Novelettes & Novellas – Page 3

The Taliban’s Promised Wife Went to University (Part 1)

Part 1:

Her name is Ziba, from a remote area of Afghanistan named Wardouj one of the places in Badakhshan province surrounded by Taliban. A beautiful girl with green eyes, white skin and curly hair was born there. She had three sisters and a brother; her youngest sister was not living with her family. When she was born, her father wanted to kill her because she was a girl and having a girl child was a very bad thing for her family, especially in areas where patriarchy exists. When Ziba was born, her mother took her to her uncle’s house and told her father that she killed their daughter. Because if she does not do that, her husband might kill their daughter. Ziba’s uncle (her mother’s brother) was kind and he loved his niece; his name was Karim. He hid Ziba in a quiet and dark place so no one could see her. 

The place where Ziba was born was full of Taliban and it was very dangerous to live there. Taliban posed a great threat, and girls could not go to school after the age of 8. They could not even go out to play with their friends. They even had to wear burqa when they were 10 and it was also a must to have hijab when they were under 10. Sometimes their families forced them to get married when they were between 10 and 15 because they were all fair and fodder of the Taliban. 

 Ziba was 6 years old, when her father thought she was not alive anymore and her mother could not even see her because she was afraid of the Taliban and her husband. If they knew Ziba was alive, they might have killed her, or they might have given her to the Taliban. She was almost 8 and she had never been outside of her house in all her life. She was still a kid when she was trying to read books with her cousins. No one taught her how to read, but she herself was very interested in learning and writing. She was always listening to her cousins when they were studying, and by doing this she could learn how to read and write. She took their books to read when they were not at home. She loved to go to school like other girls in other places her age and like her uncle’s children, but she could not, and it was very sad.  

Once, when she was playing in the yard, saw the neighbors’ children going to school; they were laughing and playing. She also wanted to go out, but she remembered her uncle had told her not to go out because it was not safe. At that time, a girl between the ages of 6 or 7 saw her inside and called her to go to school with them, and she went. It was her first time going out; she was shocked and afraid. She had an old, small and torn tent on her head. Her uncle was not at home. When she went out of the house, a neighbor, who was a member of a Taliban, saw when her scarf fell down. He started screaming and hitting her and asked her why she did not wear Hijab. She was still a kid; she did not even know what hijab and burqa was.

When her uncle came, he saw many members of Taliban outside of his house throwing stones and saying, “Allah o Akbar, we should kill her because she went out without wearing a hijab.” When Ziba’s father came and asked Karim what happened, he could not say anything because Najib, Ziba’s father knew that, Karim did not have a daughter. But Taliban said his daughter went out without hijab. Ziba’s father asked Karim who that girl was. He did not answer, and the Taliban started beating him when Zinab, Ziba’s mother came. 

“She is our daughter” Ziba’s mother said.

Everyone became quiet and silence was everywhere, and it was like the whole world fell on Ziba’s father’s head. He was shocked and mad at Zainab, his wife. He started cursing and saying bad words to his wife in front of people, and he said he would kill her when they arrived home.

People and the Taliban were still there, when Najib shouted at them, “Go! Why are you looking at us? I know what to do with this shit”.

He continued, “I myself, will kill her and her mother. I will punish them”. He was mad, and he started firing several bullets into the sky with his small handgun.

The commander of the Taliban was informed of this, and he came to talk to Ziba’s father. He asked Najib, Ziba’s father to forgive them. “You are mad, and you do not know what you are doing and saying. The commander ordered everyone to leave there.

The commander did that because he had something in his head when he saw Ziba’s beautiful and innocent face.

Everyone went back to their homes, but Najib changed Zinab and their daughter’s bright day to a dark day. He started beating them and his oppression became relentless. Najib took his daughter, Ziba to his house and locked her in a dark room. He was happy and at the same time was sad to have a daughter. He was happy because he was a father who saw his child, and he was sad because he was member of the Taliban, and he knew that he could not be a good father.

Born in the wasteland tundra, among a tribe of scavengers, Nathi was the last born of the tribe leader. Her initiation into the hunters was the sacrifice of the first born of a conquered tribe, in the honor of their god, Agurash. Refusing to be subdued to their cutthroat barbarism, her sword was not lifted.

Smited by the wrath of the council of elders, her tribe elected to exile her, leaving Iakin, the tribe leader, her own father, to cut the ropes of her airship. She landed in the middle of nothingness, beaten and bloodied by the creatures of the night, she must find a way to civilization, but now, with only one thing on her mind; decimating the tribe to its last child. She spends the first few months tending to her wounds, and feeding on insects and critters that fell in the hole she dug as shelter. Until one night, the sun sets to leave behind a crescent blood moon, the resounding rumbles of a storm are nearing, red clouds wash over her head and darkness takes her.

She doesn’t fall unconscious, and yet, no light. The darkness slowly turns into fog, slowly dissipating from her eyes. The air is cold and damp, and the faint taste of salt water feels humid in her nose. The black fog stretches in front of her as she puts one foot in front of the other. Her walk is tedious. The jagged rock hurt her bare feet, yet she walks, heavily. The edge of a cliff is soon in sight, and she sees the mark of two footprints engraved in the ground, in front of which a stone hand rises, grasping a green glowing orb. A hand rests on her shoulder, and a familiar voice speaks. Her uncle, chief of the Zehlun, holy warriors of the wasteland, holds her nape: “Born in stone, bound by stone. Stand where your forefathers stood and stare into the Abyss”. His hand lifts, and the green orb floats to meet her chest. Her vision clears in a flash, and from the cliff, right under her, she can now see stretches of marshes and puddled murky blood, rivers of still water infested with skin and corpses. In the horizon, a gigantic orbicular mass crashing into the earth, with splinters hovering in the sky, and on the ground, creatures hunting, devouring, in a turmoil of chaos.

