Captured Drawing

 The scene opens in the freezing cold December, in the suburbs of New York, where infinitive wind, strangles ghostly pale, 5"1 Louis as she tries to make it back home to her small impeccable house. Then out of an ordinary day the impossible happens. EXT: Louis struggles against, the violent winds, going at unimaginable speeds. Insert: posture as being funny and lopsided as the wind pulls down on her soft delicate skin. Insert: Begins to melt, turning into gooey undesirable liquid. Louis: What's happening to me? Insert: voice echoes. (No one answers) Louis forms into some sort of drawing, stuck like glue onto the ground. Insert: writing magically appears surrounding her, giving her the answers, the reasons in why she turned into this peculiar drawing. Reading: Those born as a drawing are given one wish and three wishes to be a real person, to be happy or the chose of Riches. Once you choose you will forget about your one wish. However, it will come temporarily true but two of them have consequences and only one is the right choice. You had a choice and you choose to be a human. That is the wrong choice and now you are stuck as a picture for infinity. To be continued.

Marhaba

Father has lost it again. Doesn't he always? His bits of night sky chalk pieces of hair stayed tightened like a metal helmet around his head as he peered through the window. ”They should be coming anytime now.” He banged his fist at the wooden door; banged it so hard the bones could be heard cracking like glass.

“Papa calm down. They’ll make it.” I said. He turned to me, his dark chocolate eyes filled with soulless hope contaminating my body whole.

          “I know they will.” His words came out like candy cracking his teeth. His wrinkled forehead looked like a folded cloth.

“Papa, we are safe; don’t worry.” I said. My hand grabbed my yellow smooth hijab that was tightly around my head.

“We are overdue-the Janjaweed-they will be coming.” Papa said, his pupils growing. He paced back and forth around the petite wooden house; his earring dangling, sounding like plops of rain.“

We can’t afford to think like that papa.” I said a lie that spiraled from my mouth. I too was having heavy thoughts of viscous men on their galloping horses carrying big guns, slaughtering every living thing that stepped foot in this place. I had tearful memories of how they killed my mom right in front of my eyes; eyes too innocent to be revealed to this monstrosity. I was locked in a dark cupboard. I looked through a gaping hole to see a towering black man, the same color skin of my mom and I, clawing at her pushing her as if she was a mouse. Strawberry colored blood was pouring everywhere; her soft creamy skin torn like a thin piece of paper. He then proceeded to rip off her clothing and blue Hijab. He violated her and if that wasn’t enough he took his big brown gun and pulled the trigger. Then he dumped her into a stone well as if she was garbage. I closed my eyes; they stung. My eyes opened to see a transition from my sheer glass memory to my worried father. There was a knock on the door. My father turned the knob to see a white as paper man, holding a large gun. I gulped and then backed away.“Hello.” He opened his hand; his palm revealed connecting lines; lines of trust and wrapped candies. I slowly walked towards him, my foot cold and bare. Then grabbed a candy and shoved it in my mouth. The candy was sweet and devoured my heart. I smile at him and said, “Marhaba.” He smiled back, showing his blinding white teeth.

“Marhaba, you guy’s no need to worry you are now safe.”

“What are you going to do with us?” My father asked.

“I’m here to help. I came from America. Want another candy?”  The man with the gun responded. I grabbed another one and this immediately melted in my mouth; melted all the pain of today. This one day I knew I was safe. I knew I had one other day to live.

Thought

My thoughtless trigger,

Overriding with joy,

With hope,

Destroyed.

Tearing my voice apart. 

My lungs.

Beautiful but full of a nomad's pity

I wander.

Alone.

My choice.

I live in this bubble.

Full of clones.

They're all the same.

I stand alone.

I can't breathe

Not with all these unheard thoughts.