Story


**Synopsis:** A story about breakups and introspection.

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The noise around me dulled into a quiet whir. I just stared in anguish at his lips. Each movement they made used to make my heart flutter, but in that moment, I simply felt a void growing with every movement. I focused on every tiny hair drawing from the stubble around his mouth. I averted my glance to his eyes, his brows dancing to the tune of apology and sadness.

“Hey, are you listening?”

I shook my head. “Yeah, I’m just… why now? Why after all I’ve put in?”

“I tried to- “

“I’ve done everything you’ve wanted and more. I’ve attended every presentation, birthday, and funeral you had to go to, even if I had work, I've always been there for you. And how often have you been there for me?”

He fumed in response, “I’ve done plenty for you, what are you trying to say?”

“I let you sleep with me. I’ve met your family. I’ve dedicated so much to you. Just… just fuck off.”

I pushed past him and went to the door. As soon as I went out into the winter winds, my skin chilled, but my blood boiled. Somehow, despite feeling both, I also felt nothing. I focused on walking through campus. I took out my phone and texted my best friend, May. I told her I needed to see her. I wasn’t sad, I was fuming, and I needed someone to be there for me to yell both with and at. I stared, waiting for her response before I got impatient and put my phone away.

I went into the cafeteria, thinking that food would be a good outlet right about now. Despite the lack of people around me at the counter, with no one ahead of me, and no one near me, it still felt like it was crowded. The cashier was talking to the chef beside him. I stared at his lips, waiting for them to stop, waiting for his focus to shift to me. I pulled out my phone from my pocket and stared at it a bit to try and see if May had responded yet. She hadn’t – despite her profile saying she was online. I groaned and messaged her, telling her to fucking answer already. I then put my phone in my pocket, looked at the cashier, and impatiently scolded him, “sorry but I’ve been waiting here for five minutes, can you do your job yet? Or should I find another cashier?”

“I’m sorry - I thought you were on your phone.”

“Never mind, just please pay more attention.”

When I got my food, I walked out and picked a seat, annoyed at the overwhelming number of couples in the area. Holding hands. Heads on shoulders. I was going to one empty chair when I noticed a girl a few tables away: May. I hurried up to her, put down my tray quickly, and glared into her eyes. She instantly broke away from her phone, looking up, startled. “Where were you? I needed you.” Her eyes looked worried.

She looked at me apologetically. “Sorry, I didn’t notice – what’s up?”

“We broke up. After all this fucking time, and all this fucking effort – and worst of all, there was no one there when I needed them.” She looked down, embarrassed.

I started telling her about it all. About the whole thing. And then she started tearing up as she looked up at me.

“Don’t be so upset,” I responded, