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!

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Tricks and then a treat

A little orphan was walking down the street trying to sell tissues. A man; a magician, had approached him with a rope in his hands. “Dear unfortunate boy, I will give you this magical rope, it will disappear and then I want you to perform three tricks with it. Try, if you succeed in pulling them off in front of these idiots I will grant you a wish.” “Anything I want?” “Oh, the most thing you desire.” The boy thought – “To escape this hopeless place … A beginning.”

The boy took in the rope in his little dirty hands, it disappeared but he could still feel it. He made a ring and tied it on a stray dog’s neck, he walked him pulling left and right. People stood in amazement to watch with their mouths wide-open. Then he took that same ring and tightened it on a beautiful woman’s waist and pulled her towards him, they laughed. Then he tied the end of the rope to a pole and pulled it tightly and told them to pass. They couldn’t and they were glad that they couldn’t, they cheered. “What an amazing young magician” “He has a bright future!” They kept repeating.

Finally, he looked at the man and the man nodded with a look that said “I know what you want and you shall have it.” The rope embraced the boy’s neck and he felt warmth and smiled truly from the heart. The rope got held up and the boy died. They watched, they laughed and clapped for this tragic act. The man -“Thank you.” Then he made him disappear.

La Maison Des Acteurs Cafe

Through all of these tables, I sat on that one. This chair is the oldest, so it is the wisest. Dear chair, I wonder how many stories have you carried? How much have you suffered and endured to get these wounds on that torn skin of yours? I love the wrinkles on your face, it complements your grey hair. Oh here comes the Asian waiter who greets me with a smile that never gets old. Oh, the way that six-fingered virtuoso showers my cake with chocolate exhilarates me.

What I love about cafes is that the people change everyday but it’s almost the same. That leaning tower of Pisa is all over his lady whom he loves deeply and as she sips the goodness of life he recites poetry to the beauty of her eyes. The old man secludes himself in the corner and has a glass of warm milk. The vulgar man who mistreats my friend is always here in different vessels. The boys who come in with rolling eyes examine the place as if it were a crime scene.

What if I opened my third eye? Would I see their real stories? Their secrets perhaps? Is there a murderer? A thief? If only it were true … I bit most of them are calculus teachers. What is that on the front page? A new bomb has exploded on the east side? Rich, please bring me today’s newspaper … Never mind I’ll get it myself. I pulled out the rolled one thirsty for fresh news and before I knew it a gun fell on the ground with a bang that scattered them like cockroaches. My favourite cafe is now closed for investigation.