muahahahhaa and we have another story:P ok i have no idea what possessed me to write this. but i did.

its kind of an exploration. like why people choose to live the weirdest of reasons sometimes, even though all they really want to do is die. i dunno if that makes sense but its like...

you wake up every morning and you look in the mirror. and you think "what reason have i to live?" and then you come up with stupid answers; ambitions dreams blah blah and somehow the THOUGHT of being happy in the future keeps you going. you keep walking.

so yes thats what this story is about. hope u all enjoy:P

~zo

p.s. thanks a lot for your comment, vibhu. thats why you get a special mention right here :)

Empathia

By Zohaib Hashim

Walketh he through the cold winter nights. Need he no bed to lie upon, nor a roof to lie upon him. Content he is with his thin cloak of tattered fur, with his hat of bristled straw, with his sandals of cracked leather. Feel he no pain on the soles of his toughened feet, and walk on he does everyday, his journey with no goal and no end. He walks both in day and in night, and sometimes both. He rest only long enough to be able to walk again, and so continue his journey.

Why walketh he so aimlessly? Wondered many and few, for t'was the business of none but the walker himself. Yet intrigued was young Johnny Wilkins of the town of Arithia. And wonder he did when the walker came upon Arithia on his journey with no aim.

Walketh to the inn did he, and paid for a room with coins as ordinary as any. Yet as his back was turned, his currency was scrutinized; looking for any point of farce. Suspect him did they for regular he was not; not in face nor hair nor eyes nor clothes nor shoes. Nor the expression of his face. Emotions he did not show, yet at the same time, all colors of the rainbow flowed through his eyes. His face seemed to take on every expression and yet none at all, as if everything were hidden away. Confused were all and scared were many, and the old ones forbade the young ones from going near the walker, for suspecting him of dark magics they did. Yet too scared were they to drive him out and force his journey to continue sooner than intended he. And so the walker stayed, one day and another. And another still. And the folk of the town grew uneasy, for they were unsure how long the unwelcome guest may stay. Yet not uneasy was young Johnny Wilkins, who sought to know more of the walker and his travels.

So one night, when the moon was full and high, Johnny Wilkins downed the last of his ale at the inn tavern, and he turned to the table in the far corner, where the walker sat alone, hidden in the darkness. And Johnny Wilkins swallowed the lump of fear in his throat, and set himself forward. So great was his pace that had he wanted at any point to turn tail and flee, t'would have been impossible. And so he found himself standing before the table of the walker. He looked down at the strange man, yet no change in expression did he see. Clear his throat young Johnny Wilkins did and he said, May I join you at your table, O great traveler from afar? May I join you and share a flagon of ale in exchange for some stories of your travels?

Said nothing the walker, and more than time enough passed for young Wilkins to realize where he was unwanted. Yet adamant was he and flee he would not. Finally the walker gestured down with his eyes, indicating the seat from across him. Delighted was young Wilkins and hurriedly sat down.

What want you to know? Asked the walker, in a hoarse voice. Wilkins was unsure as to the tone of his voice. Had he been crying? Or was he croaking back a laugh? Or perhaps a sickness?

Wilkins ventured forth in the talks. Tell me, great traveler, where have you come from? Look nothing like us you do, nor bear you the look of a villager from near? Where then do you hail from?

The walker gave a small smile of stone; devoid of all emotion and feeling. And then it was that young Wilkins knew what it was that was strangest about the man sat before him. T'was not the strange demeanor of his person, nor the alien look of his body. Strangest was the lack of life in his eyes. Brown were they yet gray they seemed, as if all color had been drained.

The walker looked young Wilkins in the eye and it scared the young man, because he saw something he would never wish upon any person alive. The walker spoke slowly. Matter it not where I am from, or where I go, for neither do I recall and neither do I recognize. My path is to wander and wander till perhaps I can go no further. And then I shall stay where I be and die. Such is my travels, young one.

Wilkins was young, yet child he was not and he recognized what it was that the traveler suffered from. He leaned forward and placed a hand on the shoulder of the walker. The traveler looked Wilkins in the eye, then stood gently, letting Wilkins arm slip away from him. I need not your empathy, the man said to Wilkins and Wilkins smiled. You need it not but I give it none the less. For I understand what it is that haunts you.

The traveler looked away, and young Wilkins would swear he saw ten years of lines add to his tired and weather beaten face. You know nothing, he said to young Wilkins, and he made his way upstairs to the room he had paid. I shall leave at first light tomorrow, he said over his shoulder, as he slowly climbed the stairs. Welcome I am not in your town and as such I will not bring displeasure for any further hospitality there may yet be left in you. I will bother you no more and I would ask the same of you.

Wilkins sat at the table late into the night, well past the time when the villagers talk turned to whispered rumors, then to drunken laughter. He stayed till the fires of the inn tavern were on their last embers, screaming for the cold settling in. Finally he stood up and made his way home down the cobbled street, for Arithia was but a small town, one of many on the walker's journeys.

The next morning the walker awoke, and slowly rose out of bed. Once more the peace that sleep had brought him was shattered by the thoughts that would forever haunt him. Forced himself on he did, for he understood he was overstaying his welcome, and as such, had already aroused much curiosity.

He made his way downstairs and paused at the last step of the stairs to adjust his torn cloak of furs, his hat of bristled straws, and his sandals of cracking leather. He took a deep breath, then stepped forth. His journey continued. He opened the large door to the inn and walked out, randomly picking one of the ways out of the town of Arithia; yet careful to not choose the path he had arrived from.

Wait! Cried young Wilkins, as he raced up the cobbled street to the front yard of the inn. He stopped before the traveler to catch his breath and slowly raised his eyes to those of the older man. I know what it is that haunts you, said Wilkins slowly. The walker slowly shook his head. You know nothing young one, and pray you never do. He turned to walk away but Wilkins did not relent.

