To my late mother
You're the reason I learn
to love these beautiful words
and place them into the heart of mine.
. - .
To my brave father
The best pillar I could ever lean on
You protect this daughter of yours
and plant beautiful thoughts in her soul.
. - .
To my family
Thank you for giving me
a beautiful space where I feel belong.
. - .
To my friends and peeps
All the experiences and memories
that we share together
inspires me for so long.
. - .
This book is for you
To you who reads this
"You're beautiful."
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A|N >>
salam alaykum. this is my new project, my very first 'original' project since before this i was just a writer of anime fanfictions(don't read, it's legit embarrassing i tell ya). you may drop some comments about throughout the story but pls pls pls refrain from using bad words(i have a heart made of tissue :')
it's a pleasure to have you here, i shall give you virtual hugs for choosing my book to kill time. may Allah bless you all, sisters and brothers.
okay, here it goes. lesgooo!!!
°° with beautiful words, pcyp °°
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ᥫ᭡
"Your story's a vibrant noise,
My story isn't worth a voice."
23:00
As if I'm being thrown into a deep, blue sea- I feel suffocated in this air-conditioned room, trying to stay afloat. Outside my window is a rainstorm, the drip, drip, drip of sky tears tap on the clean glass, wind howls here and lightning thunders there. It's dark inside, I shut the big lamp and the small lamp on my study table so that it's dark enough for me to hide. In the shadows I reside.
I sit tight like a cocoon in my hello-kitty blanket, eyes staring blankly at the wall where I see red.
I smell red. I hate red.
Red is a mystery, red is not all people could assume to see. They know nothing, I know something about red.
Red is my best buddy.
I hear voices, angry tones before a crash, glasses shatter, cries of a mother. The door to my room clicks, the lock is broken for weeks and I never bother to see who it is.
"Khay."
A sad voice says, I turn to look at sad eyes, a sad face, the face who holds millions of pain- belongs to my father.
"Close your ears," he says, doing me a favour by pressing his warm palms on my little ears, I never move- even when I feel that the suffocated sensation has gone. Father smells of rain and mud, I trace a scent of cigarettes and wonder how many sticks have gone to his throat.
"Close your eyes, baby." He chokes, on what? Tears, lullabies, hopelessness, everything. "Don't look at me. Don't look at your mom."
"... Momma," I say, and he tightens his hug. I shift, and he presses my head to his chest, his pine cologne is faint.
"It's gonna be all right, your father got this." He sniffs, bringing up a palm to stroke my forehead before kissing the crown of my head. I stop moving when he reaches for my numb arms, I see red again.
"Does it still hurt?" Father gently presses on one hardened mark of the red, I want to scream but it never came.
It hurts. It hurts like hell. Eventhough I never know what hell feels like. My head screams instead.
I shake my head, the pigtails of my hair bounce from the effect. "It doesn't... hurt anymore," I say, and father seems to believe my lie without fail.
"Lying is a sin, Khaysara." He whispers a fact, and I stare up at his sad eyes; they're black holes with lines webbing under them.
"... Momma," I say again, and he just tightens his hug around my small waist again.
He solemnly shakes his head, as if to tell me don't, you don't understand because you're still a brat. I stare, stare and stare, he makes up a smile of yesterday.
"Momma needs rest now, let's not disturb her or she'll be mad again." He plays with my dainty fingers, hoping I would get distracted.
"Fatha..." my tongue is a bit twisted at this age, I was only 5 and my way of communicating is slow. But I want to tell him something, something that has to do with that jelly thing oozing at the side of his head.
"Red," I say my best buddy name.
He's not shocked to that, his smile broadens like it was a good thing, the red smells- and I hate it.
He strokes my forehead and dips my head down to make me stop looking at the red and whispers, "Recite a surah that you learn at school today, baby. Please? For me?"
"Okay," I nod, a daughter needs to be the staff for her father to hang on, I'm my father's staff- when my mother leaves him alone or plants red at him. He's my father, he's strong, he never fears red, he said red is not something to be feared, it's just a colour.
It's not just a colour to me.
"Auzubillah minashaitan nirajeem... Bismillahirrahmanirrahim..." I taste the words of Allah and imagine it to be honey, I smile up at him for the first time tonight.
Red. It's an everlasting curse.
"May Allah protect you always, my sweet princess." A drop of his tear touches my palm, and I feel him turning cold against my small, small frame.
For the first time tonight, I cry like a normal child should've been.
"Ameena."
My name is Ameena Khaysara. I lift my soaked face and meet a pair of brown eyes with the same colour, shape, and details like mine. She stands by the door, a hand on her hip as she stares down at me with a terrifying scowl. I shiver, I saw red, red, red- flashes of red.
"M- Momma..." My head throbs, my sight spirals.
She doesn't say anything yet, her brown eyes move to see father holding me protectively in his cold state. I want father to move, move, move- why isn't he moving? Panic surges in my chest, I can't breathe.
"Momma, father's not..." moving, breathing, he's freezing.
"Stop that. Stop. Crying." She presses her voice, pointing a warning finger at me, and I bite my lip.
"Your father's just sleeping. Let him be."
The rain stops, the morning slips in, and he was still sleeping, and I'm still crying.
YOU ARE READING
Beautiful Words
Teen Fiction"Words that I can't share." She always believed, her presence in someone's life was nothing but a bad sign. "Then comes in me, a girl silently retreating into the shadows until she eventually blends into them- tainted and unwanted. She only got one...
