Run

images-6Run, kid, run till your lungs ache and your shins split open. Run till you leave the dead earth hanging on the shattered horizon. Run, leave the immaculate fields behind, plains where the grass is too green, run and strip the unnecessary. Run, love, run till your eyes have drowned in an ocean of stinging tears, run till the trees drift away into an illusional distance. Run till the rain has drenched your bones and the snow nestles in your hair. Run till you are carved raw, run till you find the abode of your demons and the abbey of your angels, run , for the sake of your damned life, run. Run till colours drink themselves up in the sky and the night folds into herself.

– Saadia

Aura | Part 2 of Dusk and Darkness

Read the first part of this story here :Dusk and Darkness

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Xavier had shot his first arrow at 5 years of age and today, after 13 years his iron tipped arrow didn’t fail him. In a clean swish, it buried itself into Digon’s chest and he disappeared in a swirl of black fragments , a sign of wreckage.

Xavier looked paler than usual, his coal black eyes rimmed with scarlet , the red of sleepless nights, strain and sometimes, of nightmares.

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“He wasn’t the last one. They won’t stop till their dimension finally spreads into ours. The Dark is coming and that too, faster than I expected it to” said Xavier rubbing his eyes.  I swatted his hand away, one of the many times I had to remind him not to rub them raw.

A bell rang somewhere in my mind and I thought of Frank, the head of the Department of  Investigation and Assistance.

“Has Frank found any clue of the movement of the Ethereal?”

The Ethereal were a tribe of half-Assassins born from supernova , who appeared to only those in need of heavenly assistance . While Assassins controlled the spread of the dimension of Dusk, the Ethereal helped them here and there. By here and there I mean once in maybe a decade.

“The Ethereal aren’t showing themselves at the moment. They tend not to mix with Dusk slaves, it pollutes them, just like it sucks out the human parts of our being, slowly but surely. Frank needs to think of a different line of attack,” claimed  Xavier.

The Ethereal were meant to help us and they were hiding their faces like we were not a bunch of Assassins in need of life saving but a handful of kale needing a massage. That too quite literally.

“ Over 35 Assassins need his help as of now and he can’t help himself or in this  case, any of us.”

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This was the thing about Xavier; he tackled problems like one might deal with mathematics, analytically and unemotionally, like any of it didn’t have a power to affect him. But I wasn’t him, this scenario daunted me in the least but I silenced my fears. Xavier hardly associated with people who suffered from scareius infectius and I didn’t want to be one of them.

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Xavier sat, polishing his arrows while I searched the Dursen manor. It was a neatly kept house with no hint of suspicions but then again, reality is almost always wrong. I looked through the drawers, the kitchen cabinets, under the chimney , behind the fireplace but found nothing that would suggest alignment with the Dusk Queen. Perhaps , the deal was made shortly before we’d arrived. The only thing I did manage to do was to get a considerable amount of soot on my clothes and some on my face. Good going.

I stepped outside and a muscle in Xavier’s face quirked .

‘What’s so funny?’

“You can’t seem to undertake a task without severe repercussions.”

“Haha. Very amusing.”

I began to rub at my face, trying to preserve a bit of dignity in front of Xavier. He never looked disheveled and scars only gave him substance.

“Let me do it,” he said, standing up and plunging something into the fountain water. It was a crimson bandanna . He began to dab the grime on my forehead , my jaw and my chin. I tensed . Xavier never did these kind of things , he liked to be free from care but who knew how many days we were going to have . It could be a month or maybe a few weeks.

 

He leaned in suddenly and a breath hitched in my throat . But he pulled away just as suddenly, seemingly regaining poise. I shrugged off the hesitation, remembering that  Xavier had always been the withdrawing kind, distancing himself from all things ‘attachment.’

“Let’s run down to Poppy’s,” he was saying now .

I said something like “Uh-huh”.

God.

to be continued…

~ Saadia

P.s. My blog has been unresponsive for weeks now- some technical problem, but I think that I’m finally figuring it out . Please don’t lose faith in me just as yet. Hope you enjoyed this 🙂 ❤

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Dusk and Darkness

The raven rose higher and higher, swishing past the fountain and up into the dark sky streaked with an ugly shade of violet. She was coming. Time was short and so was life.

Inside, Jessica and Xavier sat , waiting for Mr. Dursen.  Alfred Dursen was another man from downtown L.A but what separated him from most people was the way he babbled about how he could see goblins, talk to warlocks and spot a transfigured witch among normal cats. That is what made him useful or rather, resourceful for Xavier.

You see, Xavier was an Assassin , that too a subtle one. Once a  kid with a pierced nose and a shaved head asked him if he was magician, Xavier offered to drop him at the doctor’s. He was searching for a clue, just one clue that could lead him to the DuskHeir Queen and Dursen was his last resort.

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Suddenly, a sound behind Jessica escalated and she jumped up. The man behind her had a familiar maimed face from a burn which covered his jaw and his neck . It could have been no one else but Digon , Digon the Dusk slave. He slashed out and something glimmered in the dimness of the evening,  a dagger.

Jessica shot back with a fist in his ribs and darted towards the fountain where Xavier stood. As Xavier raised his arrow, Jessica tried to slow her breath, dreading what the DuskHeir queen may have in store. Dursen was a pawn and the darkness was spreading… to be continued

Note: I haven’t been posting much and i am in a weird place at the moment, stuck in a rut. But I will post stuff whenever I can . Much love ❤

~Saadia

 

Summer

 

 

 

 

She looks like a ray of light, like the sunset, like the sky after rain, like the sea looks when it kisses the sky at the horizon and she radiates warmth like Christmas lights but like fire, she looks fierce.

She smells of lavender brushed with bonfires, like chestnuts and tall maple, like the violets and lilacs , up in the mountains.

