Sleep

By

HUDA Ansari

Sleep evaded him for yet another night. He laid on the hard concrete, staring at the moonlight peering in from the small window in his cell. The night was quieter than usual. There was no rustling of leaves from the window, or the sound of the odd car rushing past the boundary of the penitentiary. He listened intently for any sound, but only the occasional drip from the tap next to his bed broke the eerie silence. Before long, the order of silence would return, until the next drop decimated into the metal sink. 

He had long thought about how he’d feel on his final day of existence. Fear he had none. If he had feared the end, he’d not have gone through with his crimes. He knew all roads would lead in a meeting with his Maker. 

He thought he’d feel curiosity. The unknown always intrigued him. But as the day got closer, he felt an increasing feeling of detachment and indifference to his situation. The end didn’t really matter. He didn’t believe there was life after death. Death to him was an empty void of nothingness, not much unlike the life he had led. 

What he had not expected was the evasiveness of slumber. He had not slept in weeks. He would just lie awake at night, hoping the tiredness would take over and lull him into unconsciousness, but to no avail. 

He began his day as usual but he knew it wouldn’t end like any other day, but he went along with it. He ate his final meal and sat with the counsellor one final time. He didn’t care for what he said on any day but today he cared even lesser. All he heard were mumbles and incoherent noises. 

As he sat in his cell making final preparations before being walked to the gallows, he felt a strange sensation overcome him. A sensation he had not felt in weeks. He felt his eyes get heavy. Sleep was beckoning. He wondered if there was enough time for a nap. He didn't have long to wonder - the warden and the doctor were walking down the corridor towards his cell. 

The cell door opened. He mumbled responses to questions he barely understood. He was now struggling to keep his eyes open. He vaguely registered being walked out to the gallows. There were voices. Instructions were being given but nothing made sense to him. He was far too sleepy. 

He felt someone reach over his head and cover his face. The darkness of the cover was exactly what he needed in that moment. He could no longer keep his eyes open. 

Orders were given for the noose to be drawn around his neck. He felt oddly comforted by the feeling of something supporting his head. He leaned into the rope as sleep engulfed his thoughts. 

The final orders were given. Prayers were said. Silence was observed. 

But he didn't feel the tightening of the punishing ropes as the minute of the execution approached. He was already asleep.

A hot cup of tea

By
HUDA Ansari

She hit snooze on her alarm clock for the final time. 

6:15 a.m.

She mustered her energies to push aside the warm covers, and pull herself out of the cosy nightly retreat. It was going to be a long one, and it was no use avoiding the inevitable.

The morning routine had commenced. She dragged herself to the washroom and turned the hot water tap on. She waited for the water to turn warm and slowly proceeded to brush her teeth. She lazily undressed and popped her arm out of the shower to toss her raiments into the laundry basket. She turned on her shower and bathed begrudgingly. The steam from the hot shower slowly started to fill the tiny room. But before the steamy surroundings could turn into the memory of a fleeting dream, she turned off the shower and draped her towel around her. She stepped out of the shower closet and wiped the steam off the cold surface of the mirror with her bare hand. She spent a few minutes blow drying her hair before moving back to her room. 

Still wrapped in her towel, she walked over to the kitchen in her studio apartment. She slowly lifted the chrome plated kettle and started to fill it up with water from the tap. She set the kettle onto its stand and flicked the switch on. 

She stood there gazing at the kettle as it gently started to make a slow whirring sound of water starting to heat up. She thought of all the things that needed to be done for the day; she thought of the mortgage payments due for the month; she thought of her mother's health; she thought of her brother's finances; she thought of the wars plaguing the world. 

The flicking back of the kettle's switch disrupted her thoughts. She picked up her large cup from the drying rack and put in a single teabag of her favourite tea blend. She slowly poured in the hot boiling water over the placid teabag. 

She watched as the caramel brown hue started to oozed out of the teabag now resting against the wall of the cup. She watched as it chased after its colourless tasteless counterpart, leaving a deep honey tint in its wake. The rivalry of colours always mesmerised her: the tussle of hues, the smooth persistent rise of the crimson and the eventual engulfment of red through the whole vessel. 

