Fake living
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- Parts 2
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The Woman Who Blasphemed
The drip, drip brought back the memory of those screams. She could smell the crimson from that day, or was it crimson, salt, left behind by the blood and tears of some other prisoner. Were they abused? She wondered. How were her children. She thought of them a dozen times a day, she asked the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost to keep them safe. Jamil she had long ago realized would be spared his father's beatings. That day only brought it to her conscious. She had always known. But she saw it that day. Her beautiful daughter Maryam, that was who she was more worried about. Drip, drip. Splat. Splat. The water smelled bad. Sour, of shit. It tasted even worse. She had been forced to drink it, they had starved her, and deprived her of water for a few days. Was it days? She didn't know. There was no night and day in this place. Just the collective quiet and screams for food, for water, for mercy. Confessions of sins that the prisoners had not committed, anything to get out. Most harrowing were the screams. The whips, the flays, the screams. She winced every time she heard one. She shivered the first time she had heard one. She shuddered as she thought of that. The hair on her back rose, she pulled her arms around herself. It was unearthly. Not an animal's scream, not her screams when her husband beat her, not even when he had hit her with a bat. Not the screams of the dog that those kids had cornered, and were poking with sticks, some throwing stones at it, as if it were the devil himself. No, none of those screams. This came from a deeper place. This was a scream from before civilization. From before language. This was a scream, guttural. Loud, screeching, very much in pain.Complete
Yours Forcefully
She - Innocent, shy, clumsy, naïve 19 year old beautiful girl who's trying to face the challenges life is throwing at her. With no parents besides her, she tries her best to impress her aunt who hates her. With a jealous cousin, she tries her best to cope up with her college life who loves to give her shocking surprises. But what will happen when she'll face the true devil? Will he break her or will gather her broken pieces of heart?? He- Ruthless, arrogant, cruel 25 years old handsome CEO of top multinational company and the King of underworld who'll ruin everything coming in his way. With hateful parents, he's trying his best to avoid them and not to kill them. With thousands of enemies, he's at his best to scare them off. But what will happen when he'll face a true angel in this cruel world? Will she fix him or will run away from him like everyone else?? ----------------------------------------- "........now you may kiss the bride". I froze. I didn't want him to kiss me. I wanted to hide somewhere and never come back. Lucifer slowly turned me towards him. He lift up my veil and pulled my waist tightly until I was completely pressed against him. Then he whispered "welcome to my world, wife" and kissed me hard on my lips. It was more like a punishment kiss. I tried to push him but he bite my lips hard. Now tears were streaming down my face. After some minutes he released me and wipe my tears and kissed me on my forehead. People were clapping. Celebrating my doom.Complete
The Devil Inside.
They hated eachother. But he was obsessed and in love with her at the same time. She was dating his best friend, who is now out of town for a whole month or more. So he took the time and kidnapped her in his mansion, locking her up. He wanted her to himself. He's violent on her. He's rough on her...But he has his soft, caring moments. What will happen? Find out in The Devil Inside.Complete
Spirit Wolves Book 1 -completed-
It was as if he thought what happened was her fault. It was during one of his cold, malicious stares, that she felt more alone than ever in the three months after that slaughter.Complete
𝐄𝐊 𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐅𝐀 -Pyscho's Heartbeat
𝐇𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐝𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐢𝐦, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐫. "You're a psycho, a crazy bastard," I spat out, my veins pulsing with anger. He can't, he can't save me because I'm his. Because I'm not. "You made me that, remember?" His bloodied hand approached my face, sending shivers down my spine as he gently traced my skin from my forehead, down to my cheekbones, and finally to my jaw. His warm blood left a trail on my face, causing my ribs to tighten and my limbs to tremble. His touch was electric and scorching, searing my skin. Hamdan Waseem had always been a soft sunshine in my eyes, but the figure before me now, smearing his warm blood on my face, is still Hamdan, yet a version I never knew. He's a monstrous version of himself, a psycho. "Calling me a psycho is an understatement because I'm much more than that six-letter word when it comes to you," he smirked devilishly, causing my stomach to churn.Complete
Nothing but an outline.
Story about a girl who has grown up thinking she had a good life, but realizes it wasn't as great as it seemed. Things that she had been through weren't normal, and it begins killing her inside. What will she do?Complete
The drip, drip brought back the memory of those screams. She could smell the crimson from that day, or was it crimson, salt, left behind by the blood and tears of some other prisoner. Were they abused? She wondered. How were her children. She thought of them a dozen times a day, she asked the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost to keep them safe. Jamil she had long ago realized would be spared his father's beatings. That day only brought it to her conscious. She had always known. But she saw it that day. Her beautiful daughter Maryam, that was who she was more worried about. Drip, drip. Splat. Splat. The water smelled bad. Sour, of shit. It tasted even worse. She had been forced to drink it, they had starved her, and deprived her of water for a few days. Was it days? She didn't know. There was no night and day in this place. Just the collective quiet and screams for food, for water, for mercy. Confessions of sins that the prisoners had not committed, anything to get out. Most harrowing were the screams. The whips, the flays, the screams. She winced every time she heard one. She shivered the first time she had heard one. She shuddered as she thought of that. The hair on her back rose, she pulled her arms around herself. It was unearthly. Not an animal's scream, not her screams when her husband beat her, not even when he had hit her with a bat. Not the screams of the dog that those kids had cornered, and were poking with sticks, some throwing stones at it, as if it were the devil himself. No, none of those screams. This came from a deeper place. This was a scream from before civilization. From before language. This was a scream, guttural. Loud, screeching, very much in pain.
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