Death itself has infinite morphs and colours, but for the girl who was currently snatching away life from her soul,
Death was in charming hard amber, charcoal whisps hanging low, pale sheet for skin, jaws marbled with fine stone, white lips shaping contempt scowl,
And had a gait of sanity,
The girl was gazing at the watch in astonishing haze, as it clicked with each raising second, despite the fact that she was stuck in time,
imperfection.
She flinched, when the memories of yesterday whipped her face,
She witnessed as the time without hesitation went on and about, never waiting for her fragile frame to join,
Four hours -- four hours remaining, for asar to rise and zuhr to descent.
seconds flipped into minutes and minutes into hours,
She blinked,
She was known for so many things in her life,
But for him,
She was the hollowness of his cold cardiac walls,
She was darkness of his nightmare.
She was imperfection in his Islam,
She blinked, delicate skin falling over glossy lens, tears sliding gracefully, eyelid raising,
She felt nothing,
She was nothing herself, other than imperfection.
Her dead eyes kept gazing as an hour passed, her body ached, soon her heart, -- the clock sang in rhythm, and she heard agonising lyrics, till her ears bleed, and her Namaz slipped through her open hands.
She in an urgent haste scrambled to her bathroom, hovering over the sink, kecking in disgust, figners clenching concrete edges, chocking on her bile
Her guts wretched in pain with each hurl, she cried for her pathetic self, pungent stench of vomit drifting in the air, she was still loitering near the sink,
Soft footsteps followed by heavy knocks on her door,
"Alina? are you in there,"
Lura lingered before entering, she gasped, horrified by the mess,
Alina was still bend, forehead touching the fornt of tap, saliva dripping pass the brim of her lips,
"Alina?"
Alina wiped her mouth with the back of her hands, fingers coated with her content and saliva, she was disgusted by herself, and by her name, she washed her mouth and hands.
She stood straight, looking over her shoulder at her aunt, who was staring in mortification, stuck in her place near the door,
Alina gradually turned, stumbling in her feet, her throat burned with acidic fluid,
strained voice, strange words
"He is going to leave me, he doesn't love me anymore,"
Lura altered by her words, rushed to her aid, hands gripping the girl's waist and shoulder, kept her from falling,
"Alina, what happened, was someone here,"
"He is going to leave me," chants like verses fell from paper lips,
"Whom are you talking about," Lura guided Alina out of the mess, without realising that the real mess was within her sulk, poisoning her brain.
"Allah, " she whispered, "Allah doesn't love me anymore,"
YOU ARE READING
Wanted to be loved (Islamic Story)
Spiritual"You will do it. You have to teach me. I will make you do it." He took a step toward me. I didn't stepped back, expressing that I was not afraid, ready for anything. "I will inform the Principal that you have caused another plight. And he will blind...