She gazed intently until there was no more colour left to dissipate. She slowly added the thick creamy whiteness of the milk to this battleground. The peace offering swallowed, the contents settled at the perfect winter tan. 

She put on her fleece gown, picked up her cup and walked out to her balcony. It was another cold grey morning. She sat down on her patio chair clutching her warm cup of tea. She slowly sipped the steaming gorgeousness of warmth, watching the world pass by. Nothing mattered in those precise moments each day. Everything could wait. For now, it was just her and her hot cup of tea. 

The First Kill

By

HUDA Ansari

The pain from his shackled arms woke him up. The numbness had moved further down from the tips of his fingers to the wrists of his hands. But he could still feel the rusty metal clasps digging into the flesh of his skin. Blood from the earlier torture episode had crusted on his forehead. His vision was blurry but he could make out the faint light seeping through the bottom of the door.

Pain couldn't describe what his body felt anymore. Pain is pleasure he would tell his victims. Not for them, but surely it was so from his perspective. The gurgling sound of life leaving their hollow shells at his whim left him feeling perfectly satisfied. Some would say he was a sadist but he never considered himself one. He knew he didn't take pleasure from their suffering, his pleasure came from his total control over their existence. He could decide their fate at the snap of his fingers. He knew he was not God but he felt he sure came pretty close.

He knew it was his time now. He had played around in this filthy business long enough to know when someone was no longer useful. He knew he had stirred enough trouble for himself over the years, he knew his friends would be the ones to mark his end, he knew the fate that awaited him.

He wasn't scared. He knew the rules and he knew he broke them and he knew he would pay the price for this. What intrigued him was how would he be paying this price? Would they torture him till he was left lifeless? Would they shoot him dead in the middle of the night? Would they starve him to death?

He had subjected his victims to each of those and more and as he sat there screwing his eyes trying to make out his surroundings, he started reminiscing his innumerable kills. Some were short and sweet, some went on for weeks, some were exciting, some were routine.

But by far, his favourite was his first kill. He couldn't forget it, none of the ones after compared to it, and it forever held a special place in his heart. Or whatever dark pit of emptiness that lay in his chest instead of a heart, for he had been told many times, by enemies and friends alike that he possessed none.

He wondered if his captors would do the same to him. He wondered if somewhere a young boy was preparing a gunny bag for his remains. Maybe they'd incinerate his remains and have a bonfire to celebrate his end. Or perhaps dispose him off chopped up just the way he did so many of his victims.

As he watched the wounds on his legs ooze from infection, he wondered how poignant it would be if he were to meet his Maker in the way he shoved his first victim to - it'd almost be like a circle of life, or death in this case. The only difference would be she was innocent and would probably have met her Maker. He was everything the opposite of that, and he didn't gratify himself with vision of Eternal gardens. To him, he had enjoyed his gardens on Earth and if hell were to be real, he knew there'd be a nook in there with his name singed on it.

He never felt any remorse, nor did he feel guilt. But he did often think about her. He could always remember how feel soft her skin had felt under his being. She was an inconvenience for someone and removing her was getting him easy money. He just had to take care of her but he had gone beyond the call of duty to finish this particular job. He wasn't trying to impress his boss - he was always a conceited over-confident man - to him it was about the purposelessness of her delicate existence. He couldn't remember her face or her name for that matter, but he remembered that she was the most beautiful thing he ever saw. Just ending her life seemed like a shame to him. No, he had to take his time with her. He always considered himself a purveyor of beauty. She couldn't die looking like she did, she couldn't die beautiful. But somehow, even at the very end, as her helpless bare figure writhed from all forms of indignities and tortures he had subjected her to, she somehow still looked more pleasing to him than any woman he had before or after her. He remembered her with a degree of fondness that couldn't be defined by words. Did he love her? Of course not. But she was much like a first love: she was his first kill.

