The Last Straw

By: Muslim Shower ( I am in love with this person )

It was an iconic moment in world history. The stakes were greater than they had ever been. It was no longer about politics or economics. It wasn’t about popularity. In fact, everything that had been important before seemed almost pointless. This was about survival, nothing else. The human race depended upon the success of this meeting. The value of this meeting didn’t fail to dawn on anybody. Humanity waited. Or at least what was left of it. Waited in deep caverns, praying to whatever deity they believed in. For the first time in human history, all of humanity was one. One soul, one body, one goal. They had lost hope, all of them. Presidents, politicians, men of god, all of them. They knew they had been defeated. No power on earth could save them now, they had been sure. Amidst the death-knells that were ringing all over the world there had emerged a ray of light, one tiny hope, a glimmer. But it was enough. All humanity grabbed it like a child holding his mother. It was their last hope. The fate of humanity would soon be sealed.

The tragedy had struck like a viper. Fast, unannounced, fatal. One fine night, a night just like any other, they had descended upon Earth. Everywhere, all at once. An army. An army greater than any army humans had ever imagined, both in numbers and power. By morning, they were everywhere. Dark blue with long hair they were, each larger than an elephant with faces that bred fear into the heart of men. They killed everything they could find. Men, animals, plants. Everything. By the time humans realized what was happening, it was too late. They had won even before the war had begun. What remained of humanity was clutches of settlements, hidden far away from sight. Within mountains mostly. For months, humans survived in hiding. Avoiding being caught. Every day the number of humans decreased. The aliens, they knew that some were still alive. It was only a matter of time though. Eventually, all would be killed. They weren’t in a hurry. Nobody knew what to do. And then, a hope was whispered. Silently. There were whispers of a wise man who lived. A wise man who could have the solution.

This wise man lived in a mountain in Pakistan. A very old man but his knowledge was like the sea, it was said. All the human settlements met in one place. A search party was made. This wise man had to be found! The task was given to commander Palla. And now, after weeks of trekking his team had found him. There he sat, in an empty cave secluded from the world. Hidden from all manners of life. Old, weak, alone, but wise. ‘Ah, you’re finally here’, he said in a voice that sent shivers down the spine of the bravest men. ‘I have been waiting for you. I knew you’d come, eventually’ he said, not particularly talking to any singular individual. ‘Yes.. we’ve been trying to find you.. for a very long time’ said Commander Palla, shaking, clearly affected by the aura of the wise man. ‘And, what is it that you seek, Shahzaid Palla?’ everybody was taken back. Nobody knew the first name of the commander, not even his closest friends. He asimply went by ‘commander’. ‘We seek a means for redemption. A means to defeat the enemy, a means to save humanity. We understand you know of a way that can save us’. The wise man turned around. If his aura disturbed the people, his face petrified them. He had a long white beard that touched his knees. He stood with the help of a stick. But it was eyes that were frightening. There were no eyeballs. It was as if, his eyes had been burned out of their socket.

‘Ahh, so you seek a weapon, a weapon more powerful than anything ever created by man. Yet, you came to an old man in a sullen cave! Why?’ In that moment, panic struck commander Palla. Their endeavor may have been fruitless. This man may not have anything. Yet he calmed himself and replied ‘we believe you are aware of a weapon once made. A weapon so powerful it almost destroyed all of earth. So tell us, can you help us?’ There was a moment of silence. Everybody waited in anticipation. The fate of humanity depended upon what the wise man would say next. Nails were bitten, breathing was coarse. An infinity passed before the old man said ‘Yes, I can help you but what I have is no weapon. A weapon has a trigger, a direction, a limit to its destruction. What I have is infinite destruction. Be warned, thousands of humans would die too. And it would be painful death’.

Nobody said a thing. Silence permeated the cave like a curse. The wise man spoke again ‘In the land that we stand in, the land of Pakistan, a video was once released. A video made by a man named Taher Shah. It was brutal. Whoever saw it, his eyes burned. His ears melted like a piece of plastic in fire. Almost everybody was killed. Only those that had previously seen Justin Bieber, Rebecca black or Awais Lovely survived and even those people lost their eyes. Like me. There was nothing like it. People died every day. Eventually, we sought copies of the video and destroyed each and every one of them. Except one. One still remains. We buried it. In anticipation of a day like this. We buried it deep within the mountains. Far from where any man could reach it. If you want to save this planet, seek that video. Play it on the sky. So that everything on earth can see it. Make the wind carry the sound. The aliens would burn into ashes. All of them. The brutality of that video would be too much for them. Some humans would die too, all would be blinded but the human race would survive’.