She feels, once again, the grasp on her shoulder, and her eyes, in a blink, are wide open in a clear vision of fiery anger. In her hands, a great sword rusted along the edges, hacking and slashing through bodies of faceless armors. She holds no control of this body, yet she watches the carnage unfurl. The enemies end, and she stands atop a pile of shredded corpses, feeling a smile form on her face. The rage settles calmly. A pleasant feeling of satisfaction, contentment.

THE LOOP

by El Moujahid Nour

What time is it? I look at my phone and see that it is already midnight; perfect, only twenty-four hours until I am finally free from my mundane life.In twenty-four hours, I’ll bid farewell to my nine-square-meter bedroom; in twenty-four hours, I’ll bid farewell to the tiny city I’ve called home for more than fifteen years; and in twenty-four hours, I’ll begin my new life as a college student.To be fair, I do have wonderful memories in a city where there is no cinema or mall; we can all thank the beach for saving us from boredom. No wonder some senior high schoolers prefer to finish their college life here so they can enjoy the sunset stretching to the sea. In my opinion, if you want to taste the feeling of starting a new life, you should include the word “new” in everything: new city, new home, new friends, new boyfriend and so on. There are people who would disagree, saying that it is possible to experience the same feeling without radical change. Well, it might be true for individuals who are accepted in this hometown, especially in high school. You know, the group of considered “cool” teenagers that you watch from afar. For some reason, this group which unfortunately exists in most high schools, is loved and hated at the same time. I do not know how they do that, but generally they come at you and act friendly only to end up gossiping or even laughing publicly at you. School is very similar to feudal society’s social hierarchy.The popular kids are usually very rich and influential towards students and teachers, followed by the regular students who represent the majority but have no power, and finally the outcasts who are easily noticed because they are behaving like slaves to the popular ones, being bullied or simply rejected by the entire class, including the teachers.Personally, I find the popular group disgusting, but I would lie if I did not admit I have the same level of selfishness as they do. Indeed, there was a period in junior high when I was part of the outcast where being alone the entire day was not new to me. Thankfully, I was able to climb the social ladder thanks to the transferred student who took my place as an outcast and also thanks to the fake personality I created to attract students at that time. Hence, the three people that I call “friends” nowadays, are part of the large group of students who assist my whole period of suffering for being an outcast. Am I angry about that? Yes, of course. Am I blaming them? No, since I would do the same in order to not risk my social status. In fact, I have learned an important lesson: the shyer you are, the more vulnerable you look. My life finally became pinker once I found fake friends and developed a fake identity, and I believe high school is not the only field where you end up in my situation, but anyway. One hour has already passed, and I should quickly go to bed to be in shape for tomorrow’s graduation ceremony. I take a shower, brush my teeth and lay on my bed. I contemplated the ceiling, wondering what my future life would be like. First, I will register at a gym club to lose some weight because, even though my entourage says I am not fat, I cannot help but think the opposite. Moreover, it is not like I could change the nose I have in the middle of my face or my forehead, so why not the waist? I might sound ridiculous and childish, but it is the easiest way to increase confidence. When you imagine yourself, the first thing you look at in your imagination is your appearance, and unconsciously, you also visualize a body that you consider a better body, not a perfect body, but a better one. Since I am going to study in college, I imagine myself skinny, well-groomed, and without acne spots, and if I manage to attain this body, I will definitely gain confidence. In theory, a beautiful, confident woman should have no trouble making friends, but this time I’ll do my best to be honest about my personality and look for someone who will accept me for who I am.The reason for this decision is that, from the moment I move to another city, I will only rely on myself. For that, I need to have people by my side who I can count on and trust. For example, an energetic freshman, quite naive, who loves to fall in love. I wanted someone to always be supportive of me and help me no matter the consequences. She can also be the type of girl who can easily be blinded by love that might put her in danger. Of course, I would be the one who would keep an eye on her and help her get out of trouble because I also want to be the type of person you can rely on. This is what friends are truly for, right? I smile and turn to the right; my gaze falls instinctively on the clock hanging on the opposite wall. Thirty minutes have passed. I believe I will have a little trouble sleeping tonight. Usually when I cannot sleep, I read romantic webcomics on my phone. But if I do that, I am sure I will not sleep tonight because the romance webcomic genre is the catchiest pastime for teenagers like me. When I follow the story of a girl and a boy falling in love little by little, it makes me feel hopeful for my future love life. If I can imagine my future boyfriend in college, I want him to be one year older than me so he can help me adapt. As for the appearance, I do not want to overthink it in order to avoid disappointment, but I did imagine the perfect body. In terms of appearance, the perfect man for me is a man who is taller than me, so I can feel protected. Secondly, and most importantly, my man has to be quite muscular and passionate about sports, so it will encourage me to do the same. Thirdly, and last but not least, a lovely boyfriend is also a man who has a tender side behind the male alpha image. For example, he could be someone who loves playing with kids, is passionate about cooking, is a mommy boy, and so forth. If you fall in love with someone who only likes to be cool in front of you or act manly when his friends appear, you will not be able to build a healthy relationship. These people are mostly the ones who see women more as an amusement than a woman who deserves respect. In addition, they also do not take the relationship seriously, so they prioritize their friends and leave you behind until they are in need of affection. The advice I would give to men is to show a little bit of vulnerability. The reason why revealing a tender part to women is crucial is to make them understand that you are comfortable showing emotion and affection. It is like you take a step towards her that reassures and indirectly convinces her regarding the true feelings you have for her. That is why I prefer to reserve the gentleman archetype for fiction and learn to accept all of the real facades of the person with whom I will share my heart as long as I am convinced. If I could imagine what a regular day with my future boyfriend would be like, we would start the day by going to the gym or jogging early in the morning, then each of us would go to our respective classes and enjoy our days separately, because, according to me, a healthy relationship is when you give space and trust to your partner. After the day had ended, we would meet in the evening and talk about what we did during the day. This conversation can take place on campus, while we are laying on the grass, watching the stars and enjoying the time we have together. Without realizing it, I smile and blush, letting out a little chuckle; this scenario has warmed my heart. I looked at the clock again and saw that only fifteen minutes had passed. When I close my eyes and turn my face up to the ceiling, my smile remains until I fall asleep.

