Made this thread coz i'm really fond of Stories.
Ok guys, can you plz just post stories that you've written yourselves or stories written by your friends. I advise that you compile one story n post it in a single post.
Lol Umm_Shaheed, no competition, the golden trophy is all yours habibti .
Dreamer good story. Aljawaad, shukran for the compliment, though i do not think credit is due here. It's a shame no one else is willing to share some of their work, lakin ma fee mushkeela.
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Chapter Three
Spark of faith
Our sudden chaotic scene came to an abrupt end, the street resumed to its deafening silence. Our soft footsteps echoed behind us, it unsettled my thoughts. It felt as though someone was watching me, waiting for me. I shrugged the absurd thought from my conscience and continued to walk on.
Michael and David took a left turn to Manner Avenue, leaving me, Zak and Adam to continue roaming. “See ya laterz,” waved David. I waved back and forced a smile.
After several minutes, Adam also left us; I stopped briefly to stare at his figure. His broad shoulders looked tensed, his pace quickened with every step. The navy blue Air Max set he wore made him look extremely tall but in reality he was of average height. Zak starred at me, and murmured something beneath his breath. “Say wot?” I asked.
“It’s Friday tomorrow,” he replied absentmindedly.
“Err, yes it is genius,” I laughed.
“Mosque….”
“What about it?” I uttered.
“Should we go and pray jumu’ah prayer?” he suggested. I stared at him, eyes squinted, my dry lips curled into a resentful sneer.
“Why? You think some how the imam is gonna cleanse our sins away?!” I hissed.
“Hey be careful what you say man,” he whispered. There was a degree of control in his voice.
“We haven’t prayed god knows how long, you think one trip round the local mosque is suddenly gonna make us holy?!” I s------ed. Zak’s facial muscles tightened, his soft brown eyes glowed in rage.
“Perhaps if we were good believers, we wouldn’t have resulted to doing this stuff tonight,” Zak alleged.
“Oh bite me Zak!” I ridiculed.
“May Allah forgive us,” was all he replied. I gazed at him, bewildered by his sudden comments. I spent many years with Zak, we were friends as long as I can remember and never had he tried to do anything Islamic. Even during the time of Ramadan neither of us fasted nor did we go to the masjid to pray. I always disliked the brothers and sisters who would suddenly become all religious during the month of fasting as though God only watched them for one month. I wasn’t going to be a hypocrite, lead the prayers one day and play with girls round the bend the next.
“Sorry, it’s just that…..why the sudden interest?” I quizzed.
“David,” he replied. He gave me a name and actually expected me to add 2 and 2 together. Was he joking me?! “Yeah, you’re going to have to give me a bit more than just David. For all I know you could be talking about David from organic chemistry lesson with the orange highlights,” I beamed.
“We started talking about Islam about a week ago, made me think I suppose,” he whispered.
“Ah.”
And with that we broke into silence, neither of us tried to say anything, we didn’t even dare to look at each other. The journey continued with a painful silence that could wound the dead.
“This is my road, so I’ll see ya around,” gestured Zak.
Jizakallah khair Aljawaad....I don’t know if I’ll carry it on….might leave it with this chapter and others can post their stories.
Chapter Four
Cela vie
I lingered down the isolated road, I felt every muscle in my body move, and every nerve seemed to be on alert. Thoughts of confusion swirled in my mind. I couldn’t quite make sense of anything. Even my existence seemed a fabrication to me, was I really breathing? Was I even conscience? Or was everything merely a dream?
I didn’t know the answers to my questions but that was mainly my fault. I was never one to seek answers, such things never bothered me. I had spent most of my life absorbing what I had been taught by teachers and lecturers, it never occurred to me to seek answers in my own time.
Both my parents were Muslims, Muslim by title, I knew that much for a fact. Prayers were only enforced in the month of Ramadan. We didn’t eat pork because that was frowned on culturally, and the only religious thing we said was ‘Allah’.