Commander Palla drew a huge breath, astounded by what he was listening to. A video? One video? He wondered. An infinite questions aroused in his mind, what was so horrible about the video? Who was this Taher Shah? Why had he never heard of this before? Commander Palla was an experienced man, he knew he didn’t want to know the answer to these questions but as he was thinking, almost as if reading his mind, the wise man said ‘It was unlike anything man had ever seen. It was frightening. Mothers hid their children, trying to protect them but it was of no use. The sound, the sound was too much to handle. It penetrated everything. It burned the soul. Oh, what horrors it brought about!’ The wise man said with disgust! ‘The worst part was the video. I am grateful I had been subjected to Justin Bieber before otherwise I would have died, as my whole family did. All of them. Burned to ashes, they flew away with the wind. The same happened to most of my friends’.

Commander Palla and his man listened to the wise man’s story and shuddered with fear. The next step, they realized was to come face to face with this hideous monster. They were going to unleash it on the world. As soon as they got the directions to the mountain where this tape was buried, the search party hurried out of the wise man’s cave. All of them immediately called their families and told them to subject to the brutal torture of Justin Bieber to save their lives!

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

The Queue

Contributed by: Muslim Shower

So as it so happens, some poor relative from a country which shall remain unnamed, although I can tell you that people from that country speak Norwegian, decided to invite me and my family for his daughter’s wedding. Now normally inviting a relative over for a wedding is a good idea, but in my case, not so much. See, I have this knack for saying the wrong thing at weddings. Once, while saying goodbye to the bride and groom I, totally innocently (At least that’s what I told my parents), gave them both a giant thumbs up and in the most cute way possible said, ‘Enjoy’ and then giggled away like a shy girl.

Any who, so this particular trip required me to get my passport renewed which meant that I had to do something I had always dreaded. In fact, dread doesn’t quite cut it. Have you ever heard of the ‘Room 101’ from Orwell’s ‘1984’? I think my Room 101 would have a fat government employee, with a particularly disturbing moustache and thick ‘provincial accent’, sitting on an old chair, with old papers lying around and him scratching his armpits with his half bitten pen while eating a more than questionable item. And I would be standing in a long line in which all the people would be an exact copy of the said government employee, eating the exact same item and I would have to wait for an hour so that he could sign my ‘X government document’.

Urghhhh... Anyways, so I had to go the passport office. Now there is something particularly disturbing about swamps of people surrounding you as soon as you get out of your car. Scratch that, even before you get out of your car. For a minute I didn’t know whether I was being getting robbed, being sexually harassed or the guy was simply offering his services. One would imagine some sort of process or structured system in an office, but oh, how mistaken one can be! Let me go out and say that the system I saw on a farm in Rahim Yar Khan for feeding baby goats was more organized than this. Havoc, my dear readers, havoc! To use a more colloquial term, it was like a ‘fish market’. People running here and there, offering to get your work done for amount ‘X’ which happened to be this much cheaper than the amount offered by the other guy. Interestingly enough, the fact that on every level, these deals could be considered immoral, if not downright illegal never comes up. The guys supply, the customer buys and you shake the person’s hand (If you can completely disregard all research ever done on health care) and you walk away. More interestingly, this is all done in open view. There isn’t even a hint of trying to hide anything.

Source: Internet

Remember earlier when I said ‘you walk away’? Yeah, no you don’t. That is just the beginning. You see, when these deals are being struck, there is an understanding that these guys can only open so many doors for you, after that, you’re on your own. The really pathetic part comes afterwards. The part which I shall, for now, just refer to as ‘THE LINE’!!!At this point, I feel the need to point out that I have a general disregard for what people do, or say, or think. In fact, it wouldn’t be too unfair to say, I generally hate people. In fact, I despise them. Whenever I see a big swamp of people, I feel like vomiting. They make me want to go to the airport, buy a ticket to New York, go to the empire state building once I am there, climb to its roof and then jump off while screaming ‘Yaaayy’! Uh, I think I am diverting from the point here.

