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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Young Adult  |  House: Booksie Classic
I wrote this out of the blue and wanted to expand more on it but was to anxious to start a new writing lol hope you enjoy! :D

Submitted: December 30, 2011

A A A | A A A

Submitted: December 30, 2011




He could feel the warmth from the sunlight upon his eyelids. He slowly opens his eyes to find that the piercing sun is peering in his window causing him to instantly squint both of his tired eyes. He could see the dust particles flying around his room. He lies there staring at his ceiling with his mind fully aware of his surroundings but body still in sleep mode. He rises up slowly pulling the covers off his hairless toned legs as he slides one leg after the other across his cotton sheets onto the polish wooden floors. He sits on the edge of his bed with both hands on his knees and eyes locked to the floor as he tries to recollect his thoughts. He proceeds to run his hand through his chocolate brown hair arching his back for a morning stretch.

A crashing sound of glass to a concrete surface awakens his senses. A loud sharpening voice from the kitchen sends chills down his back. The boy embraces himself for the turmoil stirring up in the kitchen. He creeps towards the main hallway steps trying to avoid the weak parts in the floor. The closer he gets to the steps the more his ears ring from the loud voice. He slides his back up against the wall and peek his head down the steps to catch a glimpse of the disruption between his parents. His father’s broad back is facing the steps with a plate in his beige muscular hand.

“Your food taste like shit.” The roaring voice proclaim, venting every word in disgust.

 The Woman stands against the stove taking in every harsh word with her eyes to the floor and petite hands wrapped tightly together. Another crashing sound of glass breaking to the floor abrupt, it shakes the boy causing him to hit his head against the wall creating a loud thump. His disdaining father turns around suddenly. The boy quickly takes cover behind the wall. Every hair on his body stands up giving him an adrenaline rush.


“Muhammad?”  His father’s voice calls out in question but knows in fact that his son is lurking at the top of the steps.

Muhammad stands against the wall contemplating on whether he should go back to his room and pretend he has no idea what is going on or leave his helpless mother with the devil that is his so called father. He scorns the spirit that his mother constantly worships for bringing someone so evil into her life.  He clenches his fingers into the palm of his hand. He takes a deep breath and timidly walks down each step like it was his last. His lips are pressed tightly together while his jaw quivers. He examines his mother. From the neck down she is covered in an Abaya with long white sleeves and her head wrapped in a Hijab. He can tell that she is still incompetent at putting one on. He remembers when his mother refrained from wearing one. She felt it was just another way for the men running the country to take control over women’s lives. He remembers when she let her elongated wavy bronze hair flow in the wind as she danced in their enclosed backyard, he missed that person.

When gossip got out to his father all the way in Peshawar that his wife was sleeping around with different men, corrupting his only son’s mind and ceasing to wear her Hijab, his father decided to come back into their peaceful lives and take over. Muhammad’s mother wasn’t the type to sleep around with numerous men she was a faithful women that only wanted equal rights between men and women.

  She slowly raises her head, her beautiful chestnut eyes glows when they come into contact with her sons dark chocolate pair.  Muhammad notices tears forming in her eyes and a cut below her left eye.


 “Come here son” His father’s voice softens. Muhammad takes slow steps towards his six foot three father with his eyes still locked with his mothers.

  “Ahh, my precious son.” His father says rubbing his hand through Muhammad’s hair.

“How can you grow into a healthy strong man if your mother continues to cook filth like that!” he says raising his voice towards the end of the sentence. Muhammad fixes his eyes to the food on the floor.

He wish he could stand up to his father and defend his mother but fear of adding more fuel to the fire holds him back. Muhammad starts to walk towards his mother but his father steps right in front of him blocking his way.

  “Muhammad why don’t you tell your mother that she is a disgrace and needs to be taught a lesson.” Muhammad’s father says with fire in his eyes.

Muhammad stares at the back of his father’s head in disgust. His mother fixes her eyes back to the floor. He feels hatred towards himself for letting his mother suffer countless times throughout the past years while he hides in his room and lock the door. Muhammad’s father looks his way.

“But before you witness your mothers punishment, why don’t you call Asif and tell him I will be a few minutes late” his father says glaring at Muhammad’s mother like a lion ready to take down its prey. Muhammad stands as still as a statue. He feels himself about to hyperventilate. His father takes an inpatient deep breath.

“Muhammad!” his father’s voice heightens.

“Do as I tell you or else you will be taught a lesson as well.”  The father demands.

“No.” Muhammad says in a low tone. He realizes what he let out and wishes he could take it back but knows it’s too late.

“No!” His father repeats back in disbelief.

Muhammad’s father turns around and steps closer to his son who is only three feet below him.

“You’re an idiot if you think you can talk to me this way like I’m some woman.” The father says bending both eyebrows.

“You’re the disgrace in this family not her, why did you have to come back and ruin our lives” Muhammad shouts at the top of his lungs letting out caged emotions.

“Your mother did corrupt you.” The father says, just as he finishes his sentence the raging beast turns around to Muhammad’s mother and charges toward her. His mother lets out a terrifying scream and falls to the floor covering her face ready to take the hits. She’s surprise as she touches her face and feels no pain. Muhammad has his father in a head lock up against the stove. The father tries his hardest to get out of the interlocked arms he’s trapped in. The two wrestle as his mother screams for the chaos to end.  Muhammad throws his father to the floor. His father slides across the floor onto the broken glass he shattered earlier. Muhammad steps to his father and kicks him in the face. He continues to kick him while he’s down just as the beast had done to his mother numerous times throughout previous nights. Muhammad takes his fist and punches his father in the ear then in his face. He punches him until there is a small puddle of blood on the floor. His mother continues to scream in horror. Muhammad finally stops and falls to the floor, his arm in pain from the blows to his father’s rock solid head. He breathes heavily. He notices his mother has stop screaming and is now crying. Muhammad stands up and hugs his mother tight. He holds her until her fast breathing dies down to a slow rhythm. She lets out another scream. Muhammad turns around to find his father is standing with his back arched and blood gushing from his mouth. He extends his arm to Muhammad and his wife.

“You two will be sorry.” He spits a big slob of blood at Muhammad’s feet and limps towards the front door. Muhammad looks in his mothers eyes in relief that his father is leaving. They embrace each other until they hear the front door slam shut.

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