I remember once when I was about 7 years old. A Muslim woman lived next door to us, she was ever so nice, she always used to bake the perfect apple pie on Eid day and bring it over to our house. She once caught my older sister and younger brother arguing and throwing the word of God like a tennis ball. My siblings got told off by our neighbour. I remember her exact words. “Don’t mock the name of the creator, he is watching you, every move you make. Now seek forgiveness from Allah”
For many years I appreciated her presence, she made life sweet, at times I wished I was her son but sadly one does not chose their family members.
Eventually after what seemed like hours of reflection I reached home. I rummaged through my back pocket and took out my keys. With trembling hands I opened the large mahogany front door. The smell of mustard rushed through my nostrils and I nearly heaved at the stench.
“Good to see you home at last,” said Ali, my younger brother.
“Yeah and what do you want?” I interrogated.
“Oh don’t flatter yourself, Naeema wanted a word with you,” he hissed.
I never saw eye to eye with my brother, and I equally disliked my sister. Both of them were a pain that I could do without. My sister who is 2 years older than me acted like a child, if she wasn’t complaining about her hair, it was about her nails. Whilst my brother had a thing for sarcasm, most times it was bearable but sometimes it was too much to bear.
I entered my sister’s bedroom; the fluorescent pink walls made me cringe. “Why don’t you ever knock?!” she screeched.
“If I am being made to listen to your moaning then you shouldn’t be foolish enough to think I’ll follow your rules,” I sneered.
She huffed and muttered something insignificant beneath her breath. I hurled my body on top of her bed. “What do you think you’re doing?! She cried.
“Making sure you don’t die of loose springs,” I smirked.
“Oh grow up!”
“So what is it you want this time? Broken nail? Split ends? Or perhaps it is…..bad blemishes,” I laughed.
“If you’re going to be like that then forget it!” she murmured. I bolted from her bed and headed for the exit, freedom from being tortured.
“You don’t care about me do you?” she sobbed gently.
I turned around and stared at her, her small face was framed with layers of make-up. One could no longer tell where her face ended and the make-up began. The thick mascara was clearly not water proof as dark reams of rubbish trickled down her cheeks.
“Cela vie,” I sighed and walked away. I was cold hearted and that was something she was going to have to live with. “All I was going to say is that Ellie fancies you,” she hissed bitterly.
I stopped dead in my tracks and faced her, a sense of resentment and pure hatred lingered in her dark eyes. “I am not interested.” And with that I walked away and went to my bedroom.
I lay in my cold bed, thinking about my life, thinking about what Zak said. Who was I? What did it mean to be a Muslim? A true Muslim.
Autumn sunlight rushed through my bedroom; the radiant light glistened on my face. I attempted to open my groggy eyes but failed miserably. I forcefully opened my left eye and looked at my bedside table; it read 11:59 am. I turned around, making sure the sun didn’t disturb my nap again. I refused to wake up before noon especially on Friday seeing as my lecture only started at 3:00pm.
My thoughts drifted into darkness, I lay there motionless, my body felt stiff as ever. I listened to my heartbeat, every beat soothed me to sleep, and every beat opened up a pool of darkness. My conscience was engulfed in emptiness, darkness….
“Wake up!”
I jolted from the bed, having no sense of what was around me I tried to get out of bed. I missed and ended up falling on my back side rather than on my feet.
“Oh buzz off!” I cried softly.
The door suddenly swung open, my mother stood at the door. Her petite figure made her look almost childish. Dark circles demonized her beautiful hazel eyes. Her dry lips curled with a smile, a forced smile. “What part of knock before walking in do you not seem to understand?!” I shouted.
With one sentence I managed to wipe the smile off my mother’s face. She squinted and stared at me. I couldn’t work out whether she was angry with me or simply confused. “Do you need anything washing?” she whispered.
“I’ll wash them myself,” I replied. I watched her fragile figure linger out of my bedroom and into the bright corridor. Her long brown hair hung carelessly on her shoulders. From the back she looked young, young enough to be my sister but the streaks of white hair gave away her true age.
I turned my eyes away and pulled my weight up. I glanced at my clock, 12:57 pm. I staggered towards my wardrobe. I pulled out my faded Armani jeans and a t-shirt. I then headed towards the shower.
