Sorry, I'm done.

This will be my last post inshalla, thank you to the few who have supported me. I decided to stop posting since I'm never becoming a writer anyway and my english is bad so I need to shift my focus on something more useful.

1/4 of my english project

I probably won't be posting any time soon because of exams, so I decided to post another short story. If I get at least 5 comments/feedbacks (from different people) I'll post the rest of it inshalla

It was a hopeless battle, the number of men against them could not be counted, and they were quickly decreasing to just hundreds. The rain continued falling, and the men did the same, as their bodies fell onto the dead mud, the enemy’s laughter amplified. Even the cries of the mothers could not be heard, due to the loud sounds of the bullets taking one life after another, showing no mercy. He let go of his weapon and surrendered himself to the raining bullets around him, because he thought there was no hope, and he believed there would soon be nothing to fight for. No country to fight for, no men to fight for, no women to fight for, no mothers to fight for, no fathers to fight for, no kids to fight for; nothing.

Many couldn't blame him, because they knew by fighting back they were just pending their destiny, which was a brutal slaughter. Nonetheless, they wrapped their hands around the trigger, spitting ammo on the enemies, as others prayed for a victory, or like many would say, they were praying for a miracle. That's what people did when they felt hopeless, weak, and defeated, they turned to the one person who controls everything; they turned their heads to God.

However, God seemed to have a different plan, because his plan wasn't to give them victory, it was just to spare some of their lives. After multiple of men died fighting for their lives, after kids died from starvation or severe wounds, and after women were kidnapped or killed, God still didn’t free these people, because there was a wisdom behind this people believed.

If God freed them from the beginning of the war, these people would have just hid for a while, gotten stronger, to only go back and meet the same unpleasant fate.

If they were freed after only half of the people died, these people would have ran away, all in small separate groups or families. This would have given anyone the opportunity to surround and kill them one by one.

However, God let these people fight until they were so few, that when they manage to escape, they would stick to each other and rely on each other. This would bring them closer, make them stronger and make them wiser. This will also give them a bigger reason to fight for which was not to let their army’s work and blood goes to waste.

Finally after these people met their destiny, not many of them have survived the blood shed, but it was enough to start growing a new community again, and build a new army.

    Of course, after seeing your own people and country snatched away from you, you wouldn’t recover easily and getting back up on your feet would be a hard thing to do. These people needed hope, because hope is what keeps people fighting; unlike the man who surrendered because he had no hope of survival.

    One task remained at hand; it was to find someone to bring hope back to these people. He had to encourage them to build a community, a country, and then an army to avenge for their loved ones. And this is what the man said to bring the people back on the right path:

Short story: One Second

Please leave a comment, you can leave one as an anonymous now so please do!! 

    One second. If I could only have one second, I would have turned it into forever. I would have your face between my palms, and my eyes would be drowning in your two brown topazes, which you use for sight. If I could get another last second…

   I still remember that one morning on our honeymoon; it was our fifth honeymoon, because every year we liked to remember how it felt like the first time we pulled ourselves out of this world. We liked to remind ourselves how it felt like living in our own personal universe. We didn’t use Internet, we didn’t have cable, and we didn’t read any newspapers; during our honeymoons we didn’t have any sort of connection with the outside world other than one phone that we only checked once a day.

  

  I walked into the room with a tray in my hand. It contained two orange juices, pancakes with Nutella on the side, two boiled eggs, and a few chopped fruits on a plate. I gently placed the tray on her bedside table, and then walked to the other side of bed and crawled over the bed sheets.  I gave my wife a light kiss on the forehead, and whispered good morning to her.

  

  She slowly opened her eyelids, showing off her beautiful, and sparkling gems. She slowly sat up, with a bright smile on her face. It was the same smile I fell in love with just weeks after we met ten years ago, when we have just finished college. “Good morning my love, and thank you for the lovely breakfast.” She murmured, even though she hasn’t even seen it yet, but she knew it was there like it always has.

   

With effort, she moved forward to give me a long kiss on the lips, but her effort didn’t go unnoticed. No matter how hard she tried I have always been able to see the pain she goes through everyday.

  

  “How’s my favorite girl feeling?” I asked her.

    

“Much better.” She lied.