He was smiling to himself as the cellar door creakingly opened. He had just finished thinking about re-living his first kill. Remembering watching her breathe her final breath always made him smile with satisfaction.

His captor now stood by his feet. He couldn't make out his face but he could tell that it was well-built young man and that the remainder of his existence was left at his whim. He romanticised the idea of being his first, being forever imprinted in his captor's memory, being the start of his journey of power, lust, sin, money, and death. He continued smiling maniacally as he watched his captor gesture for the door to be shut.

The door slowly creaked shut, blocking away almost all the light. The darkness within soaked whatever else remained.

The Unburied Shroud

By

HUDA Ansari

She perched herself at the edge of the day-bed by the window. The shock of being back here had not settled. The frigid morning rendered visibility to her scared, shallow breaths. She sat there for a few moments staring at nothing but the faded beige rug under her feet. Was this a cruel joke from Fate? How could a simple apartment viewing assignment land her in the long buried corners of her once cherished memories?


The cloudy sky had cleared and the winter sun had started making an appearance through the windows, slowly thawing away the frost on the panes. She turned towards the warm light, her shaky fingers instinctively attempting to grasp at the gentle rays entering the room. They traced the light to the frosty panes and hesitantly rested themselves on the cold glass. The consciousness of the reality was slowly dawning upon her, uncharneling with it the graves of the dreaded past.


As the warmth of her fingers drew an impression on the chilled pane, it all came rushing back. All those winter mornings they sat there in their pyjamas, with hands wrapped around cups of freshly brewed hot coffee, sharing the solace of mutual silence and understanding. Or so she thought anyway.


The memories brought back with them the same old pain. It hadn't lessened. It hadn't been forgotten. It was just buried away. And now its spectre was staring her in the face again.


She lifted her hand off the window and watched the impression disappear into the frosty background, as if it never existed. She closed her eyes, hoping it was a nightmare that would just pass. She sat there, pining for relief from the pain, praying for his soul, regretting not knowing his intentions. Hot tears rolled down her cheeks as she slowly opened her eyes. The nightmare was her reality. She knew it didn't matter whether it was a dream or not. The emotions thus stirred could not be put back to sleep so easily.


The doorbell rang. She quickly wiped the tears off her face and walked to the door to greet the potential tenants.


"We went to university together and have moved here for work," they told her. "We don't know many people here and so thought why not share a place. Better than renting with strangers, you know!"


"Actually, it's our first real jobs and we can't afford anything too fancy. Just want a place to call home and we read good reviews about the locality."


"Yes, it's really the perfect place to live in on your first job," she replied, pursing her lips to save herself from faltering whilst relating her own past to this wretched place she once called home. "It's just the right size, and just the right amount of privacy. It's the perfect place to share... with a... good friend," the last sentence seemed like the most painful thing she had ever had to say.


As the two hopeful tenants looked through the kitchen arrangements, she stood there staring at the barren wall of the living room. "I'm sorry," she whispered as if she could still see his portrait hanging there. She had always joked about the haunting emptiness in his eyes. Only if she could have told him that closing them forever wouldn't take away his pain and listlessness; it'd just engulf everyone around him into a forever deeper abyss of unanswered questions.


"Oh did you say this is the master bedroom?", the girl exclaimed as she popped her head into what used to be his room.


She hesitantly followed them in, holding her breath in. She hadn't entered the room since that day. The day that was still more vivid than any reality she was ever going to experience.


"This room is perfect. It's like it speaks to me..." the girl piped to her friend. The girl gently slid her slender fingers down the floral wallpaper of the bedroom wall. "It's just so gorgeous!"


She felt sick to her stomach. The knowledge of the gory secret that the wallpaper hid made her insides churn. There couldn't be any beauty in a place which had witnessed the vile reality of the untimely end.


She excused herself to the lounge. She was shaking. She held on to the marble counter top to steady herself. She could barely breathe.


"We'll take it. Shall we fill out the paperwork now?", they followed her out to the lounge.