Who was it that you loved so? That your love will not leave even as the distance between you climbs, and how you walk with all your burdens weighed down on you. Who was she that tore your heart open so that you shirk the compassion of all humanity and choose to walk the roads until you die?

The walker had stopped in the middle of the street and slowly he turned around. Tears had come to his eyes of brown and the tears had colored his eyes ever so slightly from the grey, breaking the fragile shield of void he had created to protect himself. For young Wilkins had been right, despite his age being before the graying of any hairs; wisdom of the heart speaking loudest to those that heard it. The walker spoke slowly, and his words choked more than ever before. She was my beloved; my Sarah. Stolen from me she was; from all of us. I… I am from a land far from here, in which direction I know not any more. I was happy with my Sarah once, but such times do not last I think. She was stolen from me and now I walk forever, in search of a rest I shall never find until rest eternal.

Young Wilkins knew not what to say, yet he had expected as much. For in the walker he had seen something no one else had; kinship. He and the walker were much alike, strong of mind and listeners of the heart. And he realized that after the loss of his beloved, the traveler walked. Walked away from all that was familiar, all that he held dear, for he could not stand to be without his beloved. He went out to find her, yet find her he never would, and know this he did too. And so he still walked the lands, waiting for the rest eternal to take him and set him free. Set him free to his Sarah forever more.

Wilkins understood better than most men would, for that is the way of such things. The walker wanted to die, yet he was not ready to let life go just yet. Not ready to die an instant death. And so he walked, and he cursed himself, and the strength of his own mind consumed him, to the point that his emotions would be ghosts in his dreams, animating his body as he slept. And when he would awaken he would feel the last slivers of his emotion draining away and it reminded him of the love he knew no more. Death he wanted; yet for death he was not ready. Scared was he.

Young Johnny Wilkins watched the traveler continue his journey, his lonely walk along forgotten paths. He watched in sorrow and he learned. And from then onwards Johnny Wilkins prayed for the walker whenever he could. And around himself he kept the ones he loved, who increased in numbers as his days dwelt on. From his parents to his siblings, to his wife and their children, and then their grandchildren.

And so it was that many, many years later, old Johnny Wilkins lay on his death bed, surrounded by his grown grandchildren and their children too, and with his dying breaths he recited the story of the walker and his travels. And from this he hoped his progeny would learn that those who listened both to the heart and mind were strong, but strongest were those who cherished all they loved and kept it close. Life is not easy, he told his kin, and the last lesson he gave them was that of compassion. Because sometimes, when life is cruel, all that one loves is robbed from him, and it is those who give most love; and thus require the most love.

Young Wilkins watched the traveler leave, the rising sun to his back, and he felt helpless to save him. And he swore to himself that never would he let his own wander so lost; never would he let his family or friends feel that they no longer had anything left to keep living for.

The sun was all but gone and the snow around him was knee deep, biting past his torn sandals. The fur coat was gone as was his hat, and his bare arms were numb in the cold. T'was there that the walker finally collapsed, many years after he met young Wilkins. More weather beaten his face had become and more color had his hair lost.

He collapsed at the place in the snow from where he would never again rise; never again walk the lonely roads, lost in memory and mind. He fell and turned on his back, the cold biting into him and robbing him of the last shards of life he had. And in his dying moments the man let his emotions go and he cried, and the fast receding life returned to his eyes. I no longer have an excuse to keep living, he said to the clouded sky. I have lived as long as I could, and done all I could. I kept going even when I could not. I have served my time. Let me return to my Sarah. Reunite us so that we may forever be happy.

Johnny Wilkins died in his bed, surrounded by those that loved him. They mourned his loss and his grandchildren carried his example on through the generations. They were compassionate and they loved as much as they could. And they remembered the story of the traveler, be it true or not.

The walker died alone, his body covered by the ever falling snow. He was found many a day later and buried in an unmarked grave, where a priest read a lost soul the last rights. Pity his finders felt for the lost soul; probably someone that had gotten lost on the road. Confused them though, did the expression on his face. He was smiling; smiling for the love he had found again, smiling for the release of the emotions he had buried. Never again would he walk the road; never again would he carry his sorrow. But he died smiling still, his chosen purpose in life complete; to die. 

  yayyy my newest story.

ok this ones a bit different. its got three voices. and because a lot of people arent getting it, the BOLD is the HEART, the ITALICS is the MIND, and the regular is the person:P

heh heh its a bit different i know but hey i like experimenting with new things :) kinky innit ;)

enjoy

~zo

The Turmoil Within

The voices within call to me. They call to my body; my vessel.

The sound of my heart.

The sound of my mind.

I ran as fast as I could, trying to escape the voices assaulting me.

You can't live without her. You can’t and you know it. Show how much you love her. Prove your love to her. Die for your love.

I collapsed. For a long while I lay, looking up at the plain ceiling. It was white, or a shade thereof. She always loved white. A single tear trickled down my cheek, then another down the other. My bleary eyes closed and opened and I began to sniffle.

Cry. It helps. Another voice. This one was strong. This one was calm and cool. I recognized it somehow, yet in other ways, it was alien to me. Never the less, listen to it I did, and I cried openly. I can't remember the last time I cried the way I did then.

No. Don't cry. Crying is for the weak. You know what you have to do. You have to be strong. Remember it. She told you to be strong. She knew it would come to this. You have to prove your love.

Memories came to me. Oh so many memories. Its funny, but usually, the only memories we remember are the bad ones. But not when we're in love. Then its all good times and better times that we remember.

I remembered the night we broke up. I had cried then, tried hard to stop myself but still cried. She had gently told me to be strong. To move on. I would be okay; I just needed to see beyond her.