At quarter past one I walked out the front door. I got into my car, music blaring I drove off. I didn’t know where I was going; I just needed time to myself. For some strange reason the music started to bother me so I turned it off. I drove in utter silence, thinking, thinking about what Zak said.
Wilted golden leaves lay scattered on the busy road, the soft wind howled gently. Everything seemed to be going fast, it looked unreal and absurd. As I drove past the masjid my shoulders tightened. I felt my heart beat thumping painfully against my chest. I drove into the masjid parking area and observed the numerous men and women pouring out the building.
Everyone seemed to be playing by the same rules, eyes fixed on the ground for most of the time but quick glances directed towards the opposite sex. Except this one sister, her face looked familiar and after few seconds it registered to me that she was in my cell biology class. She was amongst the very few Muslim girls I respected; ironically she never said much to me. Perhaps that is why I respected her, smart, very funny but she showed little interest for flirting with guys.
I noticed that unlike others she was staring at where she was going, staring at the brothers, although she was staring through them rather than at them. She amazed me that for someone who was not married she couldn’t care less if a drop dead gorgeous brother stumbled upon her.
I had a sudden urge to walk into the masjid but I feared that people may give me a strange look. Since when did you care about people’s opinion, whispered a voice in my head. I followed my impulse and practically ran into the masjid.
“Excuse me, is the jumu’ah prayer over?” I asked the sister in my cell biology class.
“Err, yes but there is a second one you can catch,” she replied.
“Thank you Ahlam,” I smiled.
“Wa eyaka,” she replied, no trace of smile on her face. I was a bit gutted that she didn’t return my smile not to mention the fact that she replied in something I didn’t know the meaning to.
I took off my adidas trainers and walked into the mosque, “Asalamu alaykum brother,” said a voice.
I blushed and smiled at the brother, I didn’t know what to reply for I had never really took my faith serious enough.
“Excuse me,” I muttered shyly at a brother.
“Yes?” he replied.
“James? Is that you?” I questioned in awe. James was a good friend of mine, he was part of our crew but after we left college we drifted, we never spoke really. I guess now I knew why he broke his friendship from us. He was of an African American descendant that was born and bred in UK.
“Yes it is!” he grinned. We hugged, masculine hug of course! He told me a bit about his new life and I found myself intrigued, hocked on every word he muttered.
“So are you here to change your life?” he asked eagerly.
“Don’t know,” I uttered. I wasn’t willing to drop everything, life was fine for me, blissful wrapped in a layer of honey to be specific. Could I afford to change everything? Why has my life suddenly become tangled, I asked myself.
Last edited by Silver Pearl; 06-18-2006 at 03:15 PM.
I was reading the newspaper downstairs when someone’s long braid slapped my face. It was wife dear rushing pass me to get upstairs. I watched wife dear Waddle up the stairs, then back down. She’s 8 months pregnant, and I found out that women when they are pregnant, from seven months they adopt the duck walk. She waddled over to me looking distressed. Apparently she forgot something. “Honey bun did you see my silver earrings? The hoop ones with the hearts dangling in the middle. Did you?”
“No”
“How am I ever supposed to find earrings to match with this dress? It’s your entire fault you bought this dress with all these hearts over it in the first place. You have horrible taste. Now I have to change because I can’t find anything to match.”
I watched wife dear stomp/waddle back up the stairs. I went back to reading my newspaper. I would give her 10 more minutes to get ready. If not She was staying home.
Someone knocked over my newspaper. Irritated I looked up and found myself looking into wife dear’s eyes. She had changed her dressed, and was striking up a pose. “Pumpkin pie, do you think this dress looks great on me?”
“Stunning”
She grinned and waddled back up the stairs. 7 more minutes to go. I picked up my newspaper again and continued reading.
“Sweeeeeet heart…” Wife dear whispered in my ear. I whipped my head around and found her biting on her nails, again looking distressed. I gave her a questioning look. Suddenly she giggled and held up 4 pairs of earrings. “Which one looks better on me?”