"I will... email... you," she stuttered. "Thanks for coming," she exclaimed as she held the door to rush them out.


She closed the door behind them. She was once again in this place alone with her past. She was still shaking. She made her way to his room, supporting her unsteady self with the walls. She stood at the entrance but she couldn't bring herself to enter. She was transported ten years back. Tears flowed down without restrain. She fell on her knees, wishing she could go back in time, change his mind, help him, or simply just talk to him. But it was all in vain. He was gone forever, just like his ghastly passing was etched in her mind.

"I still miss you everyday," she stammered through sobs. He thought he knew so much, yet so little did he know. She felt physical pain radiating through her body and she collapsed on to the floor, much like she had that day. It wasn't the romanticised anguish he thought his absence would bring - it was the real affliction of not being able to share a few treasured moments each day with someone dear; of not being able to help those closest to you; of a lifetime of regret.


She curled up into a foetal position, her thoughts fogging up and only his last words echoing in her mind.


"My heart wants to fly, but I don't have wings."

Autographs

By

HUDA Ansari

She saw the ink from the tip of the pen being dragged in the shape of his signature, slowly soaking into the fine threads of the legal paper, and it was at this precise moment she realised that, with yet another signature, her life was about to change forever.

She remembered the first time they signed their names together. Everything was perfect that day. They were surrounded by their closest family and friends. They were scared but they held each other's hands and penned their names, sealing their love for one another.

With marriage came responsibility and they found themselves seated opposite a mortgage consultant. They tightly held on to each others hand's, looked at one another, and signed on the half dozen papers in front of them.

The next set of signatures possessed an odd blend of pain and pleasure. They never thought that they would ever find themselves in this setting. They had made it this far, it could only get better from here. They signed the adoption papers and sat in the waiting room nervously, her hand in his firm grasp. They brought him out and their past miseries faded as they held his tiny hands in their own and took him home.

It still hurt to remember their last signatures. She remembered how they stood apart when they heard the doctor's decision. She remembered how it hurt her to let him be released from his misery. She remembered how his hands shook when he signed the papers. She remembered how they spent the night in that hospital room, with them on either side of his tiny, frail, lifeless form. She remembered how they cried in their corners till morning drew near.

He had finished signing the papers. The lawyer was telling her something but she wasn't listening. Instead, she looked at him. He was looking at her. He smiled and held out his hand under the table. She smiled back, gave him her hand and signed the papers.

They walked down the stairs of the courthouse hand in hand. They stopped at the last step. They let their hands let go and turned towards each other. He leaned in and gave her a hug. She hugged him back, and kissed his warm cheek.

"I'll always love you," she whispered.

"And I, you," he replied.

They let go off each other from the embrace, but still held each another's hand, for the last time.

"Take care!"

"You too," she smiled, as they let go off their clasped hands.

They turned around and walked away from each other. Neither of them looked back, nor shed a tear at the closing of this chapter in their lives. They had realised that their lives were like train tracks. Their paths crossed and they became companions sharing a parallel journey.  The train jostled and jilted and together they bruised. But the train had now come to a halt, and with it their shared journey. The tracks hence parted. Their destinations lay await elsewhere.

A Late Letter

Dear Grandma,

You left us a year ago today. We were never close. You didn’t exactly let anyone get too close. You really never pampered me or hugged me out of love. You had this impenetrable wall around you. You suffered much in life, it made you bitter, but you welled it all in. I never understood you.

The past one year has been much too overwhelming. But oddly enough I finally get why you were the way you were. And I respect you, your defiance, your resolve, and your courage.

I have possibly never thought much about you when you were around but I can’t help but think about you now that you aren’t here. I wish I could have known you better. I wish you would have shared more of yourself with me. I wish you could be happier.

And for the first time, I miss you.

May God be kind to you and us all. Bless you.

Love,
A Grandchild

Checkmate

By
HUDA Ansari

"I'm sorry!" he cried, tears flowing down his hot cheeks. "Please say something?"

She continued staring at the floor quietly. She wasn't crying. She was just quiet.

