An attempt at creative writing?

So I haven’t blogged for a while. This is both good and bad – I’m more inclined to go with the former.

Anyway I have been thinking lately about doing some creative writing. I am ill today. So as I lay in bed I thought of attempting some creative writing piece.

Any comments or tips on creative writing will be most welcomed! I haven’t penned fictional writing since GCSE days!

D-Day

escape

Nabeela fiddled with her clammy hands while she anxiously sat on the small foot stool besides her bed. A thousand thoughts were racing through her head. “Will this work? Would anyone notice? Shit what if I get caught?!”

It was 5am and today was her D-Day. Nabeela spent years thinking about this day. Through her determination, tenacity and forethought, she meticulously planned every aspect of how this moment would pass. Yet, here she irritatedly sat waiting for 4:15am. Today 15 minutes seemed like eternity.

SLAM!

The bathroom door was slammed close. Breathing heavily and fast Nabeela wondered who that might be. She desperately hoped it would be her little sister and not her Mum. Her mother is a light sleeper and if she were to be up right now, she would not go back to sleep and… then she might be awake and hear everything! – “No, no, no…!” thought Nabeela. She couldn’t bare another day in this hell hole – she had to escape. Today was the day. Finally the moment she had planned for the last few weeks was so close – she couldn’t bear the thought of losing it.

A few moments passed. Nabeela firmly, but quietly, pressed her small ears against the bedroom door. She was playing her usual detective game – by now her anxiety made her quite well attuned to noises by now to noises in the hallway.  She hoped that by hearing the footsteps of the person exiting the bathroom would give her a clue on who had occupied it. The rapid footsteps on the ground reverberated in her left ear and a weakening of her racing heartbeats appeared. It was Samaara. The little one had rushed back to bed as the morning darkness gave her the creeps. Nabeela felt her tensed shoulders relax a little and felt a somewhat unburdened for a brief moment. She smiled and shed a tear. She thought of her little baby sister. She would miss her so much. But what option she did have? Just because she couldn’t rescue both of them didn’t mean she shouldn’t try to at least rescue herself. She owed herself that much. And who knew, maybe one day she can save Samaara too? Right now she had to do what was needed to survive and be in control of her life.

As Nabeela sat there, she watched the clock. It was 4:10am. In 5 minutes time, she would have to slowly make her move. In that very moment she felt the strong urge to cry. A string of salty tears covered her smooth brown cheeks. She felt heartbroken and crippled. She knew that after today everything will change. She knew she would simultaneous lose control and gain control. But the pain she felt today was the most immense feeling ever which made her feel truly overwhelmed. Through her watery eyes and blurred vision she reach out for her tissue box. It was empty. With a deep sigh Nabeela pulled up her headscarf and used it to wipe away her tears. It comes handy sometimes. She thought about the irony of this moment and lightly chuckled at herself.

It was 4:12 am. She couldn’t stop clock-watching. It is a habit which drives her incredibly mad, but the alternative of not knowing, and not planning to every little detail just was not possible. She knew she had to be at the living room window at precisely 4:15 am. She had to carry all her worldly possessions in two plastic black bin bags and chuck them outside for her boyfriend to collect them and put into his car. She had to do this so exactly because if she waited for it to be 4:30am then her parents fajr alarm would go off. They would wake up and hear the noise of the front door closing. The consequences of what may follow that made her shudder with fear. No, this alternative was not a choice.

In 2 minutes time Nabeela was going to run away from home. The only home she ever knew for the last 18 years of her life. She stared at her mocha-cream bedroom door. She took a deep breath and slowly and quietly twisted the silver door handle…

 

Thank you for reading. 🙂

~X~