You built your house of cards encompassing her. It's obvious when she moves the deck will fall. The cards will fall. But cards do not rip or tear if they fall. You just pick them up and build a new house. So be strong. That’s what she meant. The house will go up again. Just you wait and see.

No. He's lying. The deck has fallen and the cards are lost. You can't pick up the pieces when they fall beyond your reach. It's not your destiny to have the things you love. You're just one big screw up. Nature and the order of things have no place for you.

I sobbed and stood up. I don’t know how long I lay there. Hours? Or was it minutes? I can't tell anymore. Time is a blur and I keep switching gears. My legs are sore. Perhaps it really has been a while. Who cares anyway?

I made my way to the kitchen. I searched the drawers and couldn’t find what I was looking for. I cursed and kicked a cupboard, then took a deep breath and searched again. Fourth drawer down, behind the cheese grater. I pulled the long glistening kitchen knife out. My reflection was tainted, sometimes bending this way; sometimes that way.

You're twisted and bent. Look at you. You have no honor and no shame. Crying like a child. Scorned by the one you love. What place does the world have for a weakling like you? Do it a favor. Do yourself a favor. Stop the act and end the game. It's better for you this way.

I sniffed and nodded. It was better for me this way. I had begged and I had pleaded. I could feel the marks of dirt becoming permanent on my knees. Permanent displays of the dignity I had foregone to beg for her back. Oh god how I had begged.

Dishonored. Betrayed. My dignity gone. My faith gone. My dreams gone. My heart gone. My love torn and tattered. My life broken and shattered. I laughed. I actually made my life rhyme. A lyric or a ballad? I was unsure. Tragic it was to see myself this way.

I placed the knife on my right wrist, tightening the hold of my left hand on the knife's grip.

Why are you pretending to yourself that you can do this? You know better. You’ve seen what suicide does. How it looks. Think about your mother and your father. Your brothers and your family.

What do they care? They'll get over it. People die all the time. It will make them stronger. Chances are they won't even remember you after a few years. It's better for your parents; they won't have to put up with your constant disappointments. And it's better for your brothers; they won't have to put up with your bullshit anymore. Yes, perhaps this is the best way.

I clenched my teeth and closed my eyes. All these voices in me. Why can't they make up their mind? I pressed the knife down onto my wrist and felt a slight prick and the first droplet of blood began to form where the knife was digging deeper.

That’s enough. Put the knife down. This is stupid. What could you possibly gain from killing yourself? It won't get you her back. You have to be strong for yourself, and no one else.

I hesitated. The knife in my hand was shaking, mimicking the shaking of my hands. The trail of blood was leading down my hands and trickling gently from my fingers. The tip of the knife was still pressed hard, bleeding me. The blood was warm. It was strange, because I felt nothing but extreme cold.

The intimacy of her touch. The warmth of her body. The depth of her embraces. Do you remember? Can you really forget?

Feelings fade. Memories fade. Time heals. Give it time. That’s all you need, some time to be alone. To heal yourself and become whole again.

She was a part of you. How can you be whole without the part that matters most; your heart? How can you live without your heart?

I sobbed a few more times and pulled the knife away from my wrist. My shaking hands brought it level with my chest, and trembling, I began to draw it closer. The point touched my chest. Cold it was, and it added to my shivering.

Do it.

I held my hands firm and took a deep breath.

Think about it.

The knife plunged deep into my chest. My lungs contracted involuntarily as they punctured and I spluttered, gasping for mouthfuls of air that just wouldn’t go down. The knife sent searing pain through my body. I couldn’t breath. I began to black out.

Think about it.

I looked down and the knife edge was a hairsbreadth from my skin. My hands were shaking still and I no longer made any futile attempts to still them. Was this really worth it? Was it worth her?

You can't live without her. You know you can't. Why are you fooling yourself?

Give it time. Have faith in yourself. You will be fine.

I nodded. Perhaps I would be fine. I was a coward. I couldn’t kill myself. I didn’t have the courage.

It's not cowardice. Self preservation is a stronger instinct. And its bravery to stay strong and stand up. Raise your head high.

I wiped away the drying trails of tears from my face and stood up. Make me stronger, I said to the voice within. The one that was rational. The one that knew me best. Make me stronger. Make me you.

I am you.

And I am you also. The question is, which of us is stronger in you?

I stood up. I understood. My heart and my mind. Which was stronger didn’t matter. Both were a part of me.

I dropped the knife to the floor. Never again would I be so weak. Never again.

Never.

Never.

Never.

Monsters; Here There Be

            I have no comfort. I have no solace. I have no dreams or ambitions. I have only myself, lying in my bed, the covers pulled over me tight. Tears streak my face and my pillow. The pain in my head ever present but long forgotten. My eyes; wide and glazed. What do I see with my night eyes? Slowly the hours stretch by. Behind the drapes on my window, I witness the sun fall, the rise of the moon, pulsing lights and sounds from the street below. My eyes adjust to the darkness. I am a night creature. I see perfectly and without flaw. But I do not see and I do not think. Because I am no longer capable of either.

            My mind lingers on the betrayal, the duplicity of my trust, the fraudulence of my hope. My love. How much is real? And what have I imagined? And what can I see now? Can I see through the fog now? I can see everything in the night so clearly.

            He reaches out, a silent shadow on the walls, and he embraces me tight and tells me everything will be okay. He brushes the tears from my eyes and strokes my head. He cuddles me again. I feel no warmth from him. But I’m happy, and I smile. There is no light. There is no dark. There is only clarity. Clarity of mind, heart and soul, all brought together to clash in the momentous conflict that rages on ever more. I love you. And then he’s gone again. And I’m empty again. And that’s all there is. He fades into the shadows from whence he came. Fades away into the nothingness beyond my vision. I probe the shadows, but he is no more. Who was he, who I loved more than my mother or my father? Who I embraced closer than any love? Who I trusted more than any friend? Who was he? Where was he? I was alone again. I love.