I could feel the sun rays getting through my eyelids, but it was not enough to wake me up until my alarm did the job. An unpleasing repetitive melody interrupts my moment of peace and gets me up on the wrong side of the bed. I knew I would regret it if I stayed up too late, but since today is an important day, I will force myself to stay in shape. As usual, my cat meows to open my room’s door. I finished my grooming, and once I went out, I saw my cat laying on the outfit placed on my chair that I prepared for today’s ceremony. I cannot describe my anger since I have chosen what I will wear in advance in order to have more time for my grooming. I believe I have no choice but to quickly remove my cat’s hair and ask my mom to drive me to school. My cat’s hair is glued to my top, my cat annoys me to feed her, my mom does not return my calls, and I try not to sweat to look good in pictures. Never mind, let us keep my cat’s hair as a memory of my stupidity. I ran to the stairs while calling my mom louder and louder, but since she was not answering, I assumed she was not home. However, the worst part is that I did not notice my cat was following me until she appeared between my legs. I stepped on her tail and fell down the stairs. Fortunately, I was near to the ground, but I was heartbroken to see my cat in pain. I apologize and look for her food. In the kitchen, I find a letter from my mom apologizing for not being present today due to the work she has. I hope my legs are still working because I’ll need them. I swiftly leave the house and run as fast as I can, praying that the bus is still there. Was I angry? Or upset? No, I did not have the time for it. I stopped at the bus stop to catch my breath, and as I predicted, the bus was not here. I did not think smartly. I should have brought money with me in case I did not find the bus and then took a taxi. All the emotions that I avoided came back; all I had planned is now ruined. I look up and surprisingly, I see it from far away on a low beam. I automatically start running and screaming for the bus to wait. A man who was begging in the crossing heard my calls, but the moment he was about to warn the bus driver, a hand came out of the window, making a hand gesture to tell him to go away. The light turns green and the bus is slowly pulling away from me. I ran and ran, unable to stop. It is like when you drive at a high speed and the brake does not suddenly work. I am desperate. Except for the fact that I missed my bus once again, I also do not understand why I am not slowing down. If I do not stop, I might run into that beggar who is on my way and who, by the way, is holding a child. « Move! » I screamed at that man. He looks at me, perplexed and clearly upset. I might not be from here, but! He did not finish his sentence that I had already bumped into. I heard the crying of that child and I could not open my eyes out of shame. I never thought I would hurt so many people during one of the most important days of my life. Nevertheless, the sounds surrounding me slowly disappeared to the point where I could no longer hear anything. I open my eyes and see myself in front of my high school entrance. I look around me and realize there is no one, but I can notice a poster hanging at the entrance celebrating the graduation ceremony. What happened? Wasn’t I on the ground in a low beam or did I just teleport myself in front of the school? And if I did, why is there nobody? The level of confusion is undescribable and I cannot hide that I am quite scared about it. There is no other explanation except for the lack of sleep that makes me imagine things. Perhaps everyone is already inside, even though the area is strangely quiet. I walk toward the entrance, but each step I take increases the distance between me and the entrance. “What the…?” The building is getting even further away from me. My consciousness tells me to run, and the distance grows more and more. I feel I am on the edge of panic and I do not understand any of the things that happened to me this morning. Currently, my only goal in my mind is to reach this building. The environment that I am in gradually darkens until I see only my high school. My school is getting so far that I can only see a white point and I feel my legs getting heavier due to fatigue. Tears come out and get immediately separated from my skin, letting them fly into the unknown.