"I don't know what got into me. I felt attracted to her and just went with it. It's the stupidest thing I've ever done. Please forgive me. Please?"

She continued looking at the floor. The checkered floor reminded her of the game of chess she had played against her high school crush. Her skills had crushed the poor boy's ego - and her chances are ever being his prom date.

"She doesn't have anything you don't. It's almost as if making that mistake made me realise what I have here. No I'm not justifying anything. Just please give me another chance. I love you," he squeezed her hand as he knelt in front of her.

It was a shock to many that she did not go on to become a professional chess player. Her skills at the game used to scare her opponents witless. She had the gift of foresight: she knew exactly what her opponent would do even before they knew what move they'd play.

"Don't give me the silent treatment please! I beg of you, look at me?" he pleaded as his slowly dropped his head into her lap. She didn't push him away. She just continued being quiet.

"You have been the best girlfriend and best companion. Please! Elise, please say something? Anything!?!"

She picked a career in Law over the countless games of chess she could have almost effortlessly won. She knew life wasn't a game of chess. On a chessboard there are only so many pieces and so many rules. But life is different. It's more complicated.

"I forgive you," she stammered while staring at the floor.

"What?" he whispered as he raised his head from her lap. He was sure he had misheard her.

She slowly raised her head to meet his stooping figure and repeated, "I forgive you."

He was shocked albeit pleasantly so. He had just gotten a second chance in life to be happy with the only person who mattered to him.

"Oh Elise! My darling Elise! I promise I'll never let you down," he gasped as he kissed her clammy hands repeating her name over and over in gratitude of her kindness.

She looked at his sorry figure as he ardently lavished kisses on her hands. She wasn't sure what had just passed. Her brows slightly knitted in confusion as she continued to ponder over her decision. She had just willingly forgiven the man who had turned her world upside down. She had given this man, who broke her heart, another chance without even the slightest retribution. She knew you mustn't let anyone cause you pain and not have to pay its price.

But then again how can you not forgive the love of your life?

-----------------------------------------------------

In front of all his family and friends, he got down on one knee.

"Elise Marybeth James, you are the best person I've ever known. Your heart is bigger than life itself. Your capacity to love is unmeasurable. A year ago today I made the worst, most terrible mistake of my life but YOU accepted me and forgave me and have given me a chance to be a better man. Without your love, I'm nothing. And I know that now better than ever. I absolutely love you Elise. Will you please marry me?"

There was silence in the room. The eager man and his potential bride-to-be formed the cynosure of all eyes. She took the ring from his hand and smiled.

"No Richard, I will not marry you," she calmly replied as she got up to leave the room, setting the ring on the white satin tablecloth behind.

---------------------------------------------------------

"I don't understand Elise!" he cried. "I love you."

"I know. And I have loved you for as long as I've known you," she replied.

"Then why are you doing this? I thought everything was fine. I thought we were happy..."

"YOU were happy Richard. You killed my happiness the day you cheated on me," she calmly responded.

"I thought you forgave me?"

"I did."

"Then?"

"I just wanted to get even."

"I don't get it, Elise. Please say it's a joke," he was baffled.

She smiled.

"I needed you to fall as desperately in love with me as I was with you the time you went around breaking my heart. Now you know how that feels."

He was confused, shocked, and hurt all at once. "Where does it leave us Elise?" he asked in desperation.

"My poor darling Richard. You know, life is like chess. You caught me off guard when you cheated on me, and for the first time I realised that you were capable of throwing me off my game. So I just had to use your tricks to get my edge back."

"Don't play with me love. I really love you and I can't live without you."

"Exactly! You are out of moves. That's what I call checkmate," she replied as she reached for the door.

He just looked at her helplessly in shock. "Are you crazy, Elise?"
 

She looked at him as she closed the door behind her. There was no victory twinkle in her eyes. There was just pain.

"I was...," she stammered leaning against the shut door, "... about you," finally letting her long overdue tears to flow from her hazel brown eyes.