One Hundred and Fifty Six

Hey. Hi. Hello. Salaam. Bonjour. Salut. Ciao. Ahoj. Bog. Marhaba. Ola. 😀

Hope you guys are well and warm!! 

Sooo, I actually wasn’t supposed to post today, but because I’m so lovely (Ego level 11 out of 10 😊😝), here’s One Hundred and Fifty Six. It’s shorter than usual, I know. But like I said, I didn’t plan for it to go up today. 

I suggest you guys reread this post before reading today’s one. 

Let’s see if you’ll can put two and two together! Eagerly awaiting your theories! 😉

Much Lov –

Oh wait, wait, wait!!! Before I go.. in case you haven’t noticed, WE HAVE A TAGLINE!!! 😀💃🎉🎈😀 (Sorry for yelling, it just makes me very excited. 🙈😂)  

Just want to say a quick JazaakAllah/Thanks to all of you who voted and sent your opinions. 🌸🌸🌸 Shout out to Sister A, whose suggestion won the most votes! 👏💕

Right, you can go read now. 

Much Love, 

Troubled Illusioner. ❤

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A peek into the past – Ali:

“GET HER!” I roar.

Blinding rage courses through my blood as I lose sight of her.

I stand up again, punching the man yelling at me to calm down, hard.

With a grunt of pain he falls to the ground.

“DON’T TOUCH ME!” I scream, holding up my gun.

My face is red with rage, my body shakes and my eyes burn bright with a cold fire.

Despite my finger sitting on the trigger, someone dares to disobey.

It happens too quickly for me to register.

But, my body, full of adrenaline, tries to fight back.

I hear a gunshot amongst screams of sheer terror.

A blood chilling threat follows.

And then, darkness.

Silence.

*****

It’s cold. Unbearably cold.

My eyes flutter open, coming face to face with darkness. It is as if I didn’t open my eyes at all.

My teeth are chattering.

God. The cold.

I try to move my limbs closer together, seeking warmth.

But my legs refuse to fold and rise to my chest and my arms refuse to wrap around my torso.

That’s when I realize that I am tied.

I am tied, but I have no knowledge to what.

My mind is unable to figure out whether I am sitting up, or laying down.

A subtle feeling of panic creeps in…

I breathe deeply, a pungent smell reaching my nose.

Slowly it all comes back…

One slide at a time, my mind replays everything.

The cafè. Amaani. Perfect, beautiful Amaani. Our conversation. Two strange looking men. A moment of fear. Putting forth my offer. Amaani’s reaction. Watching her get away. Being tackled to the ground. Screaming, shouting, glass breaking. My fist connecting with solid bone. Shaking my gun, placing my finger on the trigger, daring someone to come forward. A daredevil doing just that. Then, a gunshot. And finally, darkness. 

It plays over once, twice, thrice, in my mind, each time revealing finer details.

My eyes have adjusted to the darkness, but all it uncovers is an empty room. After feeling around as much as my suppressed hands can, I deduce that I’m tied to a chair. A hard, uncomfortable chair.

Despite trying to ignore it, the subtle feeling of panic that had crept in, is rapidly growing, giving birth to fear, anxiety and nail biting nervousness.

Tied up alone in a dark room, my mind is free to play the game its way. And it takes full advantage, torturing me mercilessly for what feels like hours on end.

But it’s a strange torture, for I take it willingly, making no effort to retaliate, trying not even in the least to fight back.

My arms and legs feel dead, my blood circulation cut off by the thick, strong rope, yet I do not do anything about it. My body doesn’t even plead. It simply accepts, a feeling of tiredness never felt before commanding it.

Sighing, I turn my head to my shoulder and give in to sleep that calls me ever so gently, thinking of Amaani and how beautifully she’s grown.

*****

“I’ll ask you one more time. Tell me your story.”

“I’ll tell you one more time. You already know my story,” I drawl. “Tell me yours.”

The man pauses, cocking his head to side slightly.

I imitate his expression, raising my eyebrows.

He stands up wordlessly and leaves the room after being in it for not more than 10 minutes.

The man had untied me, then, not reveling a single detail about his identity, began questioning me.

I scoff, thinking about how he had been surprised at my boldness and sassy comments. Did he honestly think I would show him that I was afraid of him??

I know who he is. Of course I recognized his arm covered in tattoos from the day before… was it a day ago?? Besides, it’s pretty easy to recognize someone who makes their presence known so overwhelmingly.

Standing up, I stretch lazily.

I am in trouble.

That much I know.

But what Ali doesn’t yet know, is just how much trouble he is in..