What is this urge I have to sleep next to my notebook and pen. To always have them at the reach of my fingertips. To stay up after all lights are out, as my eye lids grow heavier than ever, but I insist to write, write something, write anything, I need the fume of paper more than I need air ,,, do you feel the same ?
Be brave when facing the day
You are a blazing orange fire, the sun can’t hurt you
You are the calm blue ocean,nothing can drown you
Be as light as the wind. As strong as a young tree. Be rooted in your believes, let them be your guid.
Be brave. To be who you ought to be. Be brave in trusting the divine. Be brave.
“Disclaimer: I found this picture on tumblr today and thought how real and relatable this actually is.”
He doesn’t wake up to soft music alarm anymore.. He wakes up to fire drill sounds that scare him out of his sleep.
She doesn’t open her eyes first. She stretches her arms and shakes her shoulder slightly to shed off the beauty of her dream to the horror of reality.
He inhales deep till his lungs inflate to fiery red and exhale hard the fumes of the dream.
She puts pink on her cheekbones to hide the pale of her skin. Perhaps a flashing lipstick, maybe red, definitely not nude color today. She needs more color like she needs air.
He puts on his whitest of clothes. Hides his darkness within. His watch, his pen. The perfect angel from every angel with a halo on his head. He smells of success musked with heavenly fruit.
We all stop for a second in front of our mirrors to check the new reflection. We assess the perfection of the masks we groom our selves with every morning.
Is this how we are supposed to live. Create a mask, survive, revive, & repeat.
You look at the mirror. Black hair falling like waterfalls on your rock hard bare shoulders. You look again, touch your pale skin with your shaking fingers. You are on your knees as you move closer to the mirror and you take a long deep look into those black hollow eyes.
Your lips start trembling as your fists hit the mirror over and over again.
This isn’t your reflection.
You close your eyes, shake your head in denial, rub your eyes with long dead cold fingers hoping to shake this nightmare away, you pick up a picture frame on the night stand beside you and look deep into your picture. The face you don’t remember any more. The red hair, the green eyes, the YOU. Your eyes travel from the mirror to the picture a hundred glance in a second. This reflection isn’t yours. This body is no longer yours. You see what it wants you to see. You do what it wants you to do. You stared into the abyss for too long. Now your eyes are raining tears yet the Devils draws that mischievous smile on your face. For now your belong to it.
Nighty night readers 💀
This was a photo prompt but the photo doesn’t belong to me. Please claim if it’s yours ✌️.
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, this is another piece that i had submitter to the untitledchapters.com team. This was written for the “Twisted Fairytale” september 2013 theme. For this i choose to twist the story of the Emirati Folklor fairytal “Umm AlDuwais”. ENJOY 🙂
In an eastern land where bronze sands roll like waves and is home of the brave. Where horses prance in a rhythmic pace. Where sun shines with glory and grace. There you can hear voices of mothers, telling tales of the evil that smother. They speak of an inhuman fay, in night’s veil it killed all those who stray.
Her shadow-like figure swayed in the darkness, as she walked towards the village in silence. She reached the valley where little huts lamps glowed. Her eyes traveled from door to door as she spied into windows of every home. In one of the houses, she heard a little boy, crying defiantly “I won’t sleep, I won’t obey”. The mother glared at her young boy, and told him “fine, but you can’t avoid the evil that is “Umm Al Duwais”. The mother wrapped the boy in her arms, and told of a tale from a legend of old. She spoke of a beautiful creature that was very bold.
“There are many tales of late, that spoke of this devil and her angel face. She walked the valley wearing Arabian gold that shone. Her anklets rang. Her bracelets banged. The silk dress covered her dreadful truth. She had donkey’s foot. Her hands were made of sharp sickles, weapons to behead her victims. She was the mother of sickles “Umm Al Duwais” was her local name. The name that runs shivers through veins. Her perfume scent traveled the wilderness, to seduce a man that strayed, from home he came faraway”
The mother gazed into her boy’s eyes. The eyes so reminiscent of his father’s, it almost brought her to her knees in grief and sighs.?? She journeyed within her memory for words although she could not forget the events of this tale. After all, she was telling her son about his own father who strayed.
“Mother what happened to the man” asked the wide-eyed little boy.
“She starts walking around the valley, gold clanging and spreading her mystic fumes. She finally got the man’s attention; he was drawn to her without suspicion. He thought she was lost; he wanted to help the lonely lady at any cost. She kept her eyes low; she had long lavish lashes, a perfect beauty that turns flames to ashes.
“Are you lost” the wonderer asked
“She turned around to claim her prize, When he got close enough she lifted her eyes, her cat like yellow gazes could not be disguised. He turned around and chanted his prayers; he ran with eyes full of tears. He knew the myth he came across, she wasn’t a ghost as he once thought.”
“Did he get away, Mother? Did he escape?” asked the little boy in sorrow.
The mother tenderly kissed her boy’s forehead. She placed him down into his bed, covering him with a blanket, and walked away. She approached the door and said in despair:
”No one has ever lived to tell his tale. Anyone who meets her ends up meeting their fate”
The shadow at the window, stood still, unnoticed by those who lived within. She listened to her own story with pain in her heart she could not bare. She gave the boy a final look; she had always liked children and their innocence.
“I would have been a great mother,” she whispered under her breath, before turning to walk away.
She traveled back to her cave, to escape from the lies’ wave. She remembered the time when she was young human. She was as fair as a moonlit night, long black hair and a face of light. Caravans traveled to her father’s palace, to ask for the hand of his beautiful daughter. She was not always a cursed creature but a victim of a cruel spell from a wizard of hell. She had refused the wizard’s marriage proposal, so he was compelled to avenge his lost honor. On her wedding night upon witnessing her full beauty, he cursed her mirror until she become a monster that spread terror. She remained as beautiful as she was on her wedding night, untouched and petrifying.
Little did everyone know what she was hiding, the helpless creature desired understanding. She wandered the land searching for that wizard. She sought for any means to end this curse that consumed her spirit. She wandered the mountains that he roamed, but she never could find him, nor find solitude.
The myth that was there that she seduced and killed, was no truth in that as she is not skilled. She hurt only those who wanted to capture her, hunt her down and keep her captive. The savage hunters had a cruel heart, they wanted to cage her and display her to the masses. “Sell her to who would place the highest bet” She heard them arguing while she hid. They ran a freak show where she was the freak, she killed only those and left them reek.
She retreated to her cave night after night, crying in pain and shriek on her life. The mountains screeched at the sound of her voice, only to be deafened by the winds hollow screams. An immortal she became no end to her misery, as a legend she would live,,, just a mystery.