    

She says that all the time and we both know that it’s not true, and she herself knows that she doesn’t have to explain to me the pain she is going through because I myself can feel her pain inside me. She’s dying, and day-by-day she’s getting weaker. However, I swear, day-by-day she is getting more beautiful. Despite her thin falling hair, the few wrinkles on her forehead, the dark marks under her eyes, which were due to the lack of sleep, she still looked beautiful.  When I first met her I told everyone that she’s the most beautiful thing I have seen and that it is impossible for anything to exceed her beauty, but I was wrong. Because as we got older, I learned that each day she becomes more beautiful than her old self; my wife is special that way.

   

  I then stood up, went to the tray and placed it in front of her. I sat by her side and started cutting the pancake for her, as she told me about the dream she had the other night. Not a second spent with her was a second I have regretted, and as time went by, we lied on the bed, talked about our next trip to Oman, and how excited we both were about it. She may be sick, exhausted and tired, but my dearest wasn’t the type of girl who would let a disease stop her from living and that was partly my fault because she didn’t want to stop me from living either, “I have learned to live without breathing for more than ten years now thanks to you,” she giggled as we were lying on bed, “so a minor disease like this isn’t going to stop my heart from beating.”

   

But she was wrong.

  

  That morning was the last morning I had with her before she ended up stretched on a hospital bed, attached to tubes and wires to keep her alive. She was asleep most of the time, and every time she woke up I saw her sympathetic eyes on me. She once told me that she believed that if I had married another, I would have lived a much happier life. But she was wrong, and I insisted to her that she was. Because never in my life did I ever experience joy and happiness as much as the time I have spent with her. And now that she is gone, I have one wish:

  

  One second. If I could only have one second, I would have turned it into forever. I would have your face between my palms, and my eyes would be drowning in your two brown topazes, which you use for sight. If I could get another last second, I would give you one last kiss, and make it last forever. If I could have one last goodbye with you, I will say that I died happy. I would have died happy, because I stopped living once my heart flew out of this life with you.

stuff i wrote a while ago

وجهها مثل النور ساطعاً

و صوتها مثل الطير مغرداً

و قلبها مثل الباب مرحباً 

و كلامها مثل الطفل مفرحاً

لكن حبها مثل الكون غامضاً

لا أسمع إلا أسمها و لا أرى غير وجهها. فهي كالنور من السماء، أعمت عيني من كل فتاة. فلماذا أبحث على الضوء إذا وجدت الشمس بأصلها؟

قلت لها أحبك، فإبتسمت لكن ما معنى هذه الكلمة؟ مثلها مثل أي كلمة أخرى، فهي تتكون من حروف ملتصقة ببعضها ولا أكثر. لكن حين سمعت شفتيها تردد مثل الكلمات إلي، أصبحت لا أفكر إلا فيها ليلاً و نهارًا حتى لُقبت بالمجنون. حين تلتقط أُذُني إسمها يضيع عقلي في عالم الأحلام. أصبح أحلى صوتٍ أسمعه هو صوتها العذب و المغرد. و أصبح أجمل منظر تراه عيني هو وجهها الذي يجعل دقات قلبي تتسارع و لساني ينربط و يجعل بشرتي تحس كأن نورٌ دافئ يسطع عليها. فهذا هو الوجه الذي أتمنى أن أكبر بقربه، و لا أصحى إلا مع رؤية بسمته، و لا أموت إلا حين نكبر و أرى التجاعيد تملأه، فأصر بأنه أجمل ما رأته عيني. فما هي كلمت أحبك؟ من العالم كله هي كلمة تتكون من حروف ملتصقة ببعضها لكن حين هي تلفظ الكلمة إلي فسوف تعني لي العالم بأسره... 

Never should have stopped and I never should have made excuses, but all I can do now I start climbing up the mountain again.

FINAL CHAPTER

First I would like to thank my friend Layal for editing this chapter for me and for supporting me through writing the whole story. I want to also thank my friend Noor for inspiring me to write this chapter.
Please tell me what you guys think; especially what you think of the ending!

    I’m in the living room, sitting at our small dinning table, and looking through the list I got yesterday from Salman. I searched every name on that list, and what I learned is that half of the people listed no longer live here, which reminds me, why is Faris still living here? He’s a smart guy, he could find a job anywhere in the world, I don’t think everyone will care about him being sent to jail, right? What does he really want from me? Revenge? But then what?