            I wake up in the morning. Nothings changed. I’m still alone. The day passes swiftly. I pray for the night. I ignore everyone in my family; they’re all peripheral. I go outside onto my balcony and sit down on the ground. Mosquitoes swarm around me but I don’t care. I close my eyes as the tears start flowing. I look at a mirror inside my house and realize I have no reflection. Was it because of the darkened window? Or had I passed on? I didn’t know. I did not want to know. I stood up and looked down; 4 stories above the ground below. How certain was it that I’d die if I jumped? Who knows? Who wants to know? Not me. I was too scared. I’ve always been too scared. Why am I scared? It’s what I want, right? I put one foot over the railing, then bring it back. There was something behind me. Someone. I love you.

             He came up against me, out of the shadows, and embraced me once more. And the pain was gone. And I wasn’t alone. Who was he; he who worked this charm upon me. I looked down, and in the moonlight saw his slight claws pricking my skin, leading small trickles of blood. I smiled. The pain was gone. The mosquitoes were gone, lying on the balcony floor at twisted angles, mangled, their bodies torn apart.

            I turned around and put my head against his chest. It rose heavily now, no longer a shadow. He was real. He was here for me. He was going to take me away. There was still no warmth but I felt his love. I love you. I love you too.

            He raised his sharp hands to my face and wiped away my tears, tearing my skin slowly, softly, with the love of a thousand hearts. He kissed my forehead and brought his hands to my throat, and I closed my eyes and prayed to die. He would grant me that. Because he loved me. And I loved him.

            I love you.

This is a story i wrote a few months ago...the reason is unclear to me actually. Im generally not this violent. This is, infact, my second most violent story, the most violent being The Tempest, which i wrote/am writing today lol

so yes enjoy and try not to be sick. its just fiction.

 I HATE YOU

‘I hate you.’

‘Then go ahead and do it. Kill me.’

Billie tensed up, his arms shaking, the gun a a bit too heavy for his tiny arms. But he kept it steady enough not to miss at this range, and Mark knew it. Mark raised one hand to his mouth and wiped the blood away. His gaze shifted to the crumpled body of Dianne. The pool was gathering around her as she lay in a fetal position. There was an immense hole where her beautiful face had been and her brains lay splattered, dark on the soggy carpet.

Billie was shaking. Dirt streaked his face where the tears had been but there was no sorrow, only hatred and pity. The past half hour had been too much for his 12 year old mind to comprehend. Instead, he had chosen to block it out, and concentrate on what was at hand; killing Mark, his father.

It was 3 A.M. and the fragile door to the apartment rattled as Mark tried to force his way in. Dianne groaned and made her way from her bedroom to front door. Mark had forgotten his fucking keys again. Just like her forgot their anniversary. Just like he forgot Billie’s birthday. Just like he forgot to get a fucking job every week. Dianne was tired, physically and emotionally. The beatings were laying off, and their therapy at the community centre was paying off for the few measly dollars they paid for it. He still wasn’t trying to sober up, but Dianne told her self that things would get better with time. Not long ago, she was praying for an opportunity to flee with Billie, but now, she silently hoped everything would work out. She still loved Mark, even after the 15 years of hell he had put her through.

She opened the door tiredly and was just about to say something when the first punch landed. He caught her off guard and her nose burst open. Tears came to her eyes but she did not have enough time to register much more than the pain. The next punch came and smacked the side of her head. She fell backwards, crushing some of Billie’s toys that were scattered around. Mark stepped inside and clumsily turned the lights on.

‘Stupid bitch. You’ll open the door faster next time, won’t you?’ He slowly turned round and shut the door. Dianne sobbed slowly, and suddenly, there was intense hatred for her husband, flaring in her eyes. She screamed and leapt forward, clawing the back of his neck. He was perhaps anticipating this, or some of his old army instincts kicked in. He drove his elbow backwards, catching her in the right breast. He turned around and kneed her hard in the groin and she fell down again, screaming in pain.

‘Fucking whore. Think you can jump me? I’m faster than you think. I’ll show you, you stupid cunt.’

Mark reached down and pulled hard on Dianne’s t-shirt. It ripped and he pulled it free, her chest bouncing free, a large red bruise appearing on the right. He reached down again and began to pull her shorts off. She lay there dazed, unable to think or to stop him. She had started to bleed from below, his blow having done some damage within. He pulled her shorts and panties free and began to undo his pants. Slowly, he climbed on top of her and thrust his way in.

She moaned and closed her eyes, aware that she was being raped but unable to react. She began to mumble. ‘Go ahead you stupid fuck. You’re fucking lame, anyway.’

He growled and thrust harder and faster, having his way with her till finally he came, and he didn’t bother to withdraw, releasing deep within.

Billie was huddled under the kitchen table, slowly crying. He could see his father, naked on top of his bleeding mother. He wanted to scream but he knew he couldn’t. ‘Daddy will kill me,’ he thought. And suddenly, a new thought entered his head. ‘I must kill daddy.’

Mark slowly got up, pulling his pants on, then from his back pocket he pulled out a small gun. He pointed it at Dianne. His hands did not shake and he pointed it squarely between her eyes. ‘Go ahead, bitch. Scream for me. Go on.’

Dianne was scared beyond words and she cowered fearfully at his feet, trying to cover her body with her hands. Mark sneered and slowly began to pull on the trigger.