She walks with the stance of a ballerina and she sings throwback songs that remind me of childhood. She plays hard and loves hard. Being with her feels like summer and that says a lot.

~Saadia

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Poetry : A gallery

This is something so special for me. It took me such a long time to do all of this even-though it may not seem like it. I’d be the most content person if you’d share and spread this piece of art, crafted with love by me. Keep the pieces you like and please keep circulating this post. That would be my wreath. Thanks a lot for everything. 🙂yoman.jpg69e06ff0e9cf13ad15baaho39d8e293ecf.jpg

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Words that move me | Dp self prompt

Words can create. Words can destroy. Words weave the stories we all love and the ones that make us cry are made up of words. Words are the most decent way to inflict pain and perhaps the most vicious. Words matter. Words move. Here are the words of great people who have made me question tradition:

  1. “I wanted a perfect ending. Now I’ve learned, the hard way, that some poems don’t rhyme, and some stories don’t have a clear beginning, middle, and end. Life is about not knowing, having to change, taking the moment and making the best of it, without knowing what’s going to happen next. Delicious Ambiguity.” ― Gilda Radner
  2. “To love. To be loved. To never forget your own insignificance. To never get used to the unspeakable violence and the vulgar disparity of life around you. To seek joy in the saddest places. To pursue beauty to its lair. To never simplify what is complicated or complicate what is simple. To respect strength, never power. Above all, to watch. To try and understand. To never look away. And never, never to forget.” ― Arundhati Roy. (Arundhati Roy is a legend. Talk about guts, talk about courage)
  3. “When we least expect it, life sets us a challenge to test our courage and willingness to change; at such a moment, there is no point in pretending that nothing has happened or in saying that we are not yet ready. The challenge will not wait. Life does not look back.” – Paulo Coelho
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I read this first in a youtube comment and then found the picture. Love it ❤

  1. IF YOU HAVEN’T READ HARRY POTTER AND JUST WATCHED THE MOVIE, BELIEVE ME IT IS NOT FOR KIDS<,GET THE BOOKS AND READ AND IF, I REPEAT, IF YOU ARE DISAPPOINTED I WILL NEVER POST A BOOK RELATED THING EVER AGAIN. GO AND READ THE LEGENDARY BOOKS> YOU OUGHT TO LOVE THEM. The beauty of this truth moves me EVERY SINGLE time 🙂

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~Saadia , {crafted with due love and respect}

ROOM

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Got a feeling that I’m going under, But I know I’ll make it out alive…

It was that time of the year again. In the town of Mitachi, the place I called home, every 18 year old was blessed with some extraordinary power. I thought of the powers my father, mother and sister had. My father could decipher the meaning of all kinds of dreams. My mother had the ability to sense lies. My sister was a blessed bird. She was blessed with physical powers allowing her to do any possible stunt, any split or any physically possible yoga pose. Because of that she became a stunt runner . Why wouldn’t anyone if he could balance all of his weight on a fingertip like she did. What else could one possibly ask for?

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I was pulled out of my train of thought by the sound of the blow horn. Names were read out, teens gifted and all of them would know when the right time would come. Zuzak. Adam. Loran. Austin. Suzan. Leah and so on. Finally, my name was called out. Sophia Grace. I approached the goblet of smoke which kind of choked me . The smoke rose and encircled me and at that very moment my nails grew an inch and there was some kind of electricity flowing through my hands, charging through me. It wasn’t exciting, it was frightening. Little did I know that ‘Frightening’ was all it could ever be.

I looked at the goblet once and walked away. Back at home, no one asked me about my ability, they would know it soon enough.

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I couldn’t sleep well that night. All I dreamt of was my sister entering a room with muddy walls, floor and a muddy ceiling. I ran after her, trying to stop her but she disappeared into the room.

i woke up with beads of sweat on my forehead . Anyway, I walked downstairs, had breakfast , the same old scramble and sausage, to erase the negative thoughts from my head. My sister was in a dancer’s stance. I was happy to see her at her happiest self. I gobbled up my food and went to work at the local greenhouse.

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Work and the day were okay or so it was until I came back to an empty house.

My parents came home at 8 in the evening. I was scared out of my mind. Understatement. My mother had just entered when our neighbor Mark followed , carrying the lifeless body of my sister.

 

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Tripping over myself, aching, begging you to come help. And now I’m without your kisses, I’ll be needing stitches.

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They told me that she fell of a cliff and the raging water never spared her a breath. All I could do was rock back and forth, stifling the sobs.

I dreamt again that night. I saw Loran , the third boy to be gifted in the same muddy room . But this time he was shrieking and when the cries came to the highest, I woke up.

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Loran died the next day.

If only I had known.

I could sense death , that was my gift . I realized it on the day they told me that Loran was out in the wild when a boar strangled him.  his screams still echoed in my head. Pleading.

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I thought I’d been hurt before, But no one’s ever left me quiet this sore.

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Today was the day, I needed all of the bravery in the world. I had found the solution to my self-destructive power. Wasn’t life just a blink from a train….I would pass.

I lay down, breathed a long breath and dug my nails into my throat and it no longer hurt. I was set free. I tore my skin apart and as I escaped into nothingness, I saw myself entering the room.

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You watch me bleed until I can’t breathe , shaking, falling onto my knees….

~Saadia

Behind the scenes:

  1. I love contradicting my own statements , hence the first caption..

2. The muddy room refers to the grave. An indirect comparison.

3. Yes, I get nightmares . Do you?

Let me know about your fears in the comments 🙂

 

Story: My own creation.

Pictures: pinterest

Captions: ‘Stitches ‘ by Shawn Mendes.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I hope you liked this story. If you did, please share it as It is one of my dearest works. Good day.