    After I finished looking through the list, four names seemed more likely to be interested in helping Faris, because one of them seemed to always be hungry for money, and a couple don’t care what happens to them if they get caught; they never lasted a long time in jail for some reason. They all look different, and looked like foreigners, a special face strikes me because of his creepy features, he is a tall, thin man. His right cheek is burned, and he has a three-centimeter long scar right above his right eye. The remainder of his hair is brown, his eyes are dark black, and his skin is pale white.

    “How’s the research going?” Dalia asks as she cuts some fruits.

    “I’m almost done!” I reply; my eyes attached to the screen.

    “You should finish quickly and go wash up, because my parents should be here in less than an hour.”

    I looked through for a few more minutes, put the list on the laptop, and then rushed upstairs to get ready.

    As I’m putting my shirt on, I hear the doorbell ring. I quickly slip the shirt on, spray a little perfume, and race downstairs to welcome my Love’s parents.

    I am downstairs, with Dalia, I stop her right before she goes out in the garden to open the door, and go open it myself. I put on my brown slippers, and head to the entrance under the bright sun. I greet Dalia’s parents and walk them inside the house.

    “Is there a laptop I could use, I forgot to send an important email?” Dalia’s father says right before he sits for lunch. I walk towards the laptop, and he follows me. I lift the laptop for him, and the paper that has the list falls on the ground. Dalia’s dad stretches down for the paper, and when he is up facing me, I find him staring at the paper as if he is remembering something, “I know this name.” He whispers, mostly to himself than to me.

    I look at him in disbelief, how could he know any of them? But I can’t hold the excitement inside of me, because if he actually did know any of them, it could help us a lot, “Who and how?”

    Dalia's father pauses, his mind goes far back, reminiscing the days with his son, but then his eye lids close a little and his pupils darken. He then looks back at me, and shakes his head, “I don't know what happened between them. But Ali was a very good friend of Abdullah.” He focuses his eyes back on the name on the list. “I used to see him every week with my son, then they grew up I guess and went their separate ways. After I stopped seeing them together, Abdullah seemed to be lost, like he had no goal, and then he just learned to adjust without his friend I guess. It's a sad thing to see really good friends to just leave one another for no particular reason.”

    If only my father-in-law knew that when his son stopped going out with the likes of Ali, it was something good for him, but I wonder, if Abdullah never changed his path in life and his friends, would he still be alive?

    “Do you know where we could find him?” Dalia asks interrupting my thoughts, reminding me of the necklace I found by the entrance of our house, which sets my mind back to where it should be focused on; her safety.

    “Why, what do you need him for?” He asks.

    “Umm-” My mind freezes, I can't think of any relevant excuse.

    “Ali won a competition that earned him a visit from one of his favorite writers.” Dalia says pointing at me. Even I believed what she said, but it wasn't enough to trick her father.

    “Then how do you not have his address, shouldn't he have sent it to you when he entered the competition? How is he expecting you to visit him if you have no idea where he lives!” Dalia's dad laughs.

    “I guess he forgot.” I play along. “Now,” I say more seriously, “Do you know where we could find him?”

    “I know where he used to live when he was younger, but I don't think he'd still be living there.” Dalai's father says, but he gives me the address and details anyway.

    Later on when our guests left after sunset, I decide to go to Ali's house. I take the paper that contained the address out of my pocket, grab my keys from the table and drag my shaky feet to the door.

    “Aren't you forgetting something?” Dalia asks.

    “What?”

    She walks towards me, gives me a gentle kiss, and whispers, “Good luck.” our eyes lock for a minute, reminding me of the first time we saw each other. I look into the most beautiful eyes I've seen, and know that I should go find answers for all what's going on if I want these same eyes to be the last thing my own eyes catch sight of, “I love you for making my life heavenly.” I murmur.

    I walk towards the door, look at Abdullah's picture, and ask Allah to keep my favorite girl safe in my absence.

    I drive my car slowly in the quite, and dark neighborhood. The sun has set an hour ago, but the moon isn't doing a horrible work at taking over the sun's job. When I reach the given house number, I walk out of the car, and nervously ring the doorbell, once, twice, thrice - no answer. I really thought that this was the right house! I start marching towards the door, frustrated, when the door behind me opens.

