"I'm lost in the darkness residing in me... consuming my existence, bit by bit untill I'm left with nothing but ruins..."
Zainab Aqeel has lost her will to live. She's withering away like a flower does in fall...only she may never bloom again.
"The...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
The crowd was massive. The whole Numaish road was covered with an enormous sea of people. The yellow lights brightened their shimmery faces. Children, women,men, elderly, everybody was present at the rally. The speakers were blasting the anthem of the party. Media was littered everywhere like particles in dust as they covered each and every nook of the rally. Cameras were everywhere, recording footages, covering news minute by minute.
There, at the back of the container, stood Irtiza with Mr. Qadir. Dressed in his party's flag colour, white kurta and a maroon shawl draping his shoulders, he looked like a man on a mission.
"I never expected this much people. You are very popular right now, Irtiza."
Mr. Qadir said while taking a sip of his drink. Irtiza only stared. It was surreal for him too. But he'd be lying if it didn't feel good. The roar of people and the energy of the rally, it was magical.
"Sir, you'll be taking the stage in five minutes."
A girl spoke from the side and he nodded his head. Dusting the shawl off of the invisible dust, he took out the paper from his pocket. He had a speech prepared for today. One that would both be crucial and beneficial for him.
"Now Sir."
Nodding at M. Qadir, he walked toward the small flight of stairs, pocketing the paper knowing he won't be needing it anymore, he finally reached the stage and faced the people. Instantly, a roar of his name's erupted in the air as the music got louder. He waved his hand in the air while maintaining a strict smile on his face.
"Asalamoaliukm!"
He greeted into the mic and numerous voices greeted him back.
"Pakistan!"
He forwarded the mic toward the crowd and the echo was massive
"Zindabad!"
He repeated the notion twice more before finally holding the mic in his hands.
"Ye Pakistan hamara hai. Or hum iske paasban hain. Is zameen ki mitti hamara khoon hai, ek ek patta hamare jism ka ek hissa hai. Is par koi anch aye, ye na qabile bardasht hai."
(Pakistan is ours and we are it's protectors. Her soil is our blood, each and every leaf is a part of our body. We won't tolerate any hit on our Pakistan)
The crowd roared again and he continued.
"Many vultures are out there. Waiting to tear our beloved homeland to bits, but we will stand steadfast. We will protect our motherland at all costs."
The crowd roared again, but there was no denying they were listening to every syllable that came out of his mouth with their undivided attention. After all, he was going to be their upcoming new Prime Minister in only a span of six or seven months.
