Sorry for being MIA for so long. But the promise of a story still stands. It is not much of story and more of a jumbled up thoughts of a disturbed mind on a long sleepless night.
Without further ado, here you go:
The Miracle of a Dream
She was standing in a desert. Everything was barren just like her life. The meager plants had turned inside themselves for sustainability. The few rodents and reptiles had hidden under the many layers of glistening sand. Only the sun was abundant, busy drying each grain it touched. Why, she thought, even my dreams are empty.
A boy tapped at her shoulder. She looked around, slightly startled.
“What are you looking for?” He asked.
“I don’t know,” she replied truthfully.
“But,” he said with a smile, ” You never not know.”
“You mean to say we always know?” She said.
He shook his head. “No. That is not what I meant.”
When she continued to look baffled, he ventured, “Always knowing would be like knowing exactly what needs knowing. What I meant is you are never completely clueless. There will be some hunch…intuition.”
The next morning she woke up fresh. Her mind was made. She knew what to do. It was all clear in her dream. She will just trust her instincts!
She did. She told the one the one thing she had wanted to tell him.
Like all her hunches, decisions, and wishes, this was also wrong… terrible and utterly wrong.
‘Who should I trust if I can’t even trust myself?’ She thought. A life full of uncertainties was ahead of her, with death, the only certain eventuality!
Now as my ‘about section’ will tell you, I am crazy for stories. I read them, write them, adore them, inhale them, exhale them… you get the idea! For me life was going this way until kismet decided to do me a favor, which given my history doesn’t happen too often, and I met this awesome woman, Midu Hadi, who shared my passion for stories.
Long story short (see what I did there =P), we became friends. One thing led to another and now we are here to further our dreams that every story-enthusiast will share with us.
The aim is to tell a story! This is as simple and as complicated as that. However, there are no rules. It can be prose, poem, art work, or anything. As long as it tells a story, it floats our boats. This makes it that easy and that hard. Okay, I should stop doing that. Here is the deal:
We will be sharing a story, every week with our lovely friends here but with a twist. I will give you a link of her story before sharing mine!
“Hi, doctor!” Jaz greeted Dr. Domestica. A poker face stared at him as she lowered her veil.
Duzan Domestica, however, had been too long in this line of business to miss why this green-skinned, strange looking girl was there in his clinic. Despite her emotionless face and heavy makeup, her smile lines were more than visible. Fanning out at the corner of her eyes were several small wrinkles resembling a cat’s whiskers or a crow’s feet. Then there were the horrible concaves bracketing her thick lips, almost conquering her nasolabial region. Duzan focused hard on her left cheek but was not sure what to make of it. He reflected for a while. Then, “Smile,” he sighed and issued the one command that only he could give without risking his life.
As if waiting to do so all her life, Jaz gave him the brightest of smiles he had ever received. It indicated that she was in her happy place and probably knew that it was the last time she would be there because her smile was a classic clichéd one. The one that came straight from the heart or could illuminate the darkest of the hours, you know the magical one!
Duzan shook his head in despair. It was there alright — deep enough to house a million of microscopic entities or a very tiny grain — depending on which you are more likely to carry. She had the cursed symbol that alone could have destroyed her forever. She had a dimple!
“Is it that bad?” asked Jaz. Her eyes were moist because there was a lot of smoke in the dingy clinic of the damned doctor. Duzan, however, misinterpreted it to be tears of sadness.
He took a step backward from her and barked, “Hold the waterworks, please. I hate emotions. I will fix this for you but you must never do it again.”
“Do what?” asked Jaz, “The S-word?”
“Smile, laugh, giggle, snicker… nothing!” he told her, “Or else…”
“You are giving me the last stage treatment, huh?”
“I have to,” he said, “orders are orders.”
A few hours later Jaz emerged from “Domestica Cosmetica.” She was the same woman who had entered the loathsome glass building with only one exception — her face was now completely devoid of any line.
With Zac gone, she did not have any reason to smile anymore. Zac would probably be under some kind of genetic experiment at the moment that the West is notorious for, she thought, meanwhile I am stuck in the pathetic East aka the rat hole where women can’t smile.
“Women do not smile like we do,” A man on a large screen which were very common throughout the country was saying, “Their smile is a weapon more lethal than the most dangerous bomb you and I could ever invent.”
“What b*******!” Jaz checked herself just in time. She was about to scoff.
“Therefore, we suggest that all the women should pay a visit to Domestica Cosmetica and be free from the wretched signs once and for all,” the screen man concluded with a smile.
“And become a ticking time bomb the moment they dare to stretch their lips only a centimeter wider from their natural position,” Jaz muttered to herself.
She was very upset now. She missed her childhood, where all the sci-fi villainy belonged to her imagination and her mother played the role of an evil person by imposing certain rules. This real-life nefariousness was taking a toll on her nerves.
“If it got really difficult,” she told herself, “I will just laugh my worries out.”
Here is another entry from our #WringoInk. project.
She was reading something. We were in a library surrounded by books. I was glad she was there. Finally, there was a girl who loved literature. She was into Camus and Beckett; would you believe it? I mean she belched at the mention of glittering vampires and impossibly romantic love stories just as my dream girl would have done.
I could imagine her narrating my favorite story. It was the uncensored version of a famous fairy tale where the shrewd elf was tricked and raped by the shepherd’s little girl. Throughout the story, the little girl was portrayed as a simpleton. Itwas only at the end the plot twist was revealed. It boiled my blood how the modern version was a hunky-dory retelling with the elf turning into a handsome prince marrying the village girl. Talk about making things palatable!
