Her Memories

Just another Dream

The picture shows Laila 

snow outside the large window falls slowly, almost uncaring. A little girl, nine years old, watches as the snow falls down, silently. Her blond hair is cut short, giving the impression of a boy with her black jeans and big, black leather jacket. It was open, so one could see the navy camisole that was a little too loose. A large man walked through the broken door of the girl's bedroom. The room itself had no color-gray-and was as empty as the girl's emotions. There was a nice queen-sized bed in the right corner, as well as a black vanity, but the newspaper on the floor, the farthest place from her bed, is where the girl slept every night. Living this way was the only key to survival in her world. The man knelt down behind her, showing his respect.

The girl sighed.
"He wishes to see you, before your departure, sir."
The girl turned her head slightly, so one of her black eyes faced the man. He instantly shivered and adverted his eyes. "Leave," she commanded forcefully. He practically ran out of the room. Another man entered, not kneeling like the last. He stood beside her, looking out the same window, though he didn't dare touch her. He silently handed her a black mask. It was enough to cover her eyes, like a masquerade only anything but feminine. The girl took it from him, holding it in her hands, staring at it.
"I don't see why I have to wear it. I don't want to hide myself. Why shouldn't I be the monster that I am?" She looked up to the man. A few moments of silence passed, and she spoke again putting on the mask, tying the fabric tight behind her head,
"Whatever, I am fine with being who I am. I actually enjoy being who I am, it's rather fun actually. The screams... It satisfies you like nothing else. If only I could hear those screams forever." She looked back to the man again. Another five minutes of silence passed.
"No, I plan to do this for as long as I'm needed, as you always said. Why don't you join us this time? It would be good for you, since you haven't loosened up in a while." Again she looked back to the man's response. Another long pause followed before the girl looked to the window one last time. A faint movement caught her trained eye and she smiled menacingly, making the man shiver.
"I know. That's just how I like it." She turned and exited the room, leaving the man behind to gaze at the snow.
Gently falling...
Silent.

   I opened my eyes, only to see the dark ceiling above my head. Gently sitting up, I looked around the room to see that it was still dark, it was still night. Glancing at the barred window, I noticed that the sun was beginning to peak above the trees of the distant forest. My hands instantly found my head and began to rub my temples. Again. How many times will it play until I actuallyget to dream about something that I want to dream about? I've had this dream before, many times. Honestly, I referred to that zainab  as a boy, based on her appearance and action, even her voice, but I still knew that she was a girl. She was a girl with no chest and had to stuff a sock down her pants. Zainab  never wanted to be girly, and never dared to become one. In the dream the bed was covered with a light layer of dust, and the black vanity would basically be called white with all of the collecting dust. It was the newspaper that never got dusty. The articles were all about recent killings supposedly done by the same person.
Every time this dream consumed my sleep not one thing would change. The man who stood next to Zainab always had his face hidden by a dark cloud. Every time he spoke nothing would come out, it would be completely silent, but Zainab responded as if she heard him. Maybe she did. Zainab was cold, emotionless, and just horrifying. She was truly a monster, and she loved it.  Sighing, I quietly leaped out of bed and landed in a crouched position on the floor. I smiled at my flawless landing. Getting up slowly, I turned to face the beds