Anyways, the point is that I hate standing with people, especially in lines. I stood for a minute by the side, drank some water and gathered all my courage and stepped to enter ‘The line’. My woes were compounded by two problems. Firstly, that it wasn’t really a line. I would more preferably define it ‘an arbitrary formation of standing humans’, which, for those of you unaware of my level of English basically means a line which could be manipulated by just about anybody. Oh, how my blood boiled at seeing that beautiful guy breaking the line. ‘Please, by all means, please break the line. I have been standing here with these sweaty people since forever precisely so that you can break line and stand in front of me’, ass.

Understanding the second problem is premised on understanding the weather pattern in Pakistan. As you are all aware, temperatures reach an annoyingly high level. When people stand under the bright yellow sun on a summer day, they don’t just sweat. Allow me to draw an analogy what happens. Imagine that you’ve filled a kettle to the full and instead of tea, you’ve put a little tablet in there which has the power to cumulate all the smell that comes from an egg which has been rotting for three days and then, you’ve put that kettle to boil! This is what I went through. I promise to you that I am not exaggerating when I say that I actually went about telling people to raise their arms and sprayed deodorant on each one of them but to no avail!

Slowly, painfully and tortuously, the line moved. Every inch was agony. The line we were waiting in was to buy a ticket which would get us started on a four step process to submit our passport. Just submit it, and after submission, it would take anything between two to three months before I got my passport. As you can probably imagine, my woes were just beginning. By the time I got to the counter from where I would buy the ticket from, I was ready to give up. My nose was completely dysfunctional. The nose can only take so much before it completely collapses! My legs were hurting and I was exhausted. And then, I saw the counter…

The Balloon

Written by: Asad Shabbir

Asad Shabbir (born June 22, 1995, in Ankara, Turkey) is a Pakistani author. He is best known as the author of the Leo Solay saga, which consists of the book Leo Solay. He lives in Berlin, Germany where he wrote his first book and is working on the rest of the saga

.He began writing his debut novel at the age of fifteen and published at the age of 16. Leo Solay, his debut work, is the first part in Shabbir's trilogy.In 2012, work began on a series of short stories in which Shabbir plunges into a mind of a troubled teenager who is contemplating suicide. Ignoring the restricting rules of storytelling, Shabbir crossed the threshold and delved into matter of suicide and self-injury. The result was Entering the Abyss which was released in February, 2012.

Inspired by some recent stuff, some negative stuff and some good stuff AND the song: Same Love by Macklemore. This short story explores the innocence of a child, the love of his mother and the extraordinarily strong bond between a mother and a child.

I still remember counting the hours till the sun began to descend and the balloon man would walk through, holding his stick nonchalantly as he was surrounded by excited children. I would finish my chores early and run to the edge of the village, sometimes in the blistering heat, just to be the first one to glimpse the approaching visage of the man. In the horizon, the first thing one would see would be the balloons, followed by the rest of the stick and eventually the man.

‘Mama, can I get a balloon?’ I asked, knowing the answer. I did not know why I asked every day. Even in that age, despite not really knowing how things worked, I knew that we never had money to pay the man in the bright shirt that came by our village every day at dusk.
With him, he carried a long wooden stick on which there was a wonderful array of colorful balloons. To say that this stick was a dream would be an understatement. I was blinded by the illusion of one day owning a bright red balloon dog or yellow giraffe.

Source: Internet

He would give me a peculiar grin every time he saw me, as if he knew what I was going to ask for. But I never asked him, I just preferred to enjoy the magnificence of the shapely colors which glowed in the brilliant sun. Shortly after he would walk past me, the children in the village would barricade him into the corner, flashing shiny coins and pointing at the colors which most struck their fancy. I could have sworn that he gave me a look once or perhaps twice while selling to others. I did not understand what they meant but I appreciated it nonetheless.
‘Maybe tomorrow’ Mama said, giving me a tender smile before kissing my forehead. I smiled back, yet it was a veiled smile. I knew that it hurt her every time I asked for a balloon and every time she could not get me the balloon so I smiled. I just wanted to get my hands on one of those balloons which I could call my own.
‘One day, I will buy all the balloons he has!’ I said excitedly, causing Mama to smile affectionately. Hope itself was all people like us could hold onto that and I tried, from a very young age, to give hope to Mama.

