Gifts

“He used to shower me with gifts, you know” She walked in unannounced. The sound of heels clattering against tiles ceased and her heartless gaze met the horrifed face of the only occupant of the kitchen. 

She studied the maid like an animal weighing its options. A disgusting housekeeper is what he fancied better than the one woman coveted by hundreds of suitors. What was it that he saw in a filthy maid that he failed to find in a noble woman like her. Beauty maybe, but no ranks, no jewels, no class, a piece of garbage. He got what he deserved.

“M..Mrs. Desmund! How n..nice of y..you to stop-p by. W..would you like s…some tea?” The maid frantically dug into the cupboard, looking for an excuse. Her shivering hands let slip a kettle and the sound of expensive china shattering like her sanity, enveloped the kitchen. She froze and so did her heart. 

“DON’T YOU FUCKING MOVE UNLESS I TELL YOU TO! UNDERSTAND YOU WHORE?!”

The lady like poise vanished as a monster slipped through the crevices of a perfectly polished persona. Mrs. Desmund took a deep breath, composed herself, and tried to block out the sobs of a filthy 18 year old, panic striken servant.

She placed a beautifully wrapped package on the kitchen table,
“Always wearing himself out” She continued in her previous charming tone, “finding the most expensive ring, the smoothest pearls, the largest diamonds, the perfect tokens.”

“And yet, this one is the best I’ve received so far”

A slight tug to the ribbon let the wrapping loose; the grip on the rag tightened and so did the lungs making breathing laboured. Prespiration and tears adorned one woman’s face while a steely smile carved into the other’s. The paper slipped and a mortified face of Mr. Desmund peeked through. Glassy life-less eyes stared back into the gleeful eyes of a woman he once cheated on. The air seemed to thin in the spacious kitchen and lights seemed to dim as the maid fought hard to maintain focus.

“Don’t you think?” whispered Mrs. Desmund, stroking the matted hair of her loving husband. The maid stood petrified, holding onto her dirty rag as if she had just peered into the future, and seen her own imminent death. Her skin had turned a pale similar to that of her lover’s putrid head. 

“It’s a shame you have to see him like this.” She turned towards her. Her limbs and conciousness began betraying her as she struggled to get up and run for her life.

“P-please Mrs. D..esm..umd p..please, believe m..me please, It’s n..not…NO! Please…It was him…” she tried to sound intelligible between sobs, but Mrs. Desmund wasn’t listening.

The sound of metal scraping against stone followed by wallowing shrieks of misfortune echoed in the newly furnished kitchen.

“It’s about time I gave him the perfect gift.”

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Art

Pen held steady
Over a blank soul
With blank thoughts
A dam to the ink
Nothing flows out
Neither ink nor emotion
Stillness surrounds existence
And stillness kills creation
And it kills all emotion
Blank thoughts
And blank hearts
Bearing stories
Of blank souls
And your blank eyes
Staring into mine
Lifeless like your body
Another blank heart
Still and cold
The pen carves into your soul
And out your ink flows
Blank no more
What have I done

Brave

Sarah had always been scared of almost everything. The dark, her closet, her teacher, Father, speeding cars, the back of her house, clowns, noisy parks, spiders, you name it. And every single person she had been fortunate enough to meet in her short 14 years of life, would make it a point to remind her of that.

And they would always laugh. Everyone would laugh. Everyone would mock. Everyone, especially Hassan.

Sarah had always been a wimpy little girl— but tonight she had been brave. Tonight, she was not afraid of anything. Not of the dark in Hassan’s room. Nor of Mother’s silver knife. Or of the blood mushing in her soft hands, or the intestines spilling from Hassan’s torn stomach. Or the metallic stench of blood running stale. Or the pool of red at her feet. Nothing scared her, not tonight.

Sarah had always been called names, but after her feat of bravery, nobody would. Nobody would mock. Nobody would laugh. Nobody, especially Hassan.