I could feel the sun rays getting through my eyelids, but it was not enough to wake me up until my alarm did the job. An unpleasing repetitive melody interrupts my moment of peace and gets me up on the wrong side of the bed. I knew I would regret it if I stayed up too late, but since today is an important day, I will force myself to stay in shape. As usual, my cat meows to open my room’s door. I finished my grooming, and once I went out, I saw my cat laying on the outfit placed on my chair that I prepared for today’s ceremony. “Wait a sec… Why do I get that feeling of déjà vu? ” No time to think, I will just wear another outfit even though it is less prettier than the one I planned for today. I would like to thank my cat for not only ransacking my outfit, but also for slowing me down on the stairs. In the kitchen, looking for my cat’s food, I found a letter from my mom apologizing for not being present today due to the work she has. I’d rather ignore the fact that my own mother prioritized her boss over me and just enjoy my day. On my way to the bus stop, I try to remember what I have dreamed of. I know it was more of a nightmare, and I remember I was running a lot. When the bus arrived, I felt extremely relieved, as if I was convinced I missed it. I do not know if it is because of my messy wake up, but things do not look real. It’s like waking up the morning after a big party and forgetting which word you were in. I have never been this preoccupied, whereas I should be happy and excited about finishing my senior year in high school. Is it because of stress? I am doubting it. In a low beam, I see a man holding a child coming toward the bus, and at this moment, all the memories of my dream come back. He was the man who tried to help me while I was chasing after the bus and, unfortunately, the man whom I accidentally hurt with his child. I already know this person since he comes every morning with his child to ask for charity. Based on his appearance and accent, he is an immigrant from Africa, but except that, we do not know anything about that guy, including his name. We do know the name of the child since the first thing the beggar says to us is “help me feed Hassan.” I saw him since I was in junior high, but I never paid any attention to him. It might be just a dream, but I am grateful for his action and sorry for the accident as well. I wave my hands to get his attention to give him a coin. He smiles, puts Hassan down, and comes right at me. The light turns green, and the coins stuck at the bottom of my bag refuse to cooperate. The man loses his smile of hope and returns to his son. The coin eventually decides to offer itself, but it is already too late. I upset him in my dream and in real life, but hey, he saw my sincere intention. Now that my memories are back, I wonder if it was a vision since most of the events are alike. In my dream, I made the wrong decision of wasting my time cleaning my outfit and hair. No need to be paranoid either. Perhaps it is more or less a vision, but a dream is a dream. During the ten-minute walk from the bus stop to the high school, silence gradually creeps in until no sound can be heard.Chills run all over my body when I suddenly realize there is anyone around me. Maybe I was mistaken and the graduation ceremony is not supposed to be organized here. I rush to the entrance and head to my classroom. All the heads, including my professor’s turn in my direction. All embarrassed, I look at my teacher and ask.

“Excuse me Mrs—”

“I will be kind enough to not expel you from my class if you hurry up and get to your seat,” she interrupted in a stern tone.

“But, aren’t we supposed to have—”

“I believe you have made your decision,” she interrupted once again and turned her back on me.

“No!,” I hear mocking laughs in the back of the class, “I’ll head to my seat.”

While heading to my seat, I notice that everyone seems focused on completing a sheet of paper and also notice there is already one on my desk. These documents appear to be exam sheets. I laugh nervously in my head. Did I miss something? And if I did, what about the poster on the entrance? All the questions written on the paper have oddly nothing to do with what we studied the whole year, and paradoxically, all students seem to handle it well. I returned the paper in shame, and the teacher’s freezing glare convinced me to not ask her. The idea that comes to my mind is to wait for the most informed people in our school, who are the popular students, to finish their exams to get my question answered. When one of them came out of the class, my hesitation almost convinced me not to speak to him.

“Hey”

“Hm?,” he turned his head hatefully. His friends joined him giving the impression we are going to fight. I took a deep breath and continued.

“Since when do we have to pass an exam right before the graduation ceremony? And why does this exam have nothing to do with our study program?,” a mocking smile came out from his mouth.

“Are you kidding me?,” he said sarcastically. “This was the easiest test I’ve ever passed, you’re the one who should pay more attention to your studies instead of talking no sense,” his friends laugh discreetly in the back.

“But what about the gradu—”

“Look, if you’re trying to alleviate the shame you’ve taken, go waste somebody else’s time.”

He goes away with his friends, leaving me standing alone like an idiot. I hate him a lot. No. Not only him, but everybody. Him, his friends, the class and that stupid teacher piss me off. I do not care if the graduation ceremony is planned for today or not, I just do not want to see their faces again. I decided to skip whatever was going to happen in highschool and go buy a snack to change my mind. I was so desperate to buy sweets that I did not realize that I had wasted all my money. Nevermind, I will go home on foot while eating. There is nobody in this district but it does not explain this deafening silence. Not a single sound of cars or animals. Something is not right. «You know what? I’ll go back to highschool this place is creeping me out». A hand grabbed my shoulder and made me turn around abruptly.

“Hey! Are you acting deff or what?

“What the hell!?,” I quickly and aggressively removed his hand from my shoulder. “Who do you think you are—,” The black skin, the long frizzy hair and the outfit. He is the beggar in the low beam next door.

“The coin,” he said out of breath.

“Excuse me?,” I was making a disgusted expression.

“The coin that you were supposed to give me this morning. Give it to me,” he holds out his hand to me. I do not know from what logic this man thinks, but that’s not a way of speaking to me. I use the same tone as my teacher and reply.

“First, know your place because if you dare think of touching me again, I’ll call the police. Second, I don’t have any money so take your bad temper somewhere else.”

I turned my back to him and resumed my walk. What a tiring and upsetting day. This guy should be ashamed of himself for behaving that way toward a lady. I feel sorry for his child, who is used as a piggy bank. Anyway, I can not complain that much since my mom is not that different from him. This time, a hand caught my face and brutally pressed me against the wall of a building. I look to the left. Nobody. Nobody comes to mind when I look to the right.When I look ahead, I see a face so distorted with anger that it looks like a monster. His hand puts pressure on my face so much that I have the impression my eyes are going to pop out of their sockets. I cannot breathe and I stand on tiptoe to prevent my head from tearing away from my body.

“Kids these days have no manners. I’m only asking you something that belongs to me in the first place!,” hearing a voice as deep as his shouting makes me hold my pee out of terror. However, I managed to remove a little bit of his hand.

“Your money!,” I jabbered, “I promise your money back!”

“You all are the same!,” he shouted, “Promising things! Giving us hope thinking that intention is enough! You just don’t want to admit that you’re liars! You’re all liars!”

