''Who wouldn't want to go back?''.. the past is more comfortable, more familiar! she said sipping some tea, her frail body save for her torso disappearing beneath the sheets, the size of the bedstead and the furnishings making her own more diminutive by comparison.
Pull the shades she requested, I complied, drawing them from all seven immense windows, the sun came in through the glass--a fantastic pattern though accentuating all her lines, her sunken eyes and wrinkles-- senile purpura on her arms undoubtedly some of which was caused by my own person.. she was so fragile.. save for my company I wondered why she wanted me alone with her?.. I was neither kin nor friend--
With unsteady hands she placed the tea cup on the saucer and stared into oblivion with glassy eyes and delicate breathing, I wondered if she were alive at all? she muttered something, I couldn't quite understand but signaled for me to sit, and I took the seat beside her bed.
She asked me to read her something both wondrous and tremendous , and I recited:
''Allah is the Light of the heavens and the earth. The parable of His Light is as if there were a Niche and within it a Lamp: the Lamp enclosed in Glass; the glass as it were a brilliant star: lit from a blessed Tree, an Olive, neither of the East nor of the West, whose Oil is well-nigh luminous, though fire scarce touched it: Light upon Light! Allah doth guide whom He will to His Light: Allah doth set forth Parables for men: and Allah doth know all things.''
She smiled a strange sort of smile, and asked me whether ,I knew how long she had to live? and I said ''We're all in God's hands at every moment'' -- ''Don't give me false hopes'' she said, to which I replied, '' I am neither the giver, nor the taker of hope''
''If you had to guesstimate then, how long would you give me'', I replied '' If it were me I'd get my affairs in order, and spend wisely my time''
''You' re probably wondering why I called you here?'' she said, and I, said nothing awaiting her to finish her statements.. a long awkward pause between us.
''It is no secret I have tremendous wealth, and as many yrs spent unwisely, when I am gone my next of kin will get everything, and I know that they can barely count the days, the hours even to my passing, however there is something that I want you to have''
another awkward pause between us, I wondered what I am to her, to be the recipient of a gift that she didn't want anyone else to know of-- she gave me a small rusty key, and asked me to open the small drawer to the far left on her dresser table but before doing so to close all the shades yet again, which I did.
''take out the box'' she said, I reached in and found a Moroccan puzzle box. ''she said, take it, it is yours, everything that you need to know is inside it, once you figure out how to open it''
''could you spare me the ninety some steps, I am not really big on novelty mystery' boxes' I said
''you'll figure it out'' she said, as she reached beneath her pillow for some instruction sheet, and asked that I should humor her as I open the box per instructions to mutter these incantations.
I chuckled heartily.. ''oh God---Ms. D.'' then shook my head at the utter nonsense...''please'', she pleaded with me in a barely audible voice.. ''It is but the only wish of a dying woman, won't you honor it?'' ''pls'', ''promise me you'll honor it!''
I nodded in the affirmative, but was rather annoyed with her unusual request...
I stared at the box now in my hands, with some amusement it had almost a magical quality to it.. I thanked her and decided it was time I got home while there was still some sunlight left, before I left I asked her if there was anything else I could do for her.. she asked that I call for one of the maids on my way out; and I did and was glad that I didn't run into any of her offensively curious family members. I thought their anticipation of her death was almost inhuman as if a momentous event.
I decided that I should walk home to clear my head and let the events of the day sink in.. the air was crisp and pleasing to the senses.. I never make house calls, but, Ms. D. would not visit a hospital, and preferred the quiet dignity her home conferred upon her. There was only so much I could do for her at home, whatever fluid building up in her lungs to drown her, whatever azotemia building up in her blood stream.. although the combination of painkillers and azotemia is a good way to go.. one just slips into a comfortable coma from which there is no awakening and very little pain. I thought to myself.. ''short of passing on ones sleep, that is probably one of the best ways to go''
Ms. D. Hadn't been my patient for very long, but I had grown quite fond of her, she was one of those patients, there was something deep, mystifying and almost other worldly about her.
I had many elderly patients but, she was intense and lucid which is such a rarity both for her age and her medical conditions, I can barely elicit a proper history from most.. yet she recalls events of centuries past with incredibly alacrity.. she was a history buff, but her recollection of finite details, was as if she were there in person.