The following day, I helped Mama carry heavy metal pitchers of water to the farmers who were preparing for the great harvest. This gave Mama a few opportunities to find ways to earn money and perhaps even buy some meat for the celebration that followed the harvests. I tried to keep up despite the heat which the hard ground below my feet was soaking in. It hurt to stand in one spot for too long and my feet were beginning to develop blisters again. Mama, however, was either impervious to the heat or had enough grace to hide her discomforts as she delivered water and tended to the demands of the farmers. Perhaps it was just the thin shoes she wore.
As the sun began moving towards the horizon, I was instructed to return to the hut with some of the payments that the farmers gave to Mama for her work. This was an important task and I was always honored when Mama trusted me with such an important job.
I was just about to finish the chore in the hut when Mama burst into our humble abode and grabbed me. She kissed me on the forehead and held me in her arms, as if I were an infant again.
‘Do you want that balloon?’ she asked, teasing. Her eyes were full of joy, like her eyes from her wedding photograph. I can still remember her smile, her ecstatic joy, and her laugh.
In response to my initial confusion, she opened my small hand and put a shiny coin in it and closed my hand. For some reason, I was suddenly terrified with myself. I began crying. I did not want to spend her money, but I was scared that I will buy the balloon and spend the money on my desires. It wasn’t fair to her.
‘Oh my poor boy. Don’t worry, go buy your balloon. Come and show Mama your balloon! Mama is waiting for your right here! Go before it’s too late.’ She said, pushing me out of her lap and pushing me towards the door. I did not want to, yet I wanted to. At the time, I was so conflicted that I just tried to close my eyes and will the entire world to stop so I could resolve the inner turmoil within me. I clenched the coin as hard as I could and refused to let go of Mama. I do not know what she was thinking but her eyes were wet when she finally managed to get me off her.
‘Go! Go get it!’ she said, wiping her eyes and giving me an encouraging smile. Suddenly, her smile and her happiness in me getting a balloon was all that mattered. I suddenly saw in Mama’s eyes the reflection of my excited and giddy face. I nodded, and clenched the coin even harder before dashing out of the house. From the corner of my vision, I noticed that Mama’s shoes were missing. She always left them there when entering the hut yet they were not to be seen.
I should have realized but I was an anxiously charged child who was sprinting to the edge of the village. My eyes sought the top of the huts, looking for a trace of the balloon man. Hearing laughter, I followed the sound, only to find the famed balloon man, holding his magnificent balloons. I rushed to him and gave him a warm smile before catching my breath. I knew exactly the one I wanted. I pointed as if it were a mechanical action. I wanted the biggest of the colorful beasts which hung loosely from the wooden stick.
He was a bit surprised by my sudden appearance but complied nevertheless, putting Mama’s coin into a little leather belt he wore under his shirt. He handed the balloon of my dreams: A green dog!
Initially, I held it as if were a fragile treasure which would fly away if I held it too tightly. It was more valuable than anything I had ever seen. I carefully navigated my way out of the crowd of children. I tried being intimidating, as if daring anyone to try and take my balloon. Once I was at a safe distance from the rest of the children, I gave myself a chance to admire my balloon. I touched it, I rubbed it on my face and gloated in its brilliant radiance! The way the sun’s dying streaks shone at the corners of the dog. The sun had set and the world now spun around the balloon as I matched the green color of the balloon with the green grass and the green pitcher near someone’s hut.
Mama!
I just had to show Mama! I held the balloon as tightly and as safely as I could before dashing through the labyrinth of shanty huts to Mama. With a cackling laugh, I made my way home, full of adrenaline. I had never felt so alive. With the green dog at my side, I could conquer anything and could be anyone with no limitations. I was no longer just a kid who can’t afford to go to the school. I was now somebody!
Perhaps it was my confidence or it was just fate, but when I saw my hut, and Mama standing outside, with her arms crossed, smiling at the sight of me, I smelt death. I knew what was happening before it happened and began crying before I even went into the dive. My toe stubbed something hard and I jumped, still clutching the green dog. As I began to fall, the green dog flew out of my grip. My eyes willed the faceless dog to remain suspended in mid-air, or even to simply fly away to safety. But fate had decided. I fell down, crying as I knew what was going to happen. And then, I heard the indistinguishable ‘pop’. All heavens and hells let lose as I let out a scream which thundered my head, as I let out the pain and the agony which my poor dog had suffered.
I cried and cried and cried, and cried until there were no tears left to cry. For I had taken the reason for my mother’s smile, the reason for her laughter, and destroyed it. Mama came rushing to my side and took me into her arms.
‘It’s fine! It’s fine! We’ll get another one tomorrow!’ she said, soothing my rage. She walked past the shattered remnants of my faithful companion. I demanded that it be brought into the hut. I was going to repair it and return it to its former glory. Determined, I took the dusty and broken piece of rubber into the hut and attempted to blow air into it and tried to put a bit of water and inflate it. When all failed, I threw my fists on the soft earth and pounded it, as if angrily demanding my balloon back from the gods. My mother silently watched me, as if wanting to repair the effects of fate but knowing that she could not.
I knew it was paining my mother to see me cry but my child-mind refused to see sense.