Billie ran at his father with the butchers knife pointed outwards. The thrust drove it deep into Mark’s leg and he shrieked out, throwing off his aim. The shot rang off and plaster from the small crater on the ceiling trickled down onto his naked mothers body. Mark swung an arm around and hit Billie square on the chest, sending him flying several feet.

Dianne screamed a loud note, and Mark swung the gun back to her face, pulling the trigger and shutting her up for good. Blood sprayed over him and the walls behind her, and with sick pleasure, he reveled at the fact that he could see clean through the back of her head. Her body slumped slowly and blood began to seep. Mark tossed the gun aside, much more sober.

‘Look what you made me do, you stupid bitch! You had to scream, didn’t you?! You had it coming!’ He turned around to deal with Billie and there he was, standing, the gun in his tiny hands.

Billie struggled with the memories and focused on the present.

‘Put the gun down, Billie, or you’ll get in big trouble.’

‘No! I won’t!’

‘You will Billie. You’ll go to jail because its your fingerprints on the gun, Billie, not mine.’

And Billie was scared. But he knew he had no choice. He had to kill him. He sobbed and pulled the trigger. The hammer struck down but nothing happened. Mark stood confused for a second then laughed.

‘The gun jammed, you stupid son-of-a-bitch! Try to kill me, will you?’ He bounded forward and snatched the gun from his son. He pushed Billie hard to the ground, and that was when the door crashed in.

Dwayne had been up at the mall, the night-time security guard till 3 in the morning. He had just gotten home when the first shot rang from downstairs and a small hole appeared in his floor. He cursed and called 911.

The police officer leveled his gun at Mark. ‘Put the gun down, asshole.’

Mark hesitated, then knew it was useless. The officer kept his gun pointed as partner pushed Mark to the ground and cuffed him, reading him his rights. They dragged him out and the first officer returned with a paramedic. He crouched by Billie.

‘You okay kid? Did your daddy do this?’

Billie nodded. Then he asked a strange question.

‘How long before they let him out of jail?’

The officer was taken back. ‘Ummm… I dunno. Somewhere between 10 to fourteen years. Are you sure you’re okay kid? Don’t worry, I’ll look after you.’

Billie smiled. He would be fine. And fourteen years from now, he’d be waiting.

yes so that was disturbing lol. no im not sick in the head:p like i said this was a one off. oh and no offense meant to women or anyone thats been through a similar ordeal. Rape is a crime that should be punished by castration and death....but thats just my opinion!

cheers

~zo

This story was deleted some months ago, because people in my year felt that it was a bit too ego-damaging.

Zohaib back then was very nice and caring.

The Zohaib of now doesnt give two fucks on the left side of the right side of the sycamore tree. Ha.

So yes, Bilal, your return is here! Part 2 being planned!

~Zohaib (Updated 24th June, 2006)

P.S. The beginning of this story was actually written by me (its an unfinished piece called Kaya that I dont know if I ever will bother to finish! lol). But anyway this is the hijacked version. If you pay attention, you can see my writing style in the beginning...followed by Bilals...distinct....method lol. I need not say more!

Oh and the story has no real name. So we just call it The Story. lol

The water was running, but a long time had passed since it had ceased to be hot, or even warm, and now all it spread was chill waves in the small bathroom. The running water dominated the only other sound in the room; her silent sobs. She sat in the tub, her knees pulled up tight against her naked body. The water fell on her head, mingling with her tears, as it followed its course over her curves and recesses.

            She looked sullenly at the small mirror that stood on the edge of the tub, and her reflection looked back at her with bleary eyes. Her long blond hair fell around her face and shoulders, forming something of a shield from the rest of the world. She looked up at the mirror again, and this time screamed and kicked out, knocking the mirror to the ground and shattering it into dozens of pieces. She wailed louder and her shoulders shook as she cried. Her eyes flew back to the shattered mirror on the floor, even as she willed herself not to look. She slowly stopped crying and looked down at herself, leaning over the edge. Her hair touched the puddle covered floor but she didn’t care. The shattered image of her was still looking at her. She started shouting and smashing the mirror over and over with her fists, droplets of blood spray out over her face and the room as tiny shards of glass tore her skin. Shakily, she picked up a large shard of the glass and put the sharp edge against her leg. A drop of blood formed and trickled away as she applied pressure but she didn’t stop and slowly drew a deep cut upwards, down her side to her hips. Her thigh bled profusely and she giggled. The pain was unnaturally real. She leaned the other way and slowly drew it up the other thigh, creating another gash. She laughed again and then started to cry.

            The water above her was still running, swirling around her in a fiery tide of red, washing her wounds, sapping her blood. She slowly drew the shard to her wrist. She started giggling again. It would all be over soon. Oh so soon. The shard dug in deep and she slashed downwards. A great burst of blood gushed forward, spraying her face and breasts as the arteries in her arm, were torn open. She gasped and leaned back suddenly, her eyes wide, seeing her own blood spraying on the walls. Slowly she started giggling again and closed her eyes, leaning back so the cold water fell on her face. She could feel the weariness taking her and she welcomed it. It would be over soon.

She has discovered her dad raped her repeatedly when she was asleep. Well he's only human and her mom was as ugly as hell so it was only expected to happen!!! So she got the pregnancy test shit women use and turned out to be baby +ve. so she told her mom and she said  I know dear. I told him too!! I am ugly s the author of this book has said earlier and he is not to be blamed!! This story has to continue the way the author of this book wants it to so tough!! GET OVER IT!!

Then sofia told her mom she is also HIV +ve. she mumbled the words does it matter? The mom Being mrs hay said OFCOURSE IT BLOODY MATTERS YOU WHORE!!!!