When I got home that evening, I was extremely beat, I offered my prayer, ate a little butterd bread, some grapes, had tea and tried to stay awake to offer my Isha prayer and then retire for the day.
I slept right on my chaise, and could hear my mother murmuring something in the background about getting up and going to bed, but I was sucked into a heavy paralysis and when I opened my eyes for a second, I saw her descend on me with a warm comforter and it was the last thing I remembered seeing.
I found myself in an amazing garden with monolithic plants, furnished in its entirety with blue bells that it cast an eerie glow on the entire garden and it smelled so ethereal and delicious of rare musk, frankincense and the earth's vetiver and a medley of flowers though no master perfumer could mix them ever so delicately so-- each whiff uplifted me I felt I must have entered heaven.. I walked quite some distance in the garden, not feeling fatigue nor hunger or tiredness .
until I came upon an arabesque wooden door-- so old and dusty it almost didn't belong to the garden.. There was such a disparity between the strange house and the amazing garden..
I knocked and knocked.. I gave my salaam.. people of the house, I come in peace, pls tend to this wayfarer.. With my third attempt at salaam and knocking, the door opened with a screech, I entered into a large Damascene room with a fountain in the middle and two cups of Arabic coffee, that were set un-drunk and freshly brewed.
Asalamau'Alykoum, My name is M. is there anyone here?.. I think I am lost.. to be honest I am not quite sure how I got here?
No one answered and I sat by the fountain trying to recollect the events of the day that led me to this place? I took a sip of the coffee, it was sharp and perfect..I decided I'd leave money for the coffee and be back on my way, I did and as I got up I shrieked.. ''I , I, I - - - am sorry, I didn't know anyone was here?', my name is M.. I think I am lost?'' a strange yet comfortingly beautiful lady had been standing there though she had been there for sometime without my notice..
''She comes like fullest moon on happy night,
Taper of waist with shape of magic might.
She hath an eye whose glances quell mankind,
And ruby on her cheeks reflects his light.
Enveils her hips the blackness of her hair--
Beware of curls that bite with viper bite!
Her sides are silken-soft, that while the heart
Mere rock behind that surface 'scapes our sight.
From the fringed curtains of her eyne she shoots
Shafts that at furthest range on mark alight.
''I am sorry?'' I said, she proceeded with the poem yet again..
then she pointed to the door-- a chill ran through my entire being, and I hurried to the door.. she smiled and said.. ''be careful then''.. ''reflect you on these words''.. some wolves do come in sheep's clothing...
''M'', ''M'' I could hear my mother's voice.. ''you missed fajr and now you are about to miss Duhr too, you have been sleeping forever, are you running a fever?''
In fact when I woke up my pillow and comforter were soaked of sweat.
I walked toward the box and incantation given to me by Ms. D .. I read a few the first few lines they were jumbled and nonsensical as I fiddled with her box.. each line I read opened a compartment, I felt inebriated and compelled to read some more, as if the words were hurrying from my lips without my permission, with each line a heaviness on my chest, until I could no longer breathe.. my mom suddenly walked into the room, and I passed out to the floor...
The lady of the Damascene came once more and said.. ''No! don't-- because and if you love God more!''
I took sick to bed for a few weeks after.. and in my convalescence I was told, Ms. D. had passed away to the shock and disbelief of many of her family members who came from far to attend her funeral.. her eldest granddaughter was an elderly lady of ninety three and recalled a time when Ms. D was the matriarch of the family though no one understood the secret of her longevity or exactly how old she was when she died or when or where she was born for that matter....
the end..
authored by me except for the Quranic verse Surah An-Nur 24: 35 and the 'poem' from -- --The Arabian Nights,
Tales from A Thousand And One Nights'' thanks for reading
didn't want to enter it in the contest aside from my lack of competitive streak it needs alot of tweaking and I just simply don't have the time for that
You should enter it,you rather post a story then enter a story which might be the next "Slumdog millionaire" you never know if one of us are movie directors.