In the morning, as I silently followed my mother, my eyes strained due to the tears lost, I noticed that she was not wearing her shoes. Upon my questioning, she just said ‘Ah, who needs shoes when it is such a beautiful day! Come, we will go and see the horses today!’
I did not understand her. It was indeed a nice day but my feet still burnt if I stood in the same spot for too long. I still felt the need to jump from one shadowy spot to another. Why did she not feel the need to wear her shoes? Where were her shoes?
My brain slowly pieced two and two together to realize why she was so happy for the balloon and where the money had come from. This caused me an entirely new wave of pain yet I could not, despite the best of wills, cry any more tears.
Mama sacrificed something crucial to her for my happiness and I am not happy. I attempted to be as happy as I could, offering to do everything so Mama would not have to walk in the hot sunny parts of the Earth. Even if I was in pain, I knew that she should not be in pain because of my fault. When dusk approached once again, a grimace shadowed itself onto my face as I recalled the colorful blur of the previous day, wanting to return to the glorious moment where I first touched the balloon.
When we returned to the hut, walking in absolute silence, I did not ask my mother for a balloon as I usually did. Instead, I asked ‘Mama, can I go and play with the children?’
She nodded, not paying particular attention as she prepared our meal. I walked out, thinking hard. As if an instinct, I automatically walked to the edge of the village where I had waited for the balloon man for so long. I didn’t have to wait as he had already arrived and was being eyed by the children and some elders of the village.
He saw me, and gave me one of his usual smiles before asking ‘Where is that green one? He was a mighty fine one!’
My lips quivered as I mumbled an incoherent answer. He asked me to repeat as he came closer. I repeated but could not achieve a more coherent reply. A single tear had found its way down my cheek. Seeing this, the man suddenly stopped and looked at me. I felt like a vulnerable idiot who will be yelled at for my stupidity and lack of care.
‘Well, that’s a pity. Balloons eventually die, no matter how big they are.’ He said. I nodded; I liked this man as he did not yell at me for my carelessness. Then again, I realized, that no one yelled at me.
‘Do you want to get a new balloon friend or your money back?’ he said, holding the stick with just one hand and the other poised to reach the stick or his money belt. To my utter delight, he was smiling and looked serious. I thought hard as I looked at the beautiful balloons and then his jingly money belt.
‘Not the balloon’ I heard myself saying. I was personally quite shocked to hear myself want the money for another green dog.
‘I will see you tomorrow.’ He said as he went off on his way, leaving me standing there with the same shiny coin Mama had given me the previous day. Why had I not taken another balloon?
Because Mama needs shoes.
I walked aimlessly in the village for a while before realizing that I wanted to buy shoes. I went to the main shop where I thought such items could be purchased. A woman with a toothy smile showed me the shoes and I picked ones with beautiful yellow flowers drawn on them, in a field of green. I loved them, wanting to try them on and laugh at how silly they looked! I passed over my coin to the woman, hugging the shoes.
She looked at the coin, grimacing. The look in her eye was pained, as if trying to tell me that the shoes are worth more than the coin. Yet, she suddenly let go of the trouble and gave me a warm smile.
If I was happy yesterday after buying the balloon, today was as if I had bought an entire truckload of balloons. Holding the shoes, I ran to the hut, jumping over every small obstacle. I knew that shoes don’t pop and blow up into smithereens at the slightest fall. I ran all the way home as fast as I could, yelling and whooping.
I presented the shoes to Mama, excitedly pulling her feet into my lap and putting the shoes on her feet. I admired the way her foot fit in the shoe where mine didn’t. I laughed and played with the shoes, having her walk around the hut and do clever footwork just to see how the shoes fared. My mother had that recognizable and unmistakable tinkle of joy in her eye as she heard my laughter, and as she saw her shoes.
I learnt a valuable lesson too: Balloons eventually die, no matter how big they are.