I do not know what to do except cry. How can nobody hear us, or perhaps they do? His face gets closer to mine and he whispers. I’m not a rapist nor a killer. In the adrenaline rush, I kick with my foot and it goes miraculously towards his testes, pulling me away from him. I cough to catch my breath and run while screaming for help. He gets up quickly and catches me by grabbing me, not giving me the opportunity to even start my run. He knocks me down and pulls me by the hair like a butcher who pulls the horns of a sheep. I am holding my hair at the same time, avoiding more or less pain and looking around. There were people, but they gave the impression as if they did not exist. I do not know where he pulls me, but I keep screaming “No! No! No!” before I wake up with a start.

My unpleasing alarm makes me regain consciousness. My heart beats super fast and I sweat excessively. Before Ido, I hear my cat making sounds to open her door, and before I do, I remove my clothes from the chair. I am so confused that I did not do my grooming and went immediately downstairs. I find the same letter as in my dreams and rip it. I board the bus, ignoring the man begging on the low beam. I enter the class and pass the exam. Sorry, I meant to fail the exam. I stand outside the class and reflect on the situation. I had the same dream three times, and all of them seemed real. However, every action that changes the narrative pattern leads me to a nightmare. The popular kid that I talked to in my previous dream went out of the class and noticed me ignoring him. He looked quite annoyed, like he was waiting for me to do something. He comes at me, interrupting my moment of reflection.

“The heck are you doing?,” he’s asking. I stay quiet for a moment keeping my neutral face then reply.

“What do you mean?,” he smirks.

“Ah! I can see through your expression you have failed the test.” I instantly replied to him with the same tone.

“And what does that have to do with you?”

He continued smirking, making him look like an idiot and waited for his friends to join him. A classic reaction from weak people. I was planning on staying in highschool but now that I remember I am among stupid people, I decided on second thought to leave this place. I ignored the guy and left, letting him insult me behind my back. The first thing I want to do before I leave is to check the poster and find more information about it. I glare at the poster and it is clearly written “Graduation Ceremony”, but when I asked the concierge, he told me there is no poster. It is crystal clear, I am still in a dream. I sit in a place quite far from my highschool and as usual, there is no noise. «Okay, how do I wake up from this hell?». Since it is a dream, I can imagine anything I want. First, I tried to imagine a door that connected the two dimensions but nothing happened. It is a day like another and this is how I live my life. I knew loneliness, I knew pain, I knew how to get along with these idiots. Then, why literally everything appears challenging to me? A figure caught my attention, it is the beggar. He looks more desperate than I am and gives the impression he is looking for something. Now that I see him clearly, his clothes are ripped and his face is red and sweaty l like he is already beaten up. I came to him and when he saw me he immediately spoke to me. «Hey kid! Do you have any money? I highly need it and I promise I’ll pay you back!». I look at him disgusted at what he did to me in my previous dream and throw a coin. «That’s all I owe you» and go away. Since it is just a dream, a weird one, then I will take advantage of it. I bought an ugly mask that I found in the disguise section and took with me a metal stick that I found in an alley. The concierge was not in the high school entrance making things easier for me. I hide my stick in an empty classroom, wear that mask and drag my teacher. «Now where is that surprise you’re talking about young lady?». Before she entered the classroom, I asked her to close her eyes for more suspense. I close the door, take my stick, use all my strength and knock her out. The body is not moving. Is she dead? I do not know. Am I happy or satisfied? I do not know. Am I affrighted? Absolutely. Looking at her unconscious body made me throw up but it is not finished yet. I kept my mask and the stick, stole a bottle of bleach for the concierge’s room and I rushed to the popular student. I break and press the fire button which triggers an alarm. Knowing them, they would take advantage of this situation to escape and smoke in an alleyway near the school known to be a corner for smokers. I escape as well and find only three of them chilling in the alleyway. They looked at me confused and before they even spoke to me, I sprayed them with bleach. No time, I hurry and knock one. The second student was able to dodge my attack, allowing the third one the time for escaping. I panic and try a second time but he dodge it again and counter attack by punching me on the face. I fell due to the power of this punch but not powerful enough to break the mask. He grabs the iron stick and walks towards me. I take the bleach bottle located to my right and throw it over him. This distraction gives me enough time to run away. It is 11:30 p.m, my mother enters the house and sees me sitting in the kitchen. «Oh my! What on earth happened to your face!?». I stayed quiet. She grabbed my face but I pushed her, dropping the bandage package on the table.The look of confusion on her face asks me to explain to her. She exhales and sits right next to me and asks. «Are you mad at me because I did not attend your graduation ceremony?». My eyes get clear and suddenly turn to her. So there was a graduation ceremony today. I lower my eyes again.

“Mom, I messed up,” I nervously laughed, “But I guess it doesn’t matter since nothing is real.”

“That’s why you allowed yourself to push me violently right?,” she answered like she already knew everything. We stayed quiet for a moment then a door appeared inexplicably behind her. She continued.

“All of this may not seem true but your feelings are real. You should sleep now. I remind you that you have to get up early tomorrow,” she was right. I am emotionally tired. I stood up, opened the door and I looked at her one last time. She did not look back.

“Goodnight mom.”

“Good night dear.”

I opened my eyes and saw that it was still dark outside. I just woke up, and I never felt this tired though. I hear noises downstairs; it is probably mom preparing herself for work. The hour hanging on the wall showed me that I woke up two hours earlier. I lie down again and close my eyes waiting for another dream to take me with it.

THE END

The Undertakers – Novella

The evening of June 27, 1957, was a sunny, humid one. The town of Troy, New York, slowed down as the sun began to set, not that it was moving particularly fast in the first place. Still, the workday was over as the newlywed, twenty-four-year-old Lowell Carmichael rolled into the driveway of his one level brick house he shared with his wife, Jane.

“Janie, I’m home!” he called upon entering the house.