“You should be in dramatics. You read lines with emotion”, I told her.
She said something but I didn’t quite catch it. I was busy watching her small red lips curl into a smile.
I could tell she liked me.
I was sitting cross-legged on my writing table when my phone beeped. However, I didn’t care much because she was in the room too. She was singing a song I had never heard before. Great, I thought to myself, now I will think of her whenever I will hear this tune.
It was 9 a.m. and I could see sunlight filtering through my window and landing right on her. She was wearing a silver satin dress that she had worn on the party last night. It was glowing because of the golden beams that were reflecting off the fabric’s surface.
I was beginning to fall for her.
I was lying on the sand. The moon must have been wildbecausethe waves were creating a havoc. Yet I could see the force of water die down as it touched the tips of my bare feet. I felt as if I was part of a best-selling fiction. She was lying right beside me, whispering mesmerizing poetry into my ears.
This relationship was definitely progressing.
She was going for a coffee with her otherguy friend, Z. She said she had a surprise for me. Maybe she wanted me to be her boyfriend. Was she asking Z for advice before making that decision? I thought. He would tell her I am a nice guy,I smiled.
I was definitely in love with her.
Things were going great and we’d been together by nowif only reality had not arrived from the foreign lands of my dreams. It was back from its vacations.Urgh.It was knocking on the door of my sanityincessantly. I had to answer.
Monday. Tuesday. Wednesday. Thursday
“You should be in dramatics. You read lines with emotion”, I had told her on Monday.
“Dude, what the hell? This is just a Facebookpost. You gotta chill,” she had said while laughing.
We were sitting with 5 other people. It was a library alright but our college library. Love has the power to alter a few imperfections.
She had shared her favorite song on our WhatsApp group. She had been talking about it all night at the party. She had promised to share it on the group, of which I was also a part. Just not the onlypart though.
We had our English Literature class onWednesday. She had volunteered to read “I saw from the Beach” by Thomas Moore. It was broad daylight. The whole class was her audience but I was the only one who was listening. Listening too much, I presume, and imagining even more.
On Thursdayshe was successful in giving us a surprise. I was shocked to the point of devastation.
“Z and I are dating”, she had told us. The two of them were bursting with laughter.
Today is Friday:
I am going home. Alone. I see a girl waving at me. What does she want? I think, probably waving at someone behind me.
Somewhere a villain will trick a sweetgirl. Not all fairytales have to be unrealistic.
It is high time I should stop blowing things out of proportion.
Receiving the signal from his sibling, the toddler rolled towards the mysterious chest, which was fixed on the west wall of the oblong room in the form of a cupboard. The bubble around his head had started to slightly suffocate him but he knew better than to rip it off. Jaz, his sister had described to him in detail how toxic the air was in this part of the spaceship.
“83 and 3/4 percent, to be exact”, he recalled his sister’s words, “another of her ways to kill us.”
Zac peeked at his sibling from his hunched position. She was running towards him at full speed. Swift, he thought admirably.
“Now don’t you dare make a noise, Zac”, she whispered to him as she put her left foot on his back, “Bear the pain, my brave comrade, for today we will defeat the foe and earn our eternal freedom.”
Zac wasn’t sure what eternal freedom they were after. The foe his sister was referring to was Abgelia Rozando and except for her few moments of wrath, she had always been rather nice to them — more than nice, actually. Yet, Jaz was confident that she was their enemy.
The only way to find the truth is through unlocking the chest, he thought. He didn’t entirely trust his sister either. These are dark times, after all, he used to justify his suspicions at night, right before sucking all his fingers and thumbs and falling asleep.
“Ahhhh…”, Zac couldn’t control himself. The pain was unbearable as usual and the fact that Jaz had recently gained weight didn’t help either. He realised with the usual sorrow that he had betrayed his sister again.
Jaz was standing on her brother’s back, all set to unlock the chest. This chest, she knew was a time capsule holding the secret weapon, which was to earn them their freedom from the tyrannical rule of Madame Abgelia Rozando.
If only her stupid brother had a little more patience!
“What in the world did you do that for?”, her voice was not a whisper anymore. She hesitated before adding, “You, traitor.” She knew it was a bad thing to say and the harshness of her words reflected in Zac’s eyes. She could see them brimming with tears beneath his transparent head wrap.
Before they could clear the premises of their rebellion, Abgelia had arrived.
“For the thousandth time, Jezebel, this is not a time capsule”, barked Abgelia, upset that her siesta was ruined.
“Then why don’t you let us open it?” demanded Jaz, mustering all her courage.
“Because I have just sorted this cupboard and you two will ruin it”, Jaz knew the woman was being evasive. “And for God’s sake, have some mercy on your poor brother”, she continued to shout as she hurriedly removed the plastic bag that was tightly secured around Zac’s small round head.
Trying to win him over, thought Jaz.
“Jezebel”, Abgelia was clearly struggling to keep her tone calm, “I am your mother and this is not the future.”
Jaz looked extremely disappointed.
“I think you need to take a break from your unhealthy dosage of Dr Who and intensive sci-fi reading.”
Jaz hung her head, “Ok, Mom.”
“Kach”, a chuckle in baby lingo escaped Zac but nobody noticed it. She will be back tomorrow, he thought. Apparently, he knew his sister better than their mother did.
“By the way”, their mother stopped Jaz as she was about to leave the room, “Who exactly is this Abgelia Rozando and why do you hate the poor woman so much?”
“Just a character”, mumbled Jaz as she wondered how mothers know everything about you!