Morning Could Bring Bad Sunshine

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Thrillers  |  House: Booksie Classic
It wasn’t beautiful morning. Morning always brings hope from the sunshine, but when “giving up” feeling hits us, it will break us up. When our own driver got front of the house door, and he told me and my cousin get in the car quickly. I was so sleepy but excited. Once I got in the car I found our own driver Uncle Omar wasn’t in a good mood. “What’s wrong uncle?” I said.” There is bad news that one of the building close to Engineering University campus has been burned because of an electrical fault”, uncle Omar said.” Oh God! This is scary”, I replied, soon, we arrived middle school, and the writing class just started. Our teacher said, “I need all of you to turn in your project, and I don’t think so I can work on it this week because we will make another short project about what’s going on in the county”. I turned my papers on the table with big smile and excitement. “Zahra, I need to talk to you about your last two stories you wrote it down”. My teacher said. “Oh, is everything okay, Teacher?” I replied. She was staring at me with bright eyes and said: “Yes, little writer.” After a couple of second, I heard the security saying we all had go out of the building and the fire alarm was so loud as we all went out of the building. I saw all the building burn, I still can smell that smoke and the hear students crying. I was looking around and thinking about what is going to happen to my story now. I was so excited to have my story to be one of the romantic story hanging in the school board in the first row if I get the good grade, so, the teacher will take winners to trip. My teacher saw my tears, and she told me, “You did such an awesome job for both fiction story and the romantic story, Don’t cry”. I told her, I can’t anymore, I don’t have energy to do anything. After a week, we moved to Libya – Tripoli, and I was so frustrated and depressed about any Arabic class or any writing class. Once I entered the class I didn’t want to write anything or even read any story. I used to make fake attention although I got good grades but I used to feel that reading and writing class is just so boring classes, even though, in my family I have two people who are authors, my grandfather and my uncle. I tried to at least to read again, but once I read any emotional or drama novel, I remembered what happened to my stories. I tried to write my daily stories in my notebook, but I didn’t feel any action or emotional like I used to write before, until one day I watched a video about disabled guy, who was without hands, and his back was broken because of an attack that happened while he was in Iraq. He wrote a drama and romantic story, and his story was showed on Iraqi TV. I was so impressed, and mad at myself. The disabled guy was saying,” I had this story done while I was in my own shop working on it, but I end up disabled guy, although I didn’t give up rewriting it again to show the people that the real disability is in people’s minds not with the disabled person”. I started crying with deeply tears, I went to my room and threw away all my writing papers. I threw away all my memory books. I was so mad at myself that I was too much dramatic, and I gave up so easy, while I could easily make it during all this year. The next day, our teacher said,” I need from you guys to write down a story, either a drama, comedic, or romantic story for competition in the school. They will pick three perfect stories and make show on the big stage in the high school”. So, everyone wrote down their names, except me. The teacher asked me, and I was looking at her eyes and I said,” I can’t do that”. She was so surprised, and told me,” Zahra, your essays are always perfect why you can’t?” “I just simply can’t anymore. I’m scared to make it “and, I left the class with tears. Once I arrived home, my uncle saw my tears, and he asked,” What’s matter?” I told him, Nothing, I just want to sleep”. I went to my room, and I start reading one of my first book, I read and listening to my favorite singer. I held my pen with shaking hand, and I started writing, and throwing away papers, until I finished four pages of a romantic story. Once I was done, I started crying again, and my mother came to my room asking what happened in the class today? I didn’t reply to my mother, I just slept with tears. Next day, I showed my uncle my story, and he was so happy. He told me,” I’m so glad that you started writing again”. I told him,” No I’m not, I just don’t want to write anymore. This is only piece of paper, I want you to read it if it is good, and I will keep it with me”. After one week, all students turned in their stories, and I was just staring at them, I was scared that the same thing will happen to them. “Why are you panic and why are tears in your eyes?” my classmate said. “No, I’m not. I just don’t want anyone of you guys go through the same feelings”, I replied. She asked me, what do you mean? “Nothing”! I said. After two weeks, I was ready to go and attend the competition and see who the three people were who win. My uncle gave me necklace with queen on it, and he said, “Go. You will be the best always. Just don’t give up. I smiled and went in. While, I was listening the winner’s names, my name was the second name. I was so confused, and surprised, I found out that my uncle sent my story to my teacher. My teacher, Mariam, said in the stage” Zahra, strong person is the person who cry on the pillow in the night time, and stand up in the next day with big smile, you didn’t give up you just scared of writing” I was crying and staring at my uncle, my father, and my writing teacher. I looked at them and said I can make it, and I will keep reading and writing. Giving up feeling kills if we let it control us.

Submitted: December 16, 2016

A A A | A A A

Submitted: December 16, 2016



A little girl her name is Zahra trying to thrived in writting feild. She lost hope after her papaer story had burn in her school. She cried a lot, and she was almost give up on writting. 

© Copyright 2017 ZushA. All rights reserved.

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