All Rights Reserved Asad Shabbir 2013

Principles of freeloading

There are things that a man knows at birth and there are things that a man must learn later. Free loading is the latter. It is efficient, productive and well, free. It is important to understand that the wider society does not appreciate the beauty and sacredness of this noble art and somehow or the other, harbors an inherent animosity against people engaged in great activity. We are the people who take something that would normally serve X amount of people and we multiply it ten folds! That’s how powerful we are!

Source: Internet

The fact that we wait for somebody else to pay for it and then we use it to our benefit shows our inherent goodness. How so, you ask? Had we paid for it ourselves and let the other person use it, then how would that man ever understand the worth of the said product? And secondly, by making that man pay for the product and just using it we are protecting the environment! Allow me to quote an incident. My roommate bought a tooth brush. While I would have loved to buy a separate tooth brush for myself, which didn’t smell like the last meal my roommate had but for the greater good, I did not. Had I bought a separate toothbrush, by the end of three months, two toothbrushes would have gone into the trash. Now imagine what sort of environmental havoc would descend upon earth if all of us (Freeloaders) started to buy separate toothbrushes! The environment my dear readers, the environment! I, as an individual, failed to understand the hatred towards our sacred community. So what if we’re leeching off of you? So what that we don’t pay for stuff we use? As a society, have we not vowed that together, we are one? Have we not vowed on a single identity? Together as one nation, we will prevail. And in light of this ideal, I demand an appreciation of freeloaders.
By: Muslim Shower

Think bigger, sin bigger

A second year A Level student heading for McGill University in the fall, who's hopelessly in love with the world of football who aspires to one day be successful in the field of finance and banking. Has a strong penchant for philosophy and logical constructs and tweets @Samee_24.

Think bigger, sin bigger

‘Life, what is it but a shallow journey? A journey beleaguered by a diverse mix of emotions, relationships, responsibilities and hardships. Godlessness has pervaded our society, drawing out any sense of purpose that our existence could hold. I’m here to punish those who think they can continue with such an un-heathen modus vivendi.’ Deep thoughts continued to inundate Ashfaq’s mind. With a final sigh, he took out his cigarette and crushed it beneath his foot. People around him seemed unperturbed, as they rushed on – seemingly a blur to his eyes. With a little grin, he was reminded of the hilarity of the situation. He was the master of their fate. At this point in time, he was God.

Ashfaq was no stranger to blasphemous thoughts, thoughts which, more often than not, were contrary to his firmly rooted beliefs. He mused on the consequences of the actions he was planning to take. He would surely go to hell, that he knew of. However he was serving a larger scheme – a scheme that could paradoxically be rewarded in the hereafter. At times when his thoughts would start contradicting each other, he would cease ruminating within his head and whisper to himself "For the greater good".

Time was running out. With a long, hard gaze down the crowded street, Ashfaq started to make his move. He bustled through the crowd, anxious about getting the timing right. His eyes were fixated on the large stadium situated on the opposite side. Without lifting his gaze even for a moment, he knocked into a little girl. "Hey, you blind fool. Can’t you focus more on not tumbling into people?", screamed a guy, most probably the girl’s father. Ashfaq just looked blindly at the father, alternating his stare between him and the girl. With a shake of the head, he rustled past the two and on to his mission.