It might seem odd indeed to some, but I don't wouldn't get pleasure writing for a contest even if there were a strong chance of winning or have my work 'discovered' so to speak.. It isn't an ambition of mine and a completely different direction and calling from the one I chose for myself.... I write for the love of writing, and I seek nothing in return... though it is nice when others are entertained or when I receive positive feedback...
Text without context is pretext If your opponent is of choleric temperament, seek to irritate him
The haunting, ethereal prose communicates the atmosphere perfectly. The imagery is vivid. The use of existing poetry and Quranic verse is appropriate, and the twist is surprising and chilling.
Beautiful story. Masha-Allah, you are a talented writer and I like your writing style too. Since i haven't read many horror stories, I don't know much about the genre to offer advice. however, you should explain the medical jargon as it won't be understood by everyone and can throw a person off. for example, what do purpura and azotemia mean?
Here's how it's done in one story:
"You were right to insist she be transferred from the rehab center. She has a deep vein thrombus."
The news snapped Jennifer out of her hormone induced haze. Her mother had a blood clot.
Trying to sound professional and not like the worried little girl she suddenly felt, she gulped and said, "Are her lungs clear?"
Shortness of breath had been why Jennifer insisted on the emergency room visit. Only then had her mother admitted to leg pain.
Dr. Wright raked long fingers through thick black hair. "Unfortunately, no."
Panic gripped Jennifer's chest, shortening her own breath. "No?"
Please, God. She couldn't lose her mother.
"She has a pulmonary embolism."
A blood clot had traveled to her mother's lungs and cut off blood flow to a pulmonary artery.
Weak-kneed at the seriousness of her mother's condition, Jennifer sank onto a waiting room sofa. ...
There are a few things that need to be fixed, for example missing quotation marks, starting a new paragraph everytime the speaker changes, interspersing dialogue with character thoughts and actions, etc. Also, you don't really need to show who's talking in every place. you can leave the tags out in some places, like for example in the following dialogue:
She smiled a strange sort of smile, and asked me whether , I knew how long she had to live? and I said ''We're all in God's hands at every moment'' -- ''Don't give me false hopes'' she said, to which I replied, '' I am neither the giver, nor the taker of hope''
''If you had to guesstimate then, how long would you give me'', I replied '' If it were me I'd get my affairs in order, and spend wisely my time''
''You' re probably wondering why I called you here?'' she said, and I, said nothing awaiting her to finish her statements.. a long awkward pause between us.
In the following part i think you should rearrange it so the part about her not wanting anyone to know about the gift is in the end. because one wonders how the doctor knew that she didn't want anyone to know because Ms D only said that she wanted him to have the gift. she didn't mention it was a secret., but since she told him to close the shades, that shows that its something she may not want anyone to know about. one also wonders why she would ask him to open the shades at the beginning when she intends to give him the gift. maybe the doctor himself opened the shades because it's not good for a sick person to lie in the dark or something?
another awkward pause between us, I wondered what I am to her, to be the recipient of a gift that she didn't want anyone else to know of-- she gave me a small rusty key, and asked me to open the small drawer to the far left on her dresser table but before doing so to close all the shades yet again, which I did.
in any case, it's a good story, you might want to submit at some writing contest? for example, http://lakeviewreview.com/
Jazaki Allah khyran for your encouraging words and feedback...
format_quote Originally Posted by muhaba
Beautiful story. Masha-Allah, you are a talented writer and I like your writing style too. Since i haven't read many horror stories, I don't know much about the genre to offer advice. however, you should explain the medical jargon as it won't be understood by everyone and can throw a person off. for example, what do purpura and azotemia mean?
Here's how it's done in one story:
"You were right to insist she be transferred from the rehab center. She has a deep vein thrombus."
The news snapped Jennifer out of her hormone induced haze. Her mother had a blood clot.
Trying to sound professional and not like the worried little girl she suddenly felt, she gulped and said, "Are her lungs clear?"
Shortness of breath had been why Jennifer insisted on the emergency room visit. Only then had her mother admitted to leg pain.
Dr. Wright raked long fingers through thick black hair. "Unfortunately, no."
Panic gripped Jennifer's chest, shortening her own breath. "No?"
Please, God. She couldn't lose her mother.
"She has a pulmonary embolism."
A blood clot had traveled to her mother's lungs and cut off blood flow to a pulmonary artery.