After a very tough decision, I answered “The Arab looking ones” I held my breath.
“Omygod! You have wonderful taste!” I raised an eyebrow. Wasn’t it the opposite earlier? “I love you I love you I love you!” She smooched my cheek and…..waddled back upstairs.
I was beginning to get nervous. Would she be ready on time? This was a really important event, and I thought I had made it clear to her that we should be on time. Well, still 3 more minutes to go. I went back to reading my newspaper.
Honking…someone was honking a car horn outside…then I felt my ear being tugged harshly. “You! Didn’t you say you have to be on time! What are you doing here asleep behind the newspaper! Get in the car! Do you know how long I’ve been waiting! Hurry up! We’re already ten minutes late sleepy head!”
Author's note: Jizakallah khayrun....Nawal mashallah that is good, hope you're gonna continue.
Chapter Six
The Observer
I sat at the corner of the mosque observing the brothers praying, the line was supposed to be straight but in the end it was all over the place. The Imam (one of the few terminologies I acquired during my youth) stood at the front, the second row was straight but that was it. I guess it was easier for me to see the errors made by them as I was an observer.
The Imam pronounced “Allahu Akbar” and the brothers followed in queue. Their left palm was placed beneath their right palm. They all stared at the ground, mesmerised in something that I could not find fixed on the floor. Why did they all stare at the floor? I felt alienated and empty. For once in my life I felt the odd one out, the feeling was strange to me.
I had spent all my life being the popular one, the handsome one, the leader. Yet today the tables had turned, I was no longer the object of admiration, to the brothers I was merely a lost soul. Although none of them uttered such words towards me their eyes told a different story.
After two rakat (James explained this word to me) the brothers finished. No one flinched or moved a muscle for about 30 seconds. Then it happened….people rose and practically stumbled towards the door. If I didn’t know better I’d say someone had set their rear end on fire! Of course not everyone carried out this action but rather half the congregation. I curled my legs so that I was accidentally-on-purpose stood on.
However, some people couldn’t quite get past the front door. You know why? Because few brothers decided it would be appropriate to do their voluntary prayers where the exit door was. Impatient mutters broke out and I was almost sure someone said something to the effect of, why would you pray in front of the door, the door! I didn’t find this scene amusing in the slightest manner. Although James was laughing, it was more of a sad laughter rather than a ha-ha that is hilarious laughter. It puzzled me as to why he laughed but perhaps it was a personal joke, one I would have to ask about later on.
James abruptly stood up; he cleared his throat and opened his mouth to say something. The words seemed to choke on his throat so he closed his mouth and coughed.
“Brothers!” he announced. Everyone glared at him, waiting for him to say something that would wash away their agitation. “As you can see the door has been occupied so instead of sulking perhaps we could take this opportunity to learn a very valuable asset,” he instructed.
“Sabrun jameel,” said a stranger. People moved out of the way to reveal the person who dared to interrupt James. An old man looked up, a genuine smile played on his wrinkled face. “Patience is such a great thing, why do you think the Qur’an mentions it so often?” he questioned. No one said anything.
The silence continued for several minutes until the brothers finally finished their prayer. The exit was free and as suspected people just poured out as though their wives would slaughter them if they were 20 milliseconds late.
“Don’t you have a lecture today?” said james.
“Sadly yes,” I smiled.
“cheer up, it could be worse,” he mocked.
“I don’t think so,” I scorned.
“Sure….” He uttered sarcastically.
“You wanna beat a bar of chocolate on it?” I suggested.
“Sorry I don’t bet and chocolate? You’re kidding me right?” he chuckled.
“Twix, king size,” I winked.
“I hate the implication that I’d fall into your trap just because you offered me a beautiful, perfectly made bar of Twix. Caramel lining, filled with a layer of biscuit and coated with delicately made chocolate,” he whispered. His dark eyes glinted with excitement and he pretended to drool. I laughed hysterically causing people to stare at me.
“I see you still have a thing for Twix then,” I laughed.
“Say that loud enough and the whole congregation might just hear you,” he smiled.