To calm things down Dr. Ali first lieutenant in the British army with 500 purple hearts as he has been hit by a laser guided missile in the throat causing his voice to be as squeaky as hell. He flew in from the nation of the pharaohs great land of the pyramids to ease this moment of tension. The moment he spoke mrs hay started to laugh and every thing was as good as new. The hay family lived happily ever after excluding    

sofia who died due multiple diseases developing in her as:

1. several heart attacks
2. brain hemorrhage
3. Cancer which developed because of the damaging of the DNA in the nuclei of her cells.
4. and most importantly INFLUENZA.

Mr. hay decided to buy a Nissan sunny and salman has became best friends with him and started to drive with him and tried to teach him to not overestimate the space on the right. As he was saying that a truck banged into him and the Saudi police came and salman was 95% at fault!

The truck driver was Saudi and although it was allllll his fault him being the Saudi automatically gives him preference + salman did not have a license and that contributed as well.

This incident was close to apple bees where taaha was with alaa and zane and when he spotted salman he quickly and unexpectedly left alaa to see wat's going on. To prevent a waterfall from occurring up his ass ( although it was a typical snowy in Saudi Arabia) and therefore he took his sunny to see wat's going on. As the police man spotted taha coming from a distance he remembered stopping a dirty car like this a couple of months ago. So he asked taha for his license and as everyone expected he didn't have it and was thrown in jail where he was repeatedly raped by the dad in the story earlier that btw if u haven't noticed has no relevance to the current story  and taha did the baby test and turned out to be baby +ve.

He went home and told his dad on the mobile so his speeded to jail to bail him out and got arrested for speeding. As he was connected his friend faris bailed him out and left taha to rot in jail. Taha spent the rest of his life there taking care of his baby and salman took taha being in jail to his advantage and started dating alaa.

When taha found out he said ok      

Btw anjum is a friend of these guys but is gonna appear in this story just as much as he appears in real life!!! i.e NOT IN THE STORY!!!

Zohaib goes to visit taha in jail and as they were separated by a glass barrier zo starts look at his reflection at the glass and for some reason it breaks. Taha makes his run away.

Saudi fireman said the only the only thing that can break this glass is zo looking at it and as it happened the glass broke and this might be the reason why the glass broke in the first part of the story.

Kareem comes in his lancer to aid the getaway and as it was souped up to the extremes the Saudi police had no chance of catching up. Fortunately to the Saudi police zo started talking abt predator and kareem had an unfortunate accident and the tire popped. So Kareem made his getaway in the f16 stored in hi trunk. Zo was left to confront the Saudi police but for him they too stupid to recognize him. Zo was happy and put his glasses om tand they shattered and they identified him immediately so kareem came b ack in his chopper and they flied to Egypt.

There they met Dr. ali and were able to take some Egyptian weapons and they forged theyre passports with aid of tarek and his eyeliner company. He gave them all discount cards with upto 50% discount so taha's dad flew straight to Egypt to make the most of it.

Then the day finally came and he met salman  in jamjoom  where they decided to have their final fight. Mostafa was there doing zo and he decided to referee. Taha took out his Egyptian guns and to his surprise he just figured out it was a water gun. So Kareem came and he started to kick sal's ass as taha was a sissy in hand to hand fights. Salman then realized that this was gonna be bloody so he took off his shirt and fought with his vest. He has some good moves and impressed alaa and nada and he got too happy.

Awais came naked and for some reason the girls were surprised he had no penis (the guys already knew). But to the guys fighting this was only what they expected and he started to fight.

Btw nada was revisin bio durin this deatmatch!!!

Luckily for taha;s team this weak was the nayyer was allowed out ( he is only allowed out once every 2 weeks)

As sal's team was outnumbered he realized he was losing. So he fled and the girls were taken hostages

Note: nada was still revising

Taha's getaway was supposed to be done in nayyer's Gaylooper (also known as Looty Deville) but his mom called him and ordered him to come home immediately so the mission was aborted!!!!

Note: Nada is still revising!!!

Awais went to sofia's grave and cried abt his problem mentioned by the author earlier sofia sprung back to life (she was still skeletor) and told him that men aren’t categorized by the size or in his case existence of their penis. It is the strength of character. Awais cried even more as he lacked that too causing tsunamis over sofias grave killing her again.

Dr ali appeared and talked to awais. These two have a “lot in common” and they played the juitar all night long. Later mrs mo came and said '' WAT HABBENED?'' Dr. Ali replied ALOA HABBENED. To cheer aswais up she gave him  pepsi with arse (ice) in it. 

By then it was nayyer's day out but his mom called him again and he went home

Note: Nada is still revising!!!!

The eternal battle between bad and bad continued and during one of the meetings they were captured by the Saudi police and were all sent to jail were they were raped ever after.

Summary of events following story

Zo opened up a mirror company but for some odd reason it was a failure

Taha went home to look for his license

Sofia was still dead

Nada was still revising

Nayyer got grounded a nd was only allowed once a month out

Salman continued pimping

Alaa ditched them both and zane got both the sisters for herself

Anjum is still not in the story

Dr ali took juitar lessons and got married

Awais was the one who married him

Mrs mo is currently working in burger king offering more arse in people's drinks

Mrs hay still thinks it bloody matters

Kareem was still fixing/repairing the tyre

Mostafa is still robbing zo

The Police man kept catching taha without a license

Tahas dad is still using the discount offer

Tarek became a barber and specializes in eyeliner beards

Author of book was not allowed to write anymore

U r probably wanderin y the book was named after sofia

Well keep wanderin

The end

lol k this is one funny ass story...its a reproduction of the essay i did in my o-levels essay! its not as good as the one i wrote then but its still funny!! cheers! enjoy! ~ zo

The Raffle

The Mazda RX-7. A symbol of pure perfection. Ever since I was a kid, I’ve wanted to get my hands on one of those babies. But I guess I never got the chance. There were more important things in my life, I couldn’t waste time dreaming over a sports car that was never meant to be mine. Eventually, I forgot all about the car, and many things happened in my life. I married Jenny. I started teaching English at the local high school. No time for sports cars in my life. Nope. Just no time at all.