No answer.

“Janie? Are you here?”

Lowell caught a glimpse of her in the kitchen, which wasn’t hard to do. It was a straight shot from the coat rack in the foyer to the kitchen island, which Jane was leaning against. She looked pensive with her face buried in some kind of notebook clutched tightly in her hands.

“Jane, did you not hear me?” he asked, approaching her.

Jane’s shoulders flinched upon him, speaking. He had startled her.

“Jesus, Lowell. Why the hell would you scare me like that?” she demanded, wide-eyed and obviously annoyed.

“I didn’t mean to, Janie. I thought you heard me. I’m sorry.”

But the apology fell on deaf ears. She had returned to reading her notebook. Her eyes darted quickly from word to word with urgency. It began to concern Lowell.

“Honey, whatcha reading?” he asked after a few minutes of pause.

No answer.

“Hey Jane, whatcha got there? You ok?”

“I’m sorry, what did you say, Lowell. I just can’t believe this notebook I bought.”

“Why? What’s in it?”

“Well, I was at Wilson’s Department Store-“

“The one on Eighth Avenue?” Lowell interrupted.

“Yeah, that’s the one. Anyway, you know how I’d filled up my old notebook and was going to pick up a new one today?”

“Yeah, I remember.”

“Well, I bought this new notebook today, and it turns out somebody’s already written a diary in it. I didn’t realize until I was already back home.”

“You’re saying somebody left their diary in an unbought notebook?” Lowell questioned with eyebrows raised.

“I mean, that’s what it is. A whole diary. But the story’s insane. I’ve read it twice today, and I can’t decide what to make of it. Is it a prank or some story idea because there’s not a chance it could be real.” she affirmed.

“Ok. Well, can I read it?”

“Be my guest,” Jane replied, handing him the notebook.

Lowell flipped to the front to find neat handwriting in black ink. The date was written at the top of each section. The entries weren’t more than two weeks old. And so, like Jane had, Lowell leaned over the kitchen island and began to read the curious journal to himself.

-June 12, 1957

My name is Francis “Frank” Reuel Todesco. I am a thirty-seven-year-old, never married, failure in life. It’s ironic, really, that my middle name means “friend of God,” because if there is a God, he’s told me repeatedly that we are definitely not friends. To start, he made me look like the human version of a horse. I’m thin, lanky, and with a long face. I think it’s the reason I’ve never had a serious relationship, but that’s not why I’m writing.

All my life, I had aspired to become an artist. I truly believed that somehow this poor, low-class kid from Manhattan was going to get discovered. I was inspired; no, I was driven to make myself into the next Cezanne, Picasso, or Kahlo. I was so determined to be a revolutionary, a household name. So I did everything right. I took out loans to learn from the greats and go to the best schools leaving me in crippling debt. But no matter, I thought. Before long, my work will be paying off my student loans, and I can make my fortune. I’d be another testament to the American Dream.

But the American Dream is dead. How could I have been so naïve? I never made my fortune. I barely make enough to scrape by. And now those student loans that were supposed to be paid off years ago are an ever compounding weight around my neck.

“Van Gogh never lived to see his art become valuable, and yet here we are selling his work for millions.” I used to tell myself. Van Gogh also cut off his own ear and died at thirty-seven. What does it matter to him that his work sells now? He’s dead and never saw a penny of it.

I am the same age now as Van Gogh was when he died. And to tell the truth, I sympathize with the poor bastard more every day. I’m not sure how much more of this purposelessness I can take, and I’m afraid I’ll do something much worse than cut off my ear. I’ve contemplated suicide in the past, but I don’t have the nerve. I’m terrified to die, and yet death is the only way out of the debt I’m in. If I am declared dead, then my debt will be erased. No more calls from the bank, no more collectors coming to my apartment threatening to repossess my things. The only problem is I’ll be too dead to enjoy it.

Luckily, I’ve come up with a plan, a last-ditch effort to turn my life around. I was at Wilson’s Department Store on Eighth Avenue when the idea popped into my head. The store is massive, stocked with everything I could need or want. “What if I hid myself inside the store before the closing time and lived here for a time?” It’s crazy, I know, but if I stayed in long enough, I would be declared missing. After no one finds me, I will eventually be declared dead.

My plan is to go to the carpeting and rugs section of the store just before closing and discretely tuck myself away. Then by nightfall, I’ll be scot-free! I’ll have successfully disappeared, and after a year or so of being reported missing, the police will give up on my search, and I’ll be declared dead. At that point, the bank will clear my debt, and I’ll be able to leave here a free man. In the meantime, I’ll have every food item, article of clothing, bedspread, and other luxury known to man while I dream up new plans for the rest of my life.

I’ll live a nocturnal life. During the day, when the store is open, I’ll sleep in my secret hiding spot in the stacks of carpets where no one would think to find me. And at night, my only worry will be the night watchman, whom I’m not too concerned with. In steaking out the store, drawing up my plans, I saw him. He’s a decrepit old thing that looks like he was hired in the 1910s. God forbid he actually finds an intruder because it may just do the poor man in. Anyway, it’ll be an abnormal life that will take some getting used to, but the pay-off will be worth it in the end. Wish me luck, because I move in tomorrow.

June 13, 1957

The time is now 10:30 at night. I was able to discretely creep into my hiding place just before closing time. I’ve been in here almost four hours now, and I’m working up the courage to explore. Hopefully, I’ll come back to make my place a little homier.

Without a hitch! I’m back with a pillow, pajamas, a corkscrew, and a $32 bottle of merlot. I did see the night watchman while I was out. The light from his flashlight was shaking feebly, and I highly doubt he heard when I accidentally made a little clink when grabbing the wine bottle. Little by little, I’ll cautiously figure this place out, but this was a good first night.

