touch was gentle, he was reasonable even under stress. She remembers stopping her car and pushing the door to run along the marble staircases of the house as all her belongings fell from her lap. She crossed the long corridors that echoed with screams and cries of their family members. She reached the door of their room where stranger’s hands struggled to keep her from entering. She fought with all the power that still resided within her but neither her deafening screams of plea nor her painful strikes allowed her to pass the policemen.
Drops of blood haphazardly splattered around the place, she saw him lying on the ground under the big white chandelier, his fingers tangled in the bushy carpet and his eyes wide open as if piercing her very core. A small metallic gun was being removed from his right hand as he was zipped in a white bag to be taken to the mortuary for an autopsy, but everyone from the policemen to the youngest members of their family were saying that they don’t need a post mortem report to say it’s a clear case of suicide.
She entered the main gate of the Police station, took her token number, and sank into her waiting chair. She was tired with red eyes and a wounded soul struggling to breathe. She started to forget bits of her day as her brain forced her to sleep for several minutes, after all her nights were not merry any more. She rested her elbow on the arms of the chair as her head found shelter on the palms of her hands. Her Sheila slightly slid to the front to cover generous part of her face; she didn’t bother to rearrange it. Her mind shut down again & a dark canvas appeared before her eyes. A dream was forced to her sight, reminiscence of that day that started with the chippering of birds outside her window as she indulged her eyes with colors of different flowers, the day she touched the rain with her fingers and wondered how little drops of water bring this world to life. The same day ended with sounds of screams, her eyes could only see the red of the blood & her hands touched the cold of the dead as life was sucked out of everything alive for the flashes of horror played a horrifying symphony in her mind.
Her nightmare was only broken by the touch of the lady officer brining her back to reality, she woke up with a laud gasp to the eyes of the officer that was full of sympathy, after all it was not Aliya’s first time here, but it might be the last as she has came today to collect the box of her husbands last remains and possessions.
She walked behind the officer who was guiding her through the station; every corner of this place reminded her of the different visits she made here. She could see her self screaming a million time repeating the same conversations
“He was a Happy Man, he loved life, he loved me” Aliya conveyed while sobbing on her late Husband.
“Madam please calm down”
Aliya’s voice rose as she continued to fight “No listen to me he was killed I know that”
“Madam the lose of a loving husband is a very traumatizing thing but you…..”
“NO, LISTEN TO ME, I knew him, if there was something wrong he would have told ME, I was he confidante”
She screamed a deafening sorrow screech every time she was here but the echo’s was lost in the midst of the evidences.
She got home hugging the box that carried the possessions Saif had on him the night he was murdered. Even though the box smelled of blood and dirt she kept it close to her as she felt it still had her husband’s scent and in a strange way it made her feel safe. She sat under the same white chandelier to open the box she received carefully unfolding the items within. First the Egal he wore proudly on his head then the white gitra and kandoora that were no longer white. Next she found was the watch he wore on his right hand, she found it weird that it wasn’t coved in blood if he had shot himself with the same hand. She glanced at the rest of the belongings, his wallet, his phone and a little piece of paper with a small note that read:
“The Moon will be full tonight”
This sentence struck terror within her already teary eyes. She opened his phone to look for something she glanced at the screen before realizing what she was looking for, her shaking fingers struggled to press the phone book to his last calls and there she found it, the last call he received was a 5 second call from JAMAL. But how can a dead person send call Saif, she wondered. She opened his sms folder to find a countdown SMS he received everyday for the past 3 weeks of his murder from Jamal
21 days till the full moon
19 days till the full moon
1 day till the full moon
Then this little paper. In that moment se knew what happened, she knew who killed her husband, but her thoughts was too slow as next she heard was a nasty whisper in her ears
“Its full moon tonight too” And with a bang she was shot.
After that his work was done and his evidence planted the once beautiful but now the scar faced murderer watched the parade from across the street through a window that faced the white chandelier’s room.
He sat on the balcony on a swinging chair remembering the day he met the happy couple backpacking as he joined their campfire. When the wind started to blow harder and deafening they decided to leave the camp back to their Hotels, but an unexpected incident happened as they were climbing the rocks to the other side. Aliya slipped on the damp rocks and Jamal slipped with her, driven by his instinct Aliya’s husband Saif took her hand and saved her while Jamal kept slipping down the rocks. The rain and the cold grew unmerciful as the couple searched for Jamal but couldn’t find him, they finally retreated to their shelter silently never to speak of this again not knowing that the man who only spoke of the beautiful full moon that night will come back to hunt them down.
Hi reader, today i will shear with you a piece that i submitted for the February “RED” theme on Untitled Chapters website. you can see more pieces submitted for this theme by others writers on their website from this link: http://untitledchapters.com.
Hope you enjoy… in this piece i attempted to capture the essence of the colour red without mentioning it 🙂
It’s the colour of your veins pulsing with agony every time you play the grim reaper.
The colour of your blood running pale when you hold that gun in your hands before your victims.
The colour of the fire burning within your aching soul with its fiery whips of hell.
It’s the colour of the silent screams your soul shrieks suffocated from this life you live…
It’s the colour of your hollow aura that vibrated evil the first time I saw you.
It’s the colour of the dark shadow that draped you so magnificently that you almost looked angelic.
It’s the colour that stains your hand,
for you are an assassin, my love.
You walk the earth like a living dead
who tames his beast only to become one…
It’s the colour of the rhythm that beats a deafening sound within you every time you are ready to kill again
It’s the colour of your eyes when you rip an innocent spirit out of its master,
or a child from her mother,
or a son from his father,
and you walk away with new enemies and a new burden on your shoulders again…
It’s the colour of your writhing soul when your beasts are chained, and your conscious forces rivers of guilt to run through your eyes.
It’s the colour of your cheeks when I wipe those tears off your face, pull that gun from your hand, and lock it safe so it’s never found.
It’s the colour of your lips when you confessed your crimes to me like an open book
It’s the colour of your words that dripped grey shadows of the unknown, how you only see thorns where flowers are, how you only see the terrifying black veil of the nights
how you see Evil in Angel’s eyes
It’s the colour of your hands when I laced it with mine and showed you how mystical life was, the beauty of a flower petal, the stars that glow at night,
Together, we saw Angels in Devil’s eyes…
It’s the colour of the dusk sky we sat beneath to witness a mesmerizing sun set as we planned our new future.
It was the colour of the happiness that glowed within us as we bound our lives together
It’s the colour of your passion the day you placed your head on my belly and spoke endlessly to your child within me.
It’s the colour of our sorrow the day your old enemies returned and we lost our little one forever.
It’s the colour of revenge that they saw fare, justice was coldly served…
It’s the colour of your face that leaked anger and the hunter within you awoke
It’s the colour of your pain that forced that gun back in to your hands to strike fear again
It’s the colour of that night when you unchained your beasts once more for one last battle.
It’s the colour of my fear when I followed you that night as we already lost the war…
It’s the colour of a father’s pain, the Karma of life, the descending of the angels of death. It’s the colour that stained my dress as you took your last breath in my lap.
It’s the colour of my heart that stopped beating the moment yours fell silent…
It’s the colour of a tale of crime, and revenge, sheathed with divine love.