Breathless

She was looking in the mirror then felt something creeping in her mouth, so she opened it wide to see a gigantic cockroach tickling it by his hairy legs. She tried to spit it out but it was stuck like glue flipping along with her tongue and drowning in her saliva, so she accidentally chewed it partly and one of his wings got stuck between her teeth. Its dirty juicy blood and fluids flowed on her coloured tongue then it came out crawling and it fell in weakness. She choked after swallowing the fluids then she started spitting and trying to clean her throat but nothing came out.

Her teeth started to fall off her gums and she started to spit them out one by one, then she touched the rest of them to find out that they are easy to detach. Her teeth are staring back at her from the sink in a puddle of blood. She opened her mouth again to see a gummy grandmother and a younger version of herself screaming from her throat.

Behind her stands an old man who is pale, skinny and bold with sweaty armpits. He hugs her from behind rubbing and smooching her back with his wrinkled lips and then he pulls up her shirt touching her bellybutton and going up. She started to scream for someone to save her, then two big hairy hands with long fingers and sharp black nails came from the thin air above her head to get her. She got pulled up and disappeared from this world to who knows where.

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Witches and demons

Witches are never born witches, it’s a choice. It’s not what they tell you in children’s stories … They don’t fly on brooms or have talking cats and they don’t have large pimples on their green noses and there are no good witches. The scariest thing is that they look like us and live normally between us and we see them around everyday.

The hair saloon I go to has female workers who are witches. They make sacrifices with chickens that they put in a sink every week, they put special food for their spirits on a little chair in the corner and use sticks of “Bakhour” it’s some kind of smoke that they use to summon spirits for they believe that they bless their jobs and give them success.

I know twins who work in a mall near my house, they look exactly the same and they’re both blind too. One of them sells pastries that he makes and he puts different potions in every kind. There’s the love me pastry, the hate her, the good marriage donuts, the cupcake of destruction.

Normal people think that they’re random names but they’re not. Nothing is random in this world and everything has a plan, a purpose and intentions … This scares me because you never know what those intentions are.

The second twin is an artist. He draws talismans, hidden sigils and Arabian letters in his paintings that form a demon’s name. Special orders for special customers and the more special the order is the more expensive it becomes. It’s all wicked spells and he hides them in the portrait’s eyes mostly whether it’s a hawk or a woman. Each symbol has a meaning and a job to do and he is a an artist on demand. The women love him, his women are loyal to him for they have never ending jealousy.

Old ladies that seem weak and friendly are in their houses with jars, pots and a room to invite them in. A cupboard filled with torn pages of religious books, black animals parts and blood. They just need pictures to do their jobs whether to break up a holy marriage or to put lust in someone’s heart towards the person who pays the money for the job and they call this a love potion. In the old times they needed a whole hair pulled out from the root to harm someone but now it’s all easy that they can just take a picture from Facebook. Women come and go with lots of money to spend.

Those fortune tellers you see … They have their demons around them and they talk to your demon to know what they want to know about you. Then they go to the sky and try to eavesdrop to know about your future until they get hit by lightening.

Most of those humans you see … They did ugly nasty things. They have to do a prayer for Satan before they start. They killed, they went to dig up corpses from their graves to stuff things into their throats. They pee on holy books and drink blood to please the devil. They performed black magic on other people and misguided them into the path of sins.

Each demon has a specific task to do, there’s a demon for divorce, a demon for lust, a demon to spread hatred, a demon who whispers in the ear of a man to seduce him to do terrible things … They all report back to Lucifer. Divorce is what pleases him the most.

There are kings, ministers, soldiers and servants; just like us. They live in ruins, in the bottom of seas, between things like on the staircases and near the doors. They love contradictions so they build castles on top of where the salty water meets the sweet or on where the warm water meets the cold, between shades and light. Some of them live in houses too, they’re called Ammar.

You know what scares me most? It’s that the demonic spirits think highly of themselves, they won’t do you a favour unless you do one for them first. This leaves me in wonder … What is it that they want a human to do for them? How far did these people go to get what they want?

You know why planes and ships disappear in Bermuda’s triangle? You don’t need me to tell you who lives there.
You’ve never felt their presence? You’ve never felt that someone is watching you?
You may not know any of witches or demons but I can tell you for sure that lots of them know you very well.

Dear diary

The more I am aware of my existence the crazier I get … I chose to see without the seal and accept them; those who live between us, I mean. My behaviour has changed since I became more aware of them. When I go to wash for the Maghreb prayer I move subconsciously in the bathroom in circles and my mind wanders off to discuss stupid small worthless conversations which are not related to each other. Maybe I’m taking them out of my system?

When my mother wakes me up for the Fajer prayer, I wake up laughing at her and I stay in bed till my mind wakes me up, I don’t remember laughing at her. In my prayers, I remember silly matters and try to hold my giggles by pinching myself. Last night I lost control over my body and I danced almost like I gave in to the music and my hair got messed up like the hair of a mad woman’s. I see my mom sometimes looking through the window with a fragile look on her face and a broken back, she looks too disappointed.

Last night though, I had the sweetest dream and I asked myself in my dream – “Am I dreaming? This is too good to be true … It is real!” Then I woke up and my mind made up its mind to check my arm. Yes, my mind, my soul and I are three individuals sharing a body. I couldn’t move my right hand at all, I tried to imagine it opening and closing but it doesn’t work. I thought “Is this a nightmare?” No, it is real. It’s six am in the morning and I am crying. I tried to move my fingers with my other hand but they won’t move, they were stiff and hard, I feared that they would break. I tried moving my wrist but it falls till the very end as if it’s dead. I tried to wake my hand up but there was no use. When I felt it, it felt like it’s another person’s hand, a Mannequin’s! It didn’t feel human at all, I felt betrayed.

I started to cry like a mother would on her dead child. I stopped to finally conclude – “My dream, it was too sweet, someone was trying to keep me in it so they can manage to kill my hand. Who was it? Why? What do they want?” I didn’t sleep yet, I’m too frightened! Oh please god, oh thank god! I won’t sleep for I fear the death of my hand!

Life, responsibilities, misdeeds and freedom

What an old lady from hell! She is picking up pieces of earth like she’s picking up flowers and she is scooping out crumbled street like she would scoop vanilla ice cream! She is running after me … Picking, throwing, scooping and throwing …

AAAh! The gravity is trying to squish my spine! I must fight back … I will look up to the sky to hold my head high with all the power I have left …

Wait, what is that heavy weight burdening my shoulders? That weight took a form of a green old skinny man who is clutching on my back and piercing my skin with his long dirty nails. If I give in she will win and if I kept my pride I will break.

Lemons are rolling towards me … What would I do with lemons? “Make lemonade.” she said as she laughed in mockery. Home is where I want to be; where I can cry alone. “Turn me into a bird!” At last! I am free to fly back to my golden cage.