            Jenny and me were at the mall one afternoon. She was expecting, and were both extremely excited. There were still a few months to go, but we wanted to be ready before hand, so we went to the mall like all regular people do. We were in the babies section, and Jenny was trying to decide which crib to buy, while clutching a good variety of mobiles and stuffed toys.

‘David, help me out! What kind of crib do we want?’

I walked up to her and put my arms around her. ‘Relax honey, we don’t need all these things yet. Lets just take everything one step at a time, OK?’

She started to protest, but she knew I was right. She smiled at me and we walked on. That’s when I saw her. She was a shiny red, brand new I guessed, and she was parked in the Department store with a large ribbon tied around her. The RX-7, the car of my dreams. Next to her was a large placard pronouncing a lucky draw, and you got a raffle ticket for every ten dollars you spent. I saw my chance. I turned Jenny around.

‘Y’know honey, its not too early to start shopping for the kid. Lets get more stuff!’

            That night I tossed and turned in my bed, unable to go to sleep. Jenny lay soundly next to me. Slowly, I got up and went downstairs. Our house was comfortable, if not very large. I went to the garage, where my old Toyota and her old Mitsubishi were parked. I looked at them sadly, imagining a lovely red demon taking their place. I knew I had to do something. No one could possibly deserve that car more than me.

            By the next night, I had everything worked out. It was tricky, but I knew I could do it. I silently crept out of bed again, this time changing into black clothing. I pulled on some of Jenny’s black leather  gloves. If any of the guys found out about this, I’d be the laughing stock for the rest of my. But no one will find out. My planning was too perfect. I drove out of my neighborhood silently and made my way stealthily to the mall. I parked several streets away and started to walk. In my hands I had a long coil of rope which I wrapped around my torso, and a sleek crowbar which I had procured from somewhere in my college days.

            I got to the mall and proceeded around the back entrance. The adrenalin was pumping and I moved silently and quickly to the fire escape. I made my way to the roof and crept across like a cat. I got to the large skylight of the department store and I pulled the coil of rope off of me. Slowly, I pried the window open. I wasn’t sure if there was an alarm, and I’m even less sure of what I would have done if there had been one. But there wasn’t. I tied the rope against some nearby piping and walked to the edge. I looked down at the distant floor and said a silent prayer before stepping over into thin air. It was  a steady climb down. I wasn’t as fit as I used to be but I still made good time. I silently got off the rope and made my way towards the car. It was dazzlingly bright, even in the almost complete darkness. I had thought about it long and hard all that day, and I knew what I had to do.

I reached behind all the counters and pulled out the raffle books. My plan was simple and elegant. I would fill several raffle books with my personal tickets, and enter them all into the large tombola in the corner. I aimed to simply increase my chances of winning to some better odds. I filled out several dozen, perhaps around a hundred or so. I then carefully replaced everything to where it had been initially, and then began the slow climb up the rope. I was filled with energy and elation. I got home and climbed into bed, falling asleep with a smile on my face.

I got up the next morning with sheer horror on my mind. What had I done last night? Was it illegal? It probably was, I decided. It was like I hadn’t been myself last night. I couldn’t go to jail. Jenny had the baby coming, and I don’t think it would have been possible for us to survive without one another. I sat down at the kitchen table, terrified and waiting for a squad car to come get me. That was when the phone started to ring. Slowly, I got up and answered it.

‘Hello?’

‘Good morning, sir. May I speak to a Mr. David Stevens?’

I swallowed. It sounded like a cop to me.

‘Uhhh… this is him.’

There was silence for a minute, then.

‘Congratulations, Mr. Stevens! You’ve won our lucky draw! The Mazda RX-7 is yours!’

It took a few minutes for the news to sink in, then I started jumping up and down like a maniac.

************

Several months have passed, and I’ve finally stopped waiting for the cops to come get me. Jenny’s sitting next to me with little baby Michael in her lap, and we’re driving off into the sunset in my alluring red demon, the engine purring, the wind tugging at our hair, and our spirits soaring free in the thrill of the speed.

Hmm another one a wrote...this one 2 years ago.

Feeling really sad this one popped into my mind...

Vertigo

Another chill air ripped past him and he grasped fiercely at a nearby column to gain support. He would do it, yes. But he wasn’t ready just yet.

He graduated from Harvard with honours, and was at the top of his class. The corporate struggle to acquire the one called Jonathan Mathers had been a violent foray, but he eventually joined Gabriani & Sons. All was well for the first few years, then he met her. She had snatched his eyes from him at first sight and many years later, he was still not sure if he had them back. They had met at a company Christmas party and they got on well. A few months, and many nights of passion later, they married and settled down together. He was moving up in the firm, though his progress was slow.

Years passed and slowly the smoke lifted from before his eyes. She demanded more and more. Time, money, passion. He had limited amounts of each and he was stretched thin at the firm. More time passes. His progress at the company slows, and then finally stops. He’s not going anywhere, but she is.

He comes home and finds her in his bed with someone else. He doesn’t scream or shout but calmly leaves. She doesn’t stop him. There’s no need. The love is gone. He goes to his office, a single pair of pajamas in the back of his car. On the way he stops at a pawnbrokers and buys a .38. It has six bullets but if the time came, he’d only need one. Or two, if she happened to be near him when the time came.