Abashed by his recent encounter, the girl’s image kept resurfacing in his mind. They were both going to the stadium, as the father and his daughter were both sporting team merchandise. ‘For the greater good’, came the whisper. However, his mantra was less successful in easing his doubts this time. He looked back, and now the blur was replaced with a vivid and resplendent portrait. He could see every single emotion, every single feature etched on to each and every person’s face. Ashfaq thought he could probably tell a story for every person he saw. But, the most important thing he observed was the variegation in every human he saw, realizing the multifariousness of the thoughts they would hold and how they were painfully oblivious to what would happen to them in a few moments’ time. Possessed by this satori, Ashfaq started to run. All he knew now was that he did not want to proceed with his plan. The stadium was a good two miles away, and a glance at the watch notified him that he didn’t have much time left. He searched for the Olympic sprinter within himself, as he pushed himself on. The main street was filled to the rafters, so he decided on taking a right and then doubling over afterwards. As he made the turn, a van thundered into his body, sending him flying away. Unconsciousness shrouded Ashfaq.

He regained his senses and found himself in a travelling ambulance. He rubbed his eyes and started questioning relentlessly. The medical assistant next to him shushed him, and injected an anesthetic into his body. As he dreamily went back to sleep, Asfhaq could hear an overwhelming boom in the distance.

 Samee Zahid - LGS Paragon

When I Heard That Noise

By: Maryem Farooqi

Class: Prep III-N

Maryem Farooqi is a student of Prep III-N, Darakshan The City School. She wrote this story while she was learning about Partition in history class. The hardships that the Muslims went through inspired her to write this short story. Other than writing stories, she likes writing poems as well.

                                                                       

The cellar was cold and damp, with spider webs hanging from the cabinets and water leaking from the pipes. The windows were plastered with two inch wood that had a horrible smell. It could collapse any second, I silently prayed that it would not do so. Our life depended on it. Everything was ghostly quiet. In the midst of the still air, I could hear a faint sound of Bano crying.  I hushed her up, and grabbed her hand for warmth.“Shhh” I whispered to her. “There is no benefit of crying. We’ll be rid of this place soon.” “But Apa I don’t want to leave!” she cried “Can we not remain here, with Dolly?” She indicated a wooden doll lying on the floor. “There is nothing left for us in India. We mustn’t stay here any longer” I said. “But trust me, Pakistan will be better. And we shall get you another doll once we reach there.” I expected this to cheer her up. But it did not, instead she grabbed the doll and clung to it and burst into heavier tears. “I shan’t leave or change dolly ever in my life!” she cried.

                                  

                                                                     
“Alright, alright we’ll keep her”. I said, slightly angered at her devotion to the doll. It was given to us by my mother. That was the only thing she possessed to bequeath to us at the time of her death. For Bano, that doll was as special as my mother herself.

The clock on the stone wall murmured ‘tick-tick-tick’ as fast as was possible. Yet my heart beat faster out of fear, and soon I felt as if the clock wouldn’t match the pace of my heartbeat. My eyes drifted. Bano was already asleep. I was so tired I felt as if I was to be swept into slumber. But before that was possible, I was roused awake by the most dreadful noise that I ever heard.

A gunshot struck the glass of the window (which was luckily covered with wood) a few inches away from my ear. There was such a terrible buzzing noise in my ear I felt as if a hundred bees were buzzing in my brain. For one moment I was in complete shock. I felt Bano pulling me, than a few footsteps. As bad as the pain was in my ears I tried to listen to whoever was coming. I heard an icy voice say,“There is none here, let us leave now.”

I prayed that whoever was there would leave. But they didn’t, as I heard a man say “Who knows, Harry, shall we have a check at least there may be some blackie’s here.” My heart fell deep; as I knew they were to enter.

I thought of only one thing now. I grabbed Bano’s hand and ran as fast as me legs would allow me, ignoring the buzzing in my ears and Bano’s wails and screams.  We ran into the dead of night. But we were not alone. Dozens and dozens of people were sprinting in every direction hoping to escape the terror of the foreigner’s hands. But just as I thought my head could feel no more pain, I felt something hit my head from behind. This time I could not bear the pain, and I collapsed on the ground unconscious, and when I opened my eyes a while later, Bano wasn’t there.

I remember that day vividly. I cried for hours, my head still buzzing but none heard me. I was all alone on a heap of rubbish on the ground. There were a few bodies on the ground, but I tried to keep my focus off them. Instead my focus was on Bano’s doll. It was lying about a yard away from, but I didn’t dare to grab it. For some reason there was anger boiling inside of me. That doll, just like Bano, was a burden my mother had given to me at her death. I moved forward and grabbed the doll, not to hug it. But I threw it as far as I could until I saw it disappear behind the corner of the street. I bit my lip out of anger, which had proved to be stronger than fear. It was only when I realized this that I had considered what I had done. The only memory of mother and sister, was gone. I had to run to where I threw it, but then fear paralyzed my legs once more. I tried to be angry again, as I thought it would help me move. It didn’t, and I felt like collapsing on the ground once more.