June 14, 1957

I slept surprisingly well during opening hours. I’m not sure if that was due to the wine or the intense satisfaction that my plan has worked out so far. Or at least it had, until things got weird.

I went to go fetch a meal and a fur coat. As I was looking through the coats, I heard the night watchman coming. Swiftly, I dove into the racks of furs and silently crouched as he hobbled by. A few minutes later, he was out of earshot, and I prepared to hurry back to the carpet section when something caught my eye. My heart sank, and every hair on my arms stood at attention when I realized what I had caught its eye.

Starting back were two large, clouded black eyes that appeared to be made of glass. Surely they’re fake, taxidermy perhaps, until they blinked at me. The grey lids skimming over the two bulbous eyes made a moist sound that curdled my insides. I wanted to run, scream, vomit, but none of that was possible. I would be found out for sure. So, I just slowly backed away through the furs until I felt a cold, clammy palm rest on my back, sending chills down my spine accompanied by the sound: “shhh…”

“Welcome, Frank. We’ve been expecting you.” whispered the chilly voice to my back.

I was petrified. I felt hot, then cold as all the blood drained from my face. I tasted the bitter adrenalin coursing through my body, stimulating me for fight-or-flight. I did neither because before I could figure out what to do, more and more glassy-eyed creatures began emerging from the fur coats. Within a minute, I was surrounded by grey, pale, bony figures standing no more than four feet tall. However, their constant hunched position made it hard to judge. They looked dead with their concaved faces, filmy, dark eyes, and wispy white hair.

“It’s time for you to meet our matriarch. Come.” the creature with the chilly voice said, still at my back.

They allowed me to stand upright and lead me to the furniture department. I began to break out into a nervous cold sweat. My mind was racing, but I couldn’t think straight. I wasn’t sure what to do or why I was complying. For all I knew, the matriarch could eat me for dinner. Still, I went.

I looked up, and we had stopped in front of a carved dining chair with a velvet cushion. Surrounding me were more and more of the hideous creatures, perhaps four rows deep. An entire congregation, anxious to see their queen. Slowly, I began to be able to smell them. Their aroma was concentrated as they were all together, a strange, unholy stench reminiscent of rotting tomatoes.

Without warning, the crowd began shifting. The matriarch had arrived. She was solemnly paraded in, carried to her throne on a red piano bench with a purple paisley cushion, hoisted along by four burly-looking creatures. She was the most horrid-looking of them all. She was taller, with a dusty, hollow face. The pale grey skin seemed to be clinging tightly to her skull.

Her thin, stringy hair had a green hue and bobbed with the movements of the piano bench. Her hands were curled, and arthritic with long, grimy nails that were a similar color to her hair.

As if the matriarch’s entrance wasn’t shocking enough, to my bewilderment, a human girl followed her three steps behind. She looked to be no older than seventeen years old. The girl looked terribly thin, and her skin looked like it had never been in the sun. In retrospect, it hadn’t considering she’s in this place. She was brunette with round, green eyes, wearing simple clothes and no shoes.

“Come along, Evelyn, you stupid, ugly creature,” the matriarch grumbled at the girl while keeping her eyes forward.

“Is this my fate as well?” I thought to myself, “To serve that repulsive old sandbag?”

Finally, the procession stopped. The matriarch climbed from her piano bench to her dining chair throne and addressed the eager congregation.

“Good evening, children,” she said in a deep, raspy voice. “Whom have you brought me?”

“Your majesty,” spoke up the creature with the chilly voice. “This is Francis “Frank” Todesco, the one we’ve been watching for you, your majesty.”

“Ah, yes. Well done, Inepta. The community thanks you for your service,” the matriarch congratulated as she motioned with her crumpled hand.

“Francis,” she said cooly, as her eyes locked with mine, “Welcome to our humble community. We are glad you have decided to become one of us.”

My God, I couldn’t stop staring at her. Have you ever heard the expression, “so terrible you can’t look away?” That summarizes how I felt looking into those lifeless eyes.

“One of you?” I finally fumbled.

“Why, yes. Congratulations, son. You are an Idler now, one of the tortured souls that never got their way in life. Whether it was an unwillingness to work, a pending court case, or something meager like being thrown out by your family or debt you can’t pay, we are all here because we could not cope with life on the outside. We are the leeches of society, Frank, and have become higher, more evolved beings because of it. In a few nights, you will look like us too. Exciting, is it not?”

Idler? Devolve into them? It was too much to take in. And yet, amongst the sea of hideous, stinking creatures, there was this strange girl perched at the right side of the dining chair.

“What about her?” I said, pointing to Evelyn sat on a cushion at the matriarch’s feet.

“That useless thing? My handmaiden?” she replied, obviously shocked. “My apologies, any of us have to look at that unfortunate creature, children,” she consoled, looking at the now stirring, hissing congregation.

“She didn’t choose to be here, Frank, like you or I; hence she never evolved. But, of course, I cannot let her go for fear she might expose our community. I would sooner take her to the Undertakers before I let that happen.”

This statement put the creatures in better spirits, as they began to snicker amongst themselves. Considering an undertaker is an unpleasant person on the outside, I could only imagine what they do in here.

“The Undertakers?” I repeated. “I don’t understand.”

“My boy, you will understand our way of life more every day, but the Undertakers are who one gets sent to when they break our community rules. Do you see these people?” she asked, pointing at the mannequins set up around the store.

“They are the product of the Undertaker, forever sealed in a waxy coffin. Nasty business,” she said assuredly with an intense glare. “Let them be a warning to you, Francis.”