The divorce papers came in soon and he didn’t argue or contest. She got the house, he kept his car. Everything else was split but it was trivial to him. All that was important to him was already split. The .38 was in his office, in a small locker box under his desk. He had almost forgotten it existed but the day the papers came in, he looked at the box long and hard, turning the key over in his hand. Eventually he had shifted gaze, deciding to move on with his life.

Then he came to today. His boss had called him into his office. Had offered him a seat. He wasn’t performing. No longer possessed the potential they had sought in him. He was no longer an asset to the company. He had to leave. He was no longer wanted.

Suddenly, life didn’t seem to mean anything to him anymore. He went back to his office and opened the locker box, pulling out the .38. He slowly handled it, admiring its sleek design. He shakily loaded a single bullet into the six-shot chamber. He pushed the chamber in and gave it a twirl. Slowly, ever so slowly, he raised it to his mouth. The steel was cold but he welcomed the rest it would bring to his troubled soul. Gently he pulled the trigger, his hands shaking.

The dull clang rang out ominously through the room and he waited several moments before opening his eyes. Anger took over him. He couldn’t please his fucking wife, he couldn’t get further in the fucking company, and now, he couldn’t even kill himself. He shouted out loud, a wild primal cry, and pointed the gun at the door to his office, pulling the trigger. The shot cracked loud and the flash caused his iris’ to contract momentarily. There was a smoky hole in the door and he heard his secretary scream from outside. He felt sick and he went to the door slowly and opened it. No one had been hit, and there was a neat crater in the pillar across the hallway just beyond his secretary’s desk. She was huddled under her desk and was frantically dialing the phone, most likely 911. He walked back into his room and closed the door behind him, locking it.

He saw the bright window infront of him and he knew what he would do. He would fall like a bolt of God’s lighting on the masses below. How many of them had fucked with his wife? He didn’t know. The gun slipped from his finger tips and hit the carpeted floor with a small thud. Slowly, he walked towards the window.

The wind picked up again and he clutched the column even tighter. He looked down again, down the thirty or forty floor, and dizziness began to hit him. It was an odd sensation, like a warm and fuzzy blanket covering him. He looked up and let out a start, almost falling down. He stood there, suspended in mid air, looking at himself.

Jonathan blinked a few times and shook his head, but his twin was still there. He recognized himself though it wasn’t exactly him. It was a happier him. He did not have bags under his eyes and he had let his hair run slightly wild. He was wearing casual clothes, unlike Jonathan’s own high profile suits.

‘What do you want?’ He demanded of himself. There was no conviction in his voice. He was not in a position to demand anything. His other self just silently looked at him.

‘I said what do you-…’

‘I heard you the first time.’ The voice was the same as his, though somewhat less depressed. Jonathan looked silently at his ethereal twin, waiting for him to say something. Time passed slowly.

‘Why are you doing this, Jonathan?’

‘Because I have nothing to live for. I’ve lost everything! Every fucking thing! I’m no one now! I don’t even know myself anymore!’ Jonathan started to cry, tears trickling down. It was the sobbing of a broken man.

‘You haven’t lost yourself, Jonathan. You haven’t even discovered yourself yet.’

‘How the fuck would you know?!’

His twin smiled and suddenly a family appeared around him. There was a pretty woman standing beside him, holding his hand, and at his feet stood two beautiful small children.

‘I know, Jonathan. I know what you have lost. But I also know what you can gain.’

Jonathan looked at the woman and children, and surprisingly, he felt intense love for them, even though he had never seen them before. He suddenly did not want to die. He wanted to continue, to go to the wife and kids he did not know.

‘I…I don’t know these people.’

‘No, you don’t, but you know who they are. They’re your family, Jonathan. Think about your family.’

Jonathan wiped away his tears with one sleeve.

‘I’ve never met them before.’

‘That doesn’t mean you never will.’

‘What about my job?’

‘You can get a new one. You weren’t happy here anyways.’

And Jonathan knew he was right.

‘C’mon Jonathan, there are better things waiting for you. Why throw away a beautiful life? Why deny these children their lives? Why deny this woman the right to grow old with you? You could live on a farm, by a lake, anywhere you wanted. You can do anything you want. You don’t know what you’ll do but you know what you’ll be missing if you don’t try.’

Jonathan looked at the woman and she smiled back. He felt an intense child like love.

‘I… OK.’ Jonathan slowly crept back towards the open window. His twin smiled at him. ‘Fly, Jonathan. Fly’

Jonathan looked, confused, at where his twin had been. There was nothing but air. He stepped sideways but did not watch his footing.

The edge of the ledge cracked and Jonathan fell. He fell but he could not feel himself falling. ‘I’m flying!’ He thought, though he did not know how or where. Slowly, his conciousness began to fade.

He woke up to the steady beeping of an ECG. He opened his eyes groggily and looked up at the Spartan roof of a hospital. The scrubbed smell came to him but he did not mind. His attention shifted to a worried looking woman. She suddenly got up and rushed to the side of his bed.

He did not know her, but he knew about her. His future wife smiled at him, and he smile brought images of the coming years to his mind. She slowly touched his hand.

‘Are you okay?’

‘I…yeah. How did I get here?’

‘You landed on my apartment balcony. I was so scared I didn’t know how you got there and I thought you had died and I was so scared, oh my God, are you okay?’

He patted her hand and pressed it lightly to calm her hysteria, and smiled at her.

‘It’s a long story. I’ll tell you it over a cup of coffee. How about it?’

She smiled at him and he knew that smile. She laughed. ‘Of course I will.’

            Jonathan smiled. Things would be alright now. Things would be okay.

Here's a little something I wrote a few months ago...I'm not sure what inspired me but I guess it was..... lol nah wont say!

Just enjoy how it goes! Cheers! ~ Zo

The Buterfly's Train

“I’ll always love you. I’ll always be with you.”