    “Yes?” An angry voice shouts behind me.

    “Are you Ali Al-X?”

    “What do you want from me?”

    “You know that Abdulrahman has been murdered?” I don't have time to waste, and not in the mood to really care about others' feelings.

     His eyes widen, not only from shock, but I see fury in them as well. His arms spring towards my chest, and he clutches my shirt with his hands, “Who told you he got murdered? He just died, okay?” Ali says between his teeth. He then pushes me back, and walks back into the house.

    Right when he is about to shut the door, I put a hand to stop him, “Look, I don't know why you're angry and I don't know what secrets you're keeping, but tell me this, do you know Faris Al-X?”

    “Abdulrahman,” I never mentioned my name to him. “You're at the wrong place. Now leave.”

    “You know something - you probably know what Faris is planning, just tell me what I need to look out for? Why is he doing all of this to me! Just tell me!” I pleaded my eyes almost tearing up.

    I saw a bit of sympathy in his eyes, “How do you know Abdullah?” He whispers.

    “I'm married to his sister.” I answer.

    His eyes grow in disbelief, and I could feel his temperature rising, “Go home now, call the police, and lock up every available entrance in your house. All I can tell you is that Faris is not a good Muslim.” He doesn't wait for a reaction from me, but instead he pushes me towards my car.

    I race to the house, with thoughts juggling in my head. What was he talking about? Why has his expression changed once he knew about Dalia being my wife? What's the need for all of this security? The police? What is Faris planning to do? How is he going to even enter the house? All the doors are locked! He’s not a good Muslim? What did he exactly mean by that? All of what he said made my heart beat faster and my brain press harder against my skull. I did the best I can to ignore all these thoughts, call the police, Malak, and her now husband, Talal and tell them all to go to my house. Then I dial Dalia's number - no answer. I dial our house number, and I hear from the other end that the number cannot be accessed. “Faris, you are NOT taking her away from me!” I shout in the car.

    After less than four minutes, I'm right next to our house. I click the button to open the garage door, but end up smashing into it because it's too slow to open. I slam the driving door open and accelerate into the house. When I am in I notice that the plastic window facing the kitchen is now into pieces. Dalia. I look up front and I see broken furniture. Dalia. I run forward, and see blood on the ground. Dalia. The next view I see kills me. Saying that I felt someone dig a knife into my chest would underrate the pain I felt I'm going through. Fore I saw the most beautiful girl, lying on shattered glass, her weak maple-green eyes crying for me. Then I look up, and find the ugliest creature I have ever seen, followed by a tall skinny man. His right cheek is burned, and he has a three-centimeter long scar right above his right eye- same man I have seen earlier on the Internet.

    “Did you find that necklace I left by the door? It belonged to a girl I loved and just like how you took her away from me by sending me to jail; I will take your wife away from you!”

    I look back into Dalia’s diamond like eyes, which fuel me with more anger. I don't say a thing, but dive forward, and tackle Faris smashing his head onto the ground. Then the other man lifts me up, and throws a punch into my stomach. I take it like nothing has happened, but the pain in my gut says different. I move quickly, when I see the man glance at Dalia, positioning my body to shield her.

    I then wrestle the man onto the ground, and start throwing punches to his face. He grabs my right fist, and pulls it down, causing me to fall to the side. Next he pulls me up again, and throws me right in front of Dalia. He walks up to me, with a knife in his hand, and strikes, but I roll quickly, and dodge the fatal knife. I kick-up off the ground, and kick him with a sidekick into the gut, forcing him to drop the knife. Without thinking, I tackle him into a hard wooden table, which make him drop in his place.

    I rush back to Dalia, shake her, and she opens her eyes, “You're not going to die, I can't live without you!” I shout.

    I hear a gun reload and BANG!

    Then I hear the gun drop onto the ground. My whole body freezes and my eyes lock with Dalia's wet eyes, both of us shocked, and none of us is able to make a sound.

                                                 ***

   

    In that deadly night I lost the one who never left my heart and soul, but left me to struggle in this world alone. Fore I was like a crying bird in deep sorrow, weeping blood, on the one who was everything to me. His final words “I can't live without you.” Ring in my ears like an echo that will never leave me for the rest of my life. And still every corner of this house holds a beautiful memory of him, I will never forget. I close my eyes, and my thoughts take my back to first time ours eyes locked, and our souls merged, under the hot sun, when we traded looks of admiration, which then turned into eternal love. I crack a smile because I know that Allah sent him to a better place. Then I smile once more for the miracle that is now living inside of me.