We both walked out the masjid; James had to go some place so I was left in the parking area. I sighed and got into the car. I drove off, not in silence this time but with the music blaring in my ears. My favourite CD was playing and I had no intention to switch it off. Back to my old ways again....
He had jsut woken up form a deep and silent sleep, everyone else was sleeping.
light was what he saw, no sound ...nothing, ''im a dead?'' he thought, ''No no yet'' a voice said, who are you? ''im the angel of death'' , ''please give me some more time'' he replied. No, Allah has given you your time but fear not for i have been told that you were a rightiouse believer so nothin have you to fear, because of television he imagened that the angel would be dark and gloomy, bu tno he was astonishing!
i shall folllow you O, angel of death! , '' good' 'the angel replied and sat down next to his head and his soul dripped off his face and body, ''it feels wonderfull he whispered'' after the sould was taken away the believer saw hsi real self he was beautifull, ''what shall happen to me o angel of death Azrael? '''follow these two for they shall bring you to you Lord'' all of a sudden he saw to sources of light and fragnrance never before smeeld of imagened
Asalaamu aleykum he said aleykuma salaam warahmatullahi wabaraktu they replied; one made a smile ''this reminds me of Adam when he said the same to us'' he said, and while he was percieving it not he was hovering up way up, he had never felt this kind of freedom, after the had met his Lord, he was fullfilled andwas brought to his grave where he was told to sleep he slept immediatly, he saw this beautifull girl who who kept smiling as light gushed forth form behind her, her smell was unimagenable ''who are you ?'' he said,
''i am your iman'' she replied as she struck forth her hands towards the believer, he saw light as never before seen and his eyes had swoolen up from the miracles he had seen, he saw mountains high as the stars rivers as wide as oceans and all houses surpassing even the mountains ''subhanAllah'' he said... suhanAllah''..subhanAllah...subhanAllah, he cried so much that his tears could for clouds if they where they to evaporate... he fell down in rest and satisfaction what is this place? he said and the last thing he heard was jannah's window......
may Allah bless us with eternal mercy form Him and may we be among the righteous ones who are close to Him AAMEEN
The music was soothing to my ears, it calmed me, or at least that is what I told myself. I cranked up the volume to full blast, the leather seats seemed to vibrate with each beat. My mobile suddenly rang; I lifted myself from the seat to reach my phone. One wasn’t allowed to answer their phones whilst driving but no one really cared, unless you got caught then you cried bitterly about the amount of money you had to pay for a while.
“Hello?” came my voice; it sounded hoarse and off key.
“Where were you?” asked Adam, on the other side of the line.
“Cruising Dad,” I remarked.
“Ha-di-ha, man you’re so funny, I think my sides are going to bust!” he commented sarcastically.
“Well you know, born joker here,” I replied sardonically.
“Sure, anyways you better turn up to your lecture today,” he warned.
“I’ll be there,” I said. And with that he hung the phone up on me. I presumed from Adam’s tone of voice that he knew I wasn’t just cruising but he was never a man to poke his nose in something that didn’t bother him.
I drove about for roughly half an hour before arriving at the campus. Adam was already waiting for me, so I parked my car and greeted him. We sauntered towards our designated location for our immunology lecture room. Immunology was one of my favourite subjects; there was something that was right about that subject. However, if one was to ask me to explain my feelings I wouldn’t be able to.
I walked into the lecture room; room isn’t the right word to use actually seeing as the space was humongous. Chair and tables were laid row by row perfectly.
“Got your Dictaphone then?” enquired Adam.
“As if I’d forget it,” I snorted. We loitered into the lecture room and walked over to Professor Mansoon’s desk. We placed both our Dictaphones on his desk and placed record. “You know the drill sir,” grinned Adam cheekily.
Students sat silently on their chairs, all of their attention directed at us as usual. I guess the look of sheer shock in what we did in every immunology lesson for the past 3 weeks never really wore off. You’d think they’d eventually get over it, but not these students.
“Lads one of these days you’re actually going to have to stay in my lesson you know,” mused professor Mansoon.