Weak-kneed at the seriousness of her mother's condition, Jennifer sank onto a waiting room sofa. ...
Generally, I don't believe that the medical 'jargon' so to speak has any bearing on how this story unfolds or the moral of it, I don't want the reader to go away preparing for a medical licensure exam or get lost in semantics rather get the sense of believability in the gravity of her medical conditions, the mere fact that I closed a paragraph with a number of ways of her inevitable passing one which is slipping into a coma is pretty self-explanatory over say footnotes on the pathophysiology of the ornithine cycle and its relation to other medical condition from which she suffered to a conclusive end.. Also I don't want to give an actual indication for a potential cause of death as she is an unusual case that could in all likelihood defy medical logic-- in such a case it would be a little difficult to reconcile or work around it, if I gave a definitive reason for her impending demise. The take home message of it is a woman on the verge of death who desires to live by whatever means...
There are a few things that need to be fixed, for example missing quotation marks, starting a new paragraph everytime the speaker changes, interspersing dialogue with character thoughts and actions, etc. Also, you don't really need to show who's talking in every place. you can leave the tags out in some places, like for example in the following dialogue:
She smiled a strange sort of smile, and asked me whether , I knew how long she had to live? and I said ''We're all in God's hands at every moment'' -- ''Don't give me false hopes'' she said, to which I replied, '' I am neither the giver, nor the taker of hope''
''If you had to guesstimate then, how long would you give me'', I replied '' If it were me I'd get my affairs in order, and spend wisely my time''
''You' re probably wondering why I called you here?'' she said, and I, said nothing awaiting her to finish her statements.. a long awkward pause between us.
I agree indeed, and so I have professed that it needs alot of tweaking but I am pressed for time-- this is more of a vent/indulgent hobby than a full time career. Generally I didn't post it for syntax and structure though I realize their importance of course, but for remote entertainment especially for my own person.
In the following part i think you should rearrange it so the part about her not wanting anyone to know about the gift is in the end. because one wonders how the doctor knew that she didn't want anyone to know because Ms D only said that she wanted him to have the gift. she didn't mention it was a secret., but since she told him to close the shades, that shows that its something she may not want anyone to know about. one also wonders why she would ask him to open the shades at the beginning when she intends to give him the gift. maybe the doctor himself opened the shades because it's not good for a sick person to lie in the dark or something?
I do hope you know that the protagonist of this story is a [she] perhaps indeed I have erred gravely in some part, for you to have walked away not knowing the gender of the principal character.
foreshadowing in the story (any story) is best left open for the reader to decipher what s/he may. I find it rather intrusive on personal taste to dictate the meaning of any portent. Perhaps some readers indeed enjoy a bit more definition of medical terminology or the number of windows in a room or the significance of light or darkness.. I have always thought that the evocation of a particular emotion is better than describing it in many words-- as well it can read on multiple levels depending on what you are personally looking for.. It could be that I am trying to highlight her old age, it could be that light in means hope and shutting it out means loss of hope, it could be a signal defining heaven and hell, or life and death or good and evil-- the box itself may or may not be a secret, certainly members of her family knew that there was something strange about her.. the fact that they were anticipating her death in and of itself may not at all have anything to do with inheritance or hatred, rather disbelief that a woman who has outlived many is herself about to die?-- Also there is no telling if (she were to suck someone's life per se) that she wouldn't retrieve her box thereafter and share it with one or two other family members of her choosing? It appears indeed that she has done it before given the age of her eldest granddaughter and if there is one way about it, and she has her box back, it could easily denote that she full expects to retrieve it .. if I went to define everything for the reader, then all value and layering of it would be lost.. at least so in my humble opinion...
in any case, it's a good story, you might want to submit at some writing contest? for example, http://lakeviewreview.com/
I have no interest whatsoever in submitting it for any sort of review or contest, and I have actually stated as much in all my posts here...
Jazaki Allah khyran, I appreciate you reading, input and feedback, I'll definitely heed your advise if/when I decide to write next..
Last edited by جوري; 06-07-2009 at 06:34 AM.
Text without context is pretext If your opponent is of choleric temperament, seek to irritate him
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....i really enjoyd dat sis...nice one...! 
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