Red Glass

Home

Awakening, was it all a nightmare? The worry, feeling lost, hopeless, desperate and cold, so very cold. Sitting up, the sun peeked from behind curtains, eager to catch a glimpse of what lurked in the shadows. Placing his hand in front of his mouth Faris's eyes focus, he places his hand on his chest finding more questions where a heart once danced to a song now at end. Resting his head on his palm he realises his teeth feel foreign. Poking his thumb into his right fang, it bleeds momentarily before healing as fast as it cut. Nobody can see this, nobody can know. The room is void of light, silent and haunted with whispers.

Thirst. Washing his face, he gargles and pours from the jug, drinking in three sips but water does nothing. Two full glasses down the same way and the pain does not die. Pouring a third, his eyes panic on search for something in the kitchen; A coconut saved catches his attention. Thumping, it smashes much to surprise but he dives for the exotic water without honey or glass, still, nothing changes.

"Ya ALLAH!(Oh God)" He cries in need but everything hurts. The smell of the water, dust particles floating through the air, sounds of the world outside... Everything just boils and boils as the thirst screams demands. He downs the third glass in one. Trying to calm, he buries his hands in his face before flipping the table in frustration. Grabbing the curtain, his hand burns like flames in the light but his response is not pain, it's anger. Shaking his head like a caged lion awaiting prey, each second till sundown had never felt so urgent.

Catching the water in his palms he throws the cold against his face, closing eyes to flashbacks of failure, fear and blood. Taking his Miswaak(root toothbrush) and opening his mouth, his eyes catch the mirrors image - one staring back in judgement and scolding. Burning eyes of bright amber stood a stark contrast to his pale skin and dark dishevelled hair, elongated teeth and acute nails; a faded reflection from the face his wife knew. Faris stared for a moment in disbelief, hoping the monster was just a manifestation of sleep deprivation and malnutrition, but darkness had simply surfaced.

Picking up his ivory comb, he brushes the knots from his hair and beard before stepping into the bathtub. The pot had not been boiled and the nights are cold however, ablution was long overdue. Ice cold water fills Faris's palms which he splashes against his chest yet it was not needles but a freshness of cold against his cold body. Something feels wrong. He dries, oils his skin and fixes his beard and hair. His nails lengths and thickness surprised him as he cuts before trimming his moustache, applying fragrance and dressing in fresh white.

The prayer mat is unrolled but how can one present themselves before the Creator as the blood of another fills a shamed heart? Faris had never drank alcohol or taken any form of intoxicant before but knew this was what it felt like. Adrenalin, power and joy ran through him, numbing the guilt and pains of a lost friend, a dead wife. Rolls of vellum lay across the desk and praying without a straight mind is disgraceful. The sun taunted as the pain magnified, however, reading can keep the mind focused elsewhere.
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Daniella is awoken by the sound of a whetstone running up a daggers edge and light raindrops dancing atop her shelter.

"Ready?" Rohain asks.

The air was cold, fresh and smells of home lingered along the path. Daniella smiled and gracefully nodded as she accepted she was ready to return where she belonged.
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Veryth is awoken from a dream of happyness by the song of rain. Dreaming of her husbands arms only to find Schenade has crawled into her bed again. Finally asleep after another late night, this is the only time Veryth does not need to hide her fears, anxiety and tears.
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The rainfall hammers against steel and fur but cannot beat away the misery. The moon had fallen over the cracked crown of thousands, while the sun barely peaked through dark skies. Hooded frowns forged in loss wonder the streets attempting to live life as normal, as if ghost are stones unturned. The bakers baked, maids cleaned and guards stood watch of towers and gates. The clock watched over everyone, reminding them with each hour of how short life really is. Death shadows each soul with the fear of what is left behind; an unspoken word, a legacy, a dream, a family. It is easier to die than it is to lose.