“Don’t we know it, but when the time comes we shall tackle that problem yeah?” I stated.
Professor Mansoon didn’t really care whether we recorded his voice rather than be present in his lessons. Actually he preferred our absence because it meant that we wouldn’t have the chance to make some smart sarcastic comments in his lectures nor would there be the possibility of us asking him unanswerable questions (which usually resulted in him blushing).
Professor Mansoon’s half moon spectacles were placed delicately on his long pointed nose. His high cheek bones shimmered and emphasised on his emerald eyes. He had small lips which were always coiled into a sneer. His white mass of hair hung messily on his head like a mop. Although he had many features that deceived people of his real age, the wrinkles on his forehead were always a give away.
Professor M (as we called him) gestured for us to buzz off until the end of the lecture when we would return to collect our Dictaphones. We didn’t try and give him any excuse to take back his liberal viewpoint on our skiving so we legged it.
I took this precious moment of silence to reflect on myself whilst Adam was distracted staring at some of the screeching girls who seemed to have forgotten that they had lessons to attend to. I went through today’s scenario. I assessed everything I saw and did in the mosque, every thought I had opened a deep hole left abandoned for many years. Life had become too entangling; it smothered me with a wire coil. I walked confused…..too confused to even make sense of where I was going.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Blur of the upcoming chapters: Ash becomes absorbed in the world of corruption; he sells his soul for a priceless luxury that only results in deception, lie and blood shed. Except hope glistens in his heart, God guides whom he pleases but what if someone is not willing to take on the truth and be guided?
Death is inevitable but Ash didn’t think he’d taste it so soon, too soon….would he become the paradise dwellers or has he bargained honey for burning hell?
Author’s note: The blur is there because I’ll not update any time soon. Although I have a lot of plot for the story, I have practically hijacked the thread. So I’ll let the true stars shine. Go on Nawal and Dawud!! and others!
This story really amazed me the first time I read it.... I am sure u guys will like it too....
I didn't write this story I got it from a book ..I hope that is ok. anywayz enjoy.............
Should We Really Laugh?
Hasan al-Basri (rahimaullah) was an eminent scholar and pious individual of his time. He would rarely laugh due to his remembrance of death and the punishment of hell. One day he was going somewhere when he saw a young man indugled in laughter. Hasan al-Basri asked the youth, "Young man, have you already crossed the bridge of Sirath? Have you already found out whether you are going to paradise or hell?" The young man replied, "No." Hasan al-Basri told him, "Then why are you laughing so much?" After that, no one saw this young man laughing again as he came to know the reality of this life.
Source: Story extracted from the book "Tambihul Ghafileen" by Shaikh Abul Laith Samarkandi.
Many hours or probably days have passed away from our lives in laughter and jokes. It is a sign that we have forgotten the life of the hereafter. The sahabah used to do good deeds all day but still cry during the night to Allah. On the other hand, we do sins all day and still have no concerns! It is permissible to laugh at amazing things and smile while being in company of others.
well i don't usually write stories, but i love writting poems so i will share my poems kkkkkkkkkk.
Here it is inshallah hope you like it and can comment on it inshallah
The Love for my country
Oh my homeland I Miss
Oh my mother I miss
Oh the beautiful sand I miss
My friends and Neighbors that I miss
Oh a hope that I always have for my country
Never know if it could get better
But if I have always tried to put some
Faith in my heart for my country, other countries
That I have always wanted to get better
But Only Allah Knows that someday it could be
Better, better then never, but I have always
Try to put faith in my heart and I know that Allah The one and only could do better for my country and me.
BE YOURSELF
A lot of people like to act like
something they aren't
Something they weren't never born with
something that Allah Hasn't not allowed
Something That a lot of young boys
and girls like to be its gangster
When ask them do you know what it means
they don't know, but they think is cool
Oh Allah they forget the hellfire, Oh Allah they
forgot the day of judgment , Oh Allah forgive them
Oh Allah please lead them to the right path, After all nobody’s
perfect, But the best way to meet your challenges is to be yourself.
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