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Empty chairs that haven't moved for years, ever since the ones who were sitting in them left. And cheapened sleepiness making a table upon which we laid our books in preparation for tomorrow's exam. I woke up today staring at all of that as well as the life that is unmoved as the chairs, a much heavier chair than we bought it, made heavy by memories, laughter, and a guitar that hasn't been played.
Passing by an elevator which buttons hasn't lit up since we moved in, I took the stairs down. Outside the entrance where strangers look the same. I saw her standing talking the landlord as he was sitting in his usual chair just outside the building, asking him about the city's sky, its rare blue sneaking through the greyness, and a bit of the sun she managed to see through the pollution. An amazed child holding her hand in one hand and a toy soldier in the other screamed "Concrete sky" while pointing at the large concrete barriers blocking us from walking to the main street.
On my walk to school, I passed by Ali, holding his big wooden stick seeking to punish any primary school student from stealing fruits from his apple tree. On the other side Ihsan was tending to his trees, watering them, cutting dead branches, leaving them to form perfect piece stolen from scriptures heaven, a sight to behold, one to distracts us from the sounds of explosions and guns shots on the other side of the concrete wall.
I arrived to school, walking by the little puppy that stands next to school gate for whom we all the students bought treats. Each class looked the same at the start until the art teacher brought paint and asked each students to paint over the dead white walls, we painted awfully shaped lions with wings, light blue skies, clouds in all different colors, and tall triangle trees that had all different kind of fruits in them.
I could hear the loud chattering from our class even though I was far by what seemed like miles. On the blackboard yesterday's last lesson is still written beneath the date the teacher had Anmar write as he was proud to have bought a red chalk stick, his favorite color. Everyone is sitting in their assigned desk talking to their desk-mate. Noor wearing her comically oversized glasses, Saad wearing his father's black coat with the bottom of it collecting dragging on the floor and collecting dust.
The teacher walked in as we stood and exchanged good mornings. She wiped the blackboard of yesterday's lesson, wiping yesterday's date and was about to write the new one in preparation for today's class, but she didn't. Everything has stopped, everyone froze, standing with a bright smile covering their sleepy heads. I kept staring at everyone, waiting for the class to start, but everyone froze for a long while.
I looked around, staring at the frozen students. Kamal and the lego Grendizer lookalike standing in front of him. Lujain and her three thousand hair pins, Ghada's brand new pen with six different colors, Mukhalad's air fleet made out of pens and rulers, Naba's newly finished drawing of the class. All standing still, like statues at a memorial museum.
Then I heard gunshots right outside the school. I immediately hid under the desk, following the advice of my father before he went to his last war. The gunshots continued to draw closer and closer. I kept looking at my classmates as they continued to stand, why were they standing? I waited under the desk an hour, maybe two, after the gunshots stopped. I got up and looked around me to find no one. Not a person was in the class. "Did they forget about me?" I wondered. I looked around to find the lego pieces on the floor, accompanied by Noor's glasses, a pen with six different colors, pens and rulers on the back of a big black coat. On my run outside I stepped on Anmar's red chalk stick leaving a red dust all over Naba's drawing of the class.
I walked outside the school to find big old dead dog by the school gate. I continued my walk toward our building looking to my right, to find a big basket of rotten apples with a dust covered cardboard over them that read "Free apples for school students" on the opposite side of it is a small piece of hell made out of dry, leafless, dead trees. I noticed the landlord's chair laying empty outside the building.
I went up to my apartment, apartment number thirty five. That's when I found her again, twenty years older than I saw her this morning, it's amazing what one afternoon passing could do to a person. She was sitting there on the cold floor surrounded by empty chairs that haven't moved in years.
"It's been twenty years, is he ever coming back?" She asked herself loudly.
"I am here now, mom" I replied.
But she disappeared before she lifted her head to see me. I looked around the apartment, found nothing but books on a table, and flies awaiting their end on a spider's web. Beneath the table rest the body of a toy soldier.
interesting read, thank you for sharing! :)
https://d.buzz
Thank you for your kind words.
Thank you for supporting this writer.
Hello @amirtheawesome1,
Sometimes, when I remember things I've done, or things that have happened to me, I think of the circularity of time. Or its abeyance. Somewhere the same event is happening, or will happen and there is no escape.
I feel this contraction and expansion of time in your story, of a reality that cannot be escaped, that will never be finished.
To my mind your story is brilliant. It is mood, and event, and sorrow.
Thank you for posting your story in the Ink Well community
Thank you for this amazing comment. I have been taking on these ideas that are way too ambitious for me and my usual style so seeing your comment means a lot as it shows that I got at least some of it right.
I have been trying to explain feelings rather than just events in my stories lately, hence the self-deprecating title.
My dad once wrote that "Time is nothing but a wall that prevents all events from happening simultaneously" which inspired this piece.
Thanks a lot.
The beauty of Hive, and this community: We get to reach across time and space and have this conversation. Always write for your audience, but always be true to your own voice. Sometimes it's a difficult balance, but I think you are up to it :)
Hope to read more from you.
BTW: Your father sounds amazing.