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    • Member Info
      • Native Language:
      • Arabic
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      • Oman
      • Current Location:
      • Oman

    • Join Date: Sep 2015
    • Posts: 2
    #1

    Need Criticism On My Piece + Advice: Words of A Beloved One...

    It was the night before the 31st of December. What an amazing moment you say? I’ll leave things here for now.

    I was on my bed, trying to sleep, as usual. Those thoughts always came to my mind, thoughts that were merely an outcome of a deep memory. I wasn’t supposed to start this flow. I couldn’t stop them from coming.

    It wasn’t more than a usual night, I believed. I had special plans for tomorrow, and a gift that I have prepared for my mom. I was sure she’ll love it.

    Suddenly, with my bare ears, I hear those sounds. Sounds coming from a room, a room that we have abandoned for a long time. “Who’s in there?”, I asked myself. “Who could it be?”.

    I unwillingly hopped off my bed, heading towards that room, reaching out to that knob. “I know that this is a bad idea.. Shall I turn it?”, I said to myself. Well, if there was anything interesting I could do that boring night, it’s gotta be adventuring.

    I regret opening that door…
    “Oh my…”, I screamed. “Mom! Are you alright? What happened? Why are you coughing this hard? Please tell me..!”. I couldn’t help but scream & cry, louder than I thought I could.

    Siren sounds all over the place, people waving their hands. “What happened?”, I could hardly say with my soaring throat. All I remember was a note, a note in her hand. “What was written on it?” I tried remembering as I said this to myself. It’s blur, it’s a void to that goes into the past. It took me to the days when she a happy mom, the days where she used to be my rapture, my savior. I couldn’t help, but cry again.

    Is that note something I have to care about? Is it something my mom wanted me to know? Shall I be solicitous about this. I can’t tell. Not until I’m out of this bed.

    As the next day’s morning sun shone…
    I stared continuously into her eyes. It’s been hours, even more. There was something beyond those eyes. I could see a dark void through her eyes. It might’ve been something she never wanted me to know. “It’s just a picture, you certainly can’t care less about it” I repeatedly said this to myself.

    A sound whispered into my ears: “Forgive me, Rashid. Forgive me”. “What was that! Who are you?”, I screamed in my head.
    For hours and until now, everything was just an inner fight between me and that familiar sound. I couldn’t make it stop. It kept talking to me. “Am I hallucinating? Yes you are. All of this is fake. This isn’t real. It certainly isn’t Rashid. This is nothing but some sort of mental problem. A few pills will probably solve it”.

    “Ahhhh….!”, screamed my sister from that same room…

    [to be continued…]

    __________________________

    Please criticize as needed and if you have extra time in your hands, some advice will be incredibly useful.
    Thanks!
    Last edited by Rashid Hilal; 05-Sep-2015 at 15:02.

    • Member Info
      • Native Language:
      • Arabic
      • Home Country:
      • Oman
      • Current Location:
      • Oman

    • Join Date: Sep 2015
    • Posts: 2
    #2

    Re: Need Criticism On My Piece + Advice: Words of A Beloved One...

    It would really help me out if someone gives me some advice and criticism. I'm trying to practice my creative skills.

    Thanks again!

  1. teechar's Avatar
    • Member Info
      • Native Language:
      • English
      • Home Country:
      • Iraq
      • Current Location:
      • Iraq

    • Join Date: Feb 2015
    • Posts: 6,196
    #3

    Re: Need Criticism On My Piece + Advice: Words of A Beloved One...

    Quote Originally Posted by Rashid Hilal View Post
    It was the night before the 31st of December. What an amazing moment you say? I'll leave things here for now.

    I was on my lying in bed, trying to sleep, as usual. Those thoughts always came to my mind; thoughts that were merely an outcome of a deep memory. I didn't particularly welcome them, but wasn’t supposed to start this flow. I couldn’t stop them from coming.

    It wasn't more than a usual night, I believed. I had special plans for the next/following day tomorrow, and a gift that I have had prepared for my mom. I was sure she’ll she'd love it.

    Suddenly, with my bare ears, I heard those sounds. Sounds coming from a room , a room that we'd have abandoned for a long ago. time. “Who’s in there?”, I asked myself. “Who could it be?”.

    I unwillingly hopped off my bed, headed ing towards that room and reached ing out to for that door knob. “I know that this is a bad idea.. Shall I turn it?”, I said to asked myself. Well, if there was anything interesting I could do that it was a boring night, and I felt adventurous. it’s gotta be adventuring.

    I regret opening that door…
    “Oh my…”, I screamed. “Mom! Are you alright? What happened? Why are you coughing this hard? Please tell me!” I couldn't help but scream and cry, louder than I thought I could.

    I could hear the sounds of siren sounds all over the place, and there were people waving their hands. “What happened?” I could hardly say with my soar ing throat. All I remember was a note; a note in her hand. “What was written on it?” I tried remembering as I said this to myself. It’s blur; it’s a void to that goes into the past. It took back me to the days when she was a happy mom; the days where when she used to be my rapture, my savior. I couldn’t help, but cry again.

    Is that note something I have to care about? Is it something my mom wanted me to know? Shall I be solicitous about this. I can't tell, not until I'm out of this bed.

    As the next day’s morning sun shone…
    I stared continuously into her eyes. It’s been hours, even more. There was something beyond those eyes. I could see a dark void through her eyes. It might’ve been something she never wanted me to know. “It’s just a picture. You certainly can't care less about it” I repeatedly said this to myself.

    A sound whispered into my ears: “Forgive me, Rashid. Forgive me”. “What was that! Who are you?”, I screamed in my head.
    For hours, and until now, everything was has been just an inner fight between me and that familiar sound. I couldn’t make it stop. It kept talking to me. “Am I hallucinating? Yes you are. All of this is fake. This isn’t real. It certainly isn’t Rashid. This is nothing but some sort of mental problem. A few pills will probably solve it.

    “Ahhhh….!”, screamed my sister from that same room…
    It's too ambiguous for my liking. Also, why is the night of December 30 so special?

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