Noor originally wrote the last paragraph, and I just translated it from Arabic to English. I have also made a few adjustments so it would go with the story, (which made it worse than what she originally wrote) so a big thank you to her!!

Chapter 18

Please tell me what you guys think of my posts!!!!

    Dalia is now stretched on the sofa asleep, but her head is still on my lap. I flex my arm as far as I can to drag a table in front of me, and then I place the laptop on the table and look through what Dalia has found. My eyes read articles, and stories told by ordinary people, so I can’t be sure of any of what I am reading is true, but if they were true, then I better find a solution quick before they take my wife away from me. As my eyes scan through the pages, I notice a name that sounds familiar. I look at it, and try to remember when I’ve heard or read this name, Salman Al-X. I press hard on my brain, is he one of my old friends? No. Can he be a distant cousin of mine? But why would his name be on a page of some thief? Think, Abdulrahman!

-FLASHBACK-

    I ran away from Faisal when we were at the abandoned house after I broke the bottle of alcohol on the cigar chest and threatened to burn everything inside it. Faisal did as I ordered him to by locking himself in a room so I would leave without burning anything. I ran downstairs with the three cigarette boxes I took from the cigar box. When I looked around, I saw Fahad under the staircase but he was too busy juggling his bottle of alcohol and a cigarette to see me running away.

    I paced quickly towards the door, and when I was standing by the door, I noticed a small piece of paper on the ground just three feet away. I took a quick look at the paper. It had the name Salman Al-X and some other things written on it, but I didn’t dare to look at them, because I didn’t want to risk having Faisal rush from upstairs and hunt me down. I took a quick look at Fahad who was still too dozed off to notice me and ran away.

-PRESENT-

    How come I have never recalled this part before? Could it be because I lost my memory? Why would his name be on a piece of paper on the ground, and what else was written on that paper?  All I know now is that his name is on this page I’m looking through that supposed to be somehow related to Firas, and his name was also in the abandoned house. That means he has to be connect with Firas somehow.

    I search Salman’s full name and manage to find his number, what he does for a living and where he lives. However, something interesting I have found was that he was never related to any sort of illegal things! In fact, from his bio, I found out that he is very interested in charity work, so what would Firas do with a guy like him?

    I try to move, so I would get to my phone without disturbing Dalia. I grab a pillow and try to slip it under head, as I move away. I walk towards my phone, but Dalia’s voice stops me, “Abdulrahman, where are you going?” She asks half asleep.

    “Go back to sleep, you’re research last night has hopefully paid off. Now get some rest, you deserve it.” I grab a blanket, cover her with it, give her a kiss on the forehead and leave the house with my phone in my hand.

    I’m out of the garage in my car, right when I am about to drive away; I stop, and remember Faris. Could he be spying on me right now? What if he is and gets into our house as soon as I’m out of sight? I turn the car off, rush back into the house, make sure that every window, door, and every place that someone could enter from is locked. Then I go back into the car and drive to where Salman works. From what I have read, I learned that he works in a bank, so I am not sure if I will be able to talk to him, especially since I have no idea what I want to ask him, or what I need from him exactly. What do you want from him anyway, I ask myself. I found a paper with his name on it in the abandoned house thirteen years ago! So he might not even remember Faris, but let me presume that he does. If he does know Fairs, and actually hates him as much as I do; how can he help me? How am I even going to start a conversation with him? What was I thinking by just leaving the house and think that’ll just talk to some guy I have never met about a criminal who wants to take away the love of my life from me? I am almost there, so I decide I will just improvise and hope for the best.

    I walk into the building, head to the receptionist and ask her to lead me to Salman. When she asks me who I am, I just tell her that I’m a friend and that I need to talk to him about something urgent. She leads me to his office, and tells Salman about me. When I am allowed in, I see a man in a dark black suit, with neatly combed black hair. He has thick eyebrows that could be clearly seen despite the glasses that cover most of his face. He is well settled on his comfy leather chair. His office isn’t that big, but its size isn’t so bad. He has a stack of paper laid in front of him, and judging by the number of novels at his office, he seems to love reading a lot.

