Hey,
I am gald to tell you that after turning in my short story for the Short Stories Competetion to the University of Bahrain (UOB), I have decided to post it here so many poeple may read it.
"Shadows of superstitions"
My father died. The shadow of his spirit kept haunting the other world of mine. I am alone now. In my lonely world I see images of red and black shapes that are far beyond my comprehension. I did not ask myself why I am the only one in this piece of land who can see such a phenomenon. I merely speak to anyone in my house; they live in a shadow of superstitions, that is.
To begin my story, I will take you to a time when I spoke to my grandmother about my father. Upon hearing my father's name, I thought she would cry, but she did not. I looked into her heartbreaking eyes and wrinkled lips and she began to say. "Once, your father had neglected the fate that was bestowed upon him, and his life turned into a floating river of dreams and fancies." I did not fully understand a word she had said. She smiled. "My son, you have not been to his funeral, have you?" she asked me and truthfully shocked me. "No!" That was the only response I had delivered to her, and she just nodded. "You are indeed alone my little, poor boy. Had you gone to his funeral, you would have felt the bond which tied you together. Alas, you are cursed by your weakness. I know, my boy, it is hard to say peace for ever to the beloved, cherished ones, but peace will follow you not if you do not. It will scuttle you away; thrust you with tears of regret and dreams of rue, and light up your heart with sorrow. In times of anger and laughter, and in times of battering and flattering, I know, someday you will realize that they were helping you." She stopped. There, beside her, on the mat she was sitting on, was a coffeepot that she started to sip herself some of that bitter coffee which I would have been dead in an instant if I had drunk some. I watched her with pure, innocent eyes and said nothing though I had to tell her that I had had attended the third day of the funeral.
Dark and mysterious times when the delusion of my mind lived, in the era of where only the sacred ones preach about salvation. You take a step forward and then further forward till you reach the highest dale and after that you slip by sham words that painfully hurt you and finally get you slaughtered by the magic of DO-AND-DON'T DO. Nothing can be explained and nothing can be changed about what is wrong and right. The idea, only the idea that however the devil sticks to its misguidance and wrongness, the rightness of the human soul sparkles with preference to its steady sins. The ideology of my way of life was a mystery and still.
I was alone, one night, sitting in our village nearby a cold store owned by an old man. The polluted air I smelled, and rubbish all over the ground I saw. The environment was abused, well, it is not the only one which is being harshly treated I think! I was glancing at the sky up above and counting the stars. I probably should not have done that; I could have been blind. No one in our village counts the stars. No one! I heard the old man cursing everything and I mean everything. "God has abandoned me," he says in a loud voice, "God! Are you listening to me? I know you are. You're sitting there above doing nothing. How dare you? Have you no shame?" I ignored him and pretended I heard nothing, "Offf." He ended his sentence with this famous sigh. His world seemed full of despair and I was wondering if he ever had attempted suicide before; it looked as if he was ready to. The time, however, had passed when I could no longer take it anymore, I averted my face toward his cold store and the only thing I was able to see was the logo "Almahaba Cold Store." It means "Love." At that time I saw a cat wondering around as if scouting for food, but unfortunately for her - I am sure it was "She"- a shoe was thrown at her. It is a common thing to see cats being beaten all the time without mercy and it is only a matter of time before the ARL – Animal Rights Liberation – comes to scrutinize. I pity them. No one can survive in this land. And, unfortunately all of them blame God for it and curse the devil, but not the old man, he curses everything.
Seeping the cruelty of reality in the hidden part of my secret soul, and leaking like the sack of salt hanging on our front door to keep any harm and envy away, insubstantial words of complaints upon me revolutionize. I cannot escape nor fight nor scream. All that I can do is to swim in the river of mendacity with those hundred of superstitions, which are like children asking their mother how they came to life and it is difficult to answer them truthfully. Had my gloomy world brightened the sphere of those superstitions, I would have already furnished them with my life. That, if life does really exist!
My father died. The shadow of his spirit kept haunting the other world of mine. I am alone now. In my lonely world I see images of red and black shapes that are far beyond my comprehension. I did not ask myself why I am the only one in this piece of land who can see such a phenomenon. I merely speak to anyone in my house; they live in a shadow of superstitions, that is.
To begin my story, I will take you to a time when I spoke to my grandmother about my father. Upon hearing my father's name, I thought she would cry, but she did not. I looked into her heartbreaking eyes and wrinkled lips and she began to say. "Once, your father had neglected the fate that was bestowed upon him, and his life turned into a floating river of dreams and fancies." I did not fully understand a word she had said. She smiled. "My son, you have not been to his funeral, have you?" she asked me and truthfully shocked me. "No!" That was the only response I had delivered to her, and she just nodded. "You are indeed alone my little, poor boy. Had you gone to his funeral, you would have felt the bond which tied you together. Alas, you are cursed by your weakness. I know, my boy, it is hard to say peace for ever to the beloved, cherished ones, but peace will follow you not if you do not. It will scuttle you away; thrust you with tears of regret and dreams of rue, and light up your heart with sorrow. In times of anger and laughter, and in times of battering and flattering, I know, someday you will realize that they were helping you." She stopped. There, beside her, on the mat she was sitting on, was a coffeepot that she started to sip herself some of that bitter coffee which I would have been dead in an instant if I had drunk some. I watched her with pure, innocent eyes and said nothing though I had to tell her that I had had attended the third day of the funeral.
Dark and mysterious times when the delusion of my mind lived, in the era of where only the sacred ones preach about salvation. You take a step forward and then further forward till you reach the highest dale and after that you slip by sham words that painfully hurt you and finally get you slaughtered by the magic of DO-AND-DON'T DO. Nothing can be explained and nothing can be changed about what is wrong and right. The idea, only the idea that however the devil sticks to its misguidance and wrongness, the rightness of the human soul sparkles with preference to its steady sins. The ideology of my way of life was a mystery and still.
I was alone, one night, sitting in our village nearby a cold store owned by an old man. The polluted air I smelled, and rubbish all over the ground I saw. The environment was abused, well, it is not the only one which is being harshly treated I think! I was glancing at the sky up above and counting the stars. I probably should not have done that; I could have been blind. No one in our village counts the stars. No one! I heard the old man cursing everything and I mean everything. "God has abandoned me," he says in a loud voice, "God! Are you listening to me? I know you are. You're sitting there above doing nothing. How dare you? Have you no shame?" I ignored him and pretended I heard nothing, "Offf." He ended his sentence with this famous sigh. His world seemed full of despair and I was wondering if he ever had attempted suicide before; it looked as if he was ready to. The time, however, had passed when I could no longer take it anymore, I averted my face toward his cold store and the only thing I was able to see was the logo "Almahaba Cold Store." It means "Love." At that time I saw a cat wondering around as if scouting for food, but unfortunately for her - I am sure it was "She"- a shoe was thrown at her. It is a common thing to see cats being beaten all the time without mercy and it is only a matter of time before the ARL – Animal Rights Liberation – comes to scrutinize. I pity them. No one can survive in this land. And, unfortunately all of them blame God for it and curse the devil, but not the old man, he curses everything.
Seeping the cruelty of reality in the hidden part of my secret soul, and leaking like the sack of salt hanging on our front door to keep any harm and envy away, insubstantial words of complaints upon me revolutionize. I cannot escape nor fight nor scream. All that I can do is to swim in the river of mendacity with those hundred of superstitions, which are like children asking their mother how they came to life and it is difficult to answer them truthfully. Had my gloomy world brightened the sphere of those superstitions, I would have already furnished them with my life. That, if life does really exist!
"The End"