But then I thought of my mother, and my sister, and ignoring the severe pain in my head and ears , I said a prayer, bit down my fear, and ran in the direction I  threw the doll, not caring if it led me to my death or if someone was waiting with a knife with my name written on it.

I wish I could say at that moment that I ran smoothly without tripping, but I did trip. And the most painful part was that the doll wasn’t even there. Yet I didn’t stop just yet, I ran further for ten minutes until my body was lost of all its energy. I collapsed on the ground and hurt my head. This time the pain was blinding. The last clear voice I ever remember hearing was of a woman’s beside me who said “Let us offer this young girl assistance she is injured”. I opened my eyes. I could see her lips moving but could not hear her words. The pain in my ears had gone. I was deaf. But I wasn't alone. There was a group of people before me. My eye, however, had caught something else huddled in a corner. On the small bed at the corner, fast asleep, was Bano. The doll had led her to me. I got up, thanked God silently, and hugged her as tightly as I could.

Of Football & Lota-ism.

Fajr.A.Dawood-Guest Writer


Lending a deaf ear to all the people [particularly Geo and other sports (mainly cricket) anal-ysts, always anal-ysing] presumably asserting over cricket to be the undisputed sport that Pakistanis 'worship', I demand justice for the football fans in Pakistan who are being wrongly labelled as cricket worshipers. By worship here, I do not mean to commit shirk (surprise, surprise!) but only meaning to state the intensity of the likeness for the glorious blessing we have been bestowed by. Most people, however, seem to remain nescient towards this grace & therefore turn up with sore, reddened faces after Pakistan cricket team has been overpowered - Whilst 'the match was fixed' statements, smelling of excuses for being ignominiously vanquished diffuse throughout the air all Pakistanis breathe. & soon, it invades each lung of every person who recites 'kirkit' on each bead of the tasbeeh.


The football fans may be outnumbered by the number of 'bat bol' fans, but here it is for all the people, being equally just with the English, since both sports are the offspring of the same mother (the doubts about the father, however stand). 


Most people here follow the famed, & more commonly watched league; The Barclays Premier League and the Spanish La Liga, whose fans are mostly confined to being supportive due to the seduction of usual triumph of Barcelona FC, & the inconsistent Real Madrid, with the a few good-looking players, and other half- ManUnited supporters still chanting viva Ronaldo. However, it's very dreary for true football fans outside the vicinity of where such Leagues are contested to be categorized under the label of "Glory Hunters".


The UrbanDictionary.com explains the word "Glory Hunter" as this. 


Now most of the people outside the UK or Spain will throw their underwear at their screens with that tab open, and their actions would be completely just. Football, like any other sport is a source of entertainment, for say, wrestling is. Does supporting The Miz or The Rock, or John Cena whilst watching them fight while cozily lying on one's late gramps' rocking chair, with a packet of chips; ravenously eating, sitting in in front of a fat CRT TV in Pakistan make one a glory hunter? No. 


However, I do agree upon the point that states that they're the people who support any currently prospering club to only taste victory. We locally call such creatures a 'lota'. Lota in the sense that even if you fill from the broader top, the water will always branch and fill the S-like, narrow protrudorous shape without having to bear any osmotic pressure ( in football's case, witnessing draws & being defeated). 

This is how people who support a new team every other week/ season look like.  Image: Author Source: Internet

So here it is, for all the Pakistan-wide footy fans who cherish the presence of ESPN, TenSports(for CL matches) & StarSports for being there when other sport channels give preference to airing a cricket match while football is being played in the meanwhile ( minus TenSports mostly). 

Also, I take this opportunity to thank GeoSports for being a useless pile of poo for only showing women over-loaded with make-up like a donkey cart is laden with all the stuff weighing as highly as of an elephant. 

Fajr.A.Dawood is a proud ManUnited fan who prefers being a Red Devil over watching Pakistan play cricket while frolicking at every 4/6 runs being scored. Runs a blog called Ze Chronicles. Read.. if you can.