A waxy coffin? I had thought mannequins disconcerting since I was a child. They seemed too real. But I never imagined this.

Soon after, we were dismissed. I have to get out of here. I have no clue how the hell I’ll do it either. If I leave during the day, I’ll be spotted by the daytime security and arrested for breaking an entry. If I go at night, God knows what my fate will be. All this, and I can’t help but feel awful for that poor girl, Evelyn I think her name was. The matriarch treats like a slave. I want to help her too, but I don’t know how yet.

June 15, 1957

I got up out of my spot around midnight and went looking for Evelyn. Eventually, I discovered the basement to the department store. It was disgusting; damp, with mold lining the walls, stray garbage, and a dumpster next to a chained sliding door that lead to the alley where the garbage truck takes away the trash. In the far corner of the basement was Evelyn. She was sitting with her back toward me in the fetal position on a yellowed mattress.

“Evelyn? Are you Evelyn?” I asked with a hushed voice.

She instantly turned around towards me, locking eyes with a deadly glare.

“You shouldn’t be down here,” she snapped. “I swear if you try anything I-“

“No. Please, you’ve got it all wrong,” I stopped her. “I’m looking for a way out. I never would have come in here if I knew about the Idlers and the matriarch. I’m not like them. I’m a good person with bad luck.”

She rolled her green eyes at me.

“Oh please, cut the crap. You’re exactly like them. If you weren’t, you wouldn’t be in here trying to live off of what’s not yours,” Evelyn replied. “So goddamn selfish. What does it matter if you steal goods and more of my life? You never have to face the reality you made for yourself on the outside.”

I couldn’t believe it. Here I was, sticking my neck out for this wretched captive, and this is how she treats me.

“Listen, you little prick,” I objected, “I’m trying to get us out of here. I don’t have to bring you along, you know?”

She began to laugh at me. This slave sitting on a dirty mattress at the bottom of a department store began to laugh at me, her hero.

“There is no way out. I’ve been in here years. Don’t you think I would have figured it out by now?” she pressed. “And besides, how desperate are you anyway? If you get me out of here, then you’ll get a chick half your age? Besides, what are you, a man or a horse? There are transitioned people more handsome than you.”

My blood was boiling at this point. Why did I even bother? But, she was right. I don’t know how this place works, and she does. And regardless of what we think of each other, we’re our only chance out of here. So I swallowed my pride and tried again.

“Look, I’m sorry. I’m just scared. I know I’m not a great person, but I thought maybe I could try to be if I helped get us out of this place. I don’t know what you’ve been through or what you’ve seen. How long have you been in here anyway?”

Evelyn got quiet. She stared at her bare feet on the mattress and took a deep breath.

“I don’t know,” she finally answered. “I’ve lost track of time. The last thing I can remember is coming here with my mother when I was a little girl. I was so tired that day and all I wanted to do was take a nap. Like an idiot, I wandered off and fell asleep behind a counter. When I woke up, it was dark, and the store was empty. It didn’t take long for the Idlers to find me and bring me to the matriarch. I’ve been here ever since. Of course, I want to escape, but its an impossible dream. Anything that remotely threatens the community will get you sent to the Undertakers. Look, in my opinion, you should just transition because you won’t make it out of here.”

I could sympathize with her initial harshness towards me. This kid doesn’t know how old she is and has spent the majority of her life without the sun. To think I had given up on my life is unbearable. Evelyn had survived all these years despite her circumstances, which I greatly admired.

“Evelyn, listen to me.” I finally responded. “We are our best chance of getting back on the outside. Honestly, right now, I have no clue idea how we’ll do it, but I swear to give it my all.”

Suddenly, we both heard the sound of footsteps scurrying away from us. I told Evelyn I’d revisit her soon, and began to creep back to my hiding spot in the carpet department. I just dread those footsteps were going to tell the matriarch what they’d overheard.

June 16, 1957

WE’VE BEEN FOUND OUT. PLEASE, IF THIS IS MY LAST ENTRY, PLEASE, TO WHOEVER FINDS THIS NOTEBOOK, PRESENT IT TO THE AUTHORITIES AND TELL THEM TO SEARCH FOR A TALL, DARK, THIN MALE MODEL WITH BLACK HAIR WITH A LIGHT, BRUNETTE MODEL WITH GREEN EYES

Thus concluded the diary. That was indeed Frank’s last entry. Lowell slowly set down the notebook on the island, trying to make sense of what he’d just read.

“So, Lowell, do you think we should actually turn this notebook into the police? Just to be safe?” Janie asked, not believing the question she had just asked.

“Janie, honey, I promise you this is somebody’s way of having a little sick fun. They’re probably just lonely and looking for some attention,” he reassured her, and secretly himself. Though he put on a brave face, he was shaken up by the disturbing content of the diary. Particularly jarring were the heavy, panicked, all-capital pen strokes of the last entry. They were so deep you could feel them with your fingers from the back of the page.

“Of course. You’re right,” Jane finally said. “That story was way too unbelievable, anyway. There’s no such thing as Idlers and if a young girl was captive in the basement, don’t you think the employees would be a bit suspicious by now? Aw, Lowell.”

Janie wrapped her arms around her husband’s shoulders and put her head on his chest.

“Thanks, Lowell. It was kinda freaky reading that in the house alone.”

“That’s what I’m here for, baby,” he said as he kissed the crown of her head.

“Did you see anything you liked while you were out at Wilson’s today?”

“I did, actually. There was the cutest blue sundress on a brunette mannequin beside a tall, black-haired one that had a jacket that’d look good on you.”