    He rises up from his chair, his eyes puzzled, but he couldn’t seem to be able to wipe his smile off his face, “Abdulrahman!” He begins, how does he know my name? “What are you doing here, and how do you even know me?”

    My face doesn’t show anything but the way I am feeling; confusion, “You actually know me?” I ask in astonishment.

    “Yes, of course I do, I am a huge fan of your books!” Now things are making sense, I think. “So what brings you here? You may sit down.” He chuckles and point at the chair.

    I take a seat in front of his desk and try to sound as casual as possible, “Sorry, but before we start, do you have a cigarette with you?”

    He laughs, “Sorry but my smoking days are over!”

    “So you used to smoke?” I ask.

    “When I was a teenager, but I stopped now.”

    “What made you start?”

    He readjusts himself on his seat, looking a bit uncomfortable, “I used to be friends with the wrong crowd when I was young, but I learned my lesson, and these days are over.”

    I decide to take this opportunity to bring Faris’s name. “Yeah me too, I have stopped once, but now I am back to it because of some guy named Faris.” I say, totally disgusted by his name.

    Salman’s eyes widen, and he gets up from his place for a split second, but then seats himself again, “Are you talking about Faris Al-X?”

    Thank you Dalia, if it weren’t for you I wouldn’t have been able to find this man, I think to myself, “Yeah, that’s him! How do you know him?”

    “He’s one of the people I was friends with, he was actually sort of the leader of the pack, but thank God I am no longer friends with that guy!”

    “Do you know people who may still associate with him?” I can’t continue going around the subject, I have to find a way to stop Faris.

    “I actually do know a few, why do you need to know?” He asks.

    “It’s a long story, could you just write the names for me please?”

    He hesitates for a moment, but then decides to trust me and he give me the list, “Is that what you came here for?” He asks.

    “Thank you.” I say in appreciation and leave before he could go any deeper with his questions.

    I drive my car into the garage, and start heading to the door. As I move, I notice a necklace on the ground. I pick it up, and realize that it can slide open, and when I open it, I find a picture of a woman; someone entered the house. I stuff the necklace in my pocket, unlock the door quickly and race to where Dalia was sleeping. My heart is racing, my forehead is sweating, I have no idea what I will do if I find anyone besides Dalia, but all I know is that I will not let anyone harm her. “Dalia!” I shout as loud as I can.

    “Haman, what’s wrong you scared me?” She walks right in front of me. She’s still in her pajamas, her hair is still messy, but no one is around her.

    I feel so relieved. I thought I lost my whole world, but there she is right in front of me, safe, and untouched. I run to her, and hold her tight, “I missed you.” I say, still trying to catch my breath.

    “What happened?” She asks still worried.

    I think about it for a second, and decide not to tell her about the necklace, “I thought something happened to you, but you are fine.”

    She pulls away, “Why would you think that?” Her face is turning a bit pale and she looks terrified.

    I think quickly and decide that I have to lie to her even though I hate doing that, “I thought someone unlocked the door and came in, but then I remembered that I left it unlocked before I left. Anyway you genius wife of mine, guess what I found because of you!”

    She smiles, and I hold my breath at the sight of her smile, “What did you find?” She asks.

    “I found a guy who gave me a list of the people who could still be associating with Faris. If we know them, we could find a way to stop this, right?

    Her smile flips, “Why would you go there without telling me? For all you’ve know that guy you met could have been the enemy.”

    “I didn’t want to wake you up.” I say childishly.

    She laughs, “I married an idiot.”

    “Who you love very much!” I point out as we head back to the living room.

    “More than I love myself.” She replies with a wink.

    Later at night, Dalia goes to sleep and I sneak out of the bedroom quietly, and I exam the necklace I found. Who could it belong to, and who would try to sneak into a house and drop their necklace without noticing? Was it dropped on purpose, as some sort of warning? Is Faris done from my money and now he wants to finalize his revenge? Or could it have been dropped by mistake, because leaving a necklace with someone’s picture would be a bit stupid. Who was that woman anyway? How is she related to Faris? Is she related to Faris?

    A lot of questions are spinning in my head, which are keeping me up all night. However, I only want one answer for all these questions, how can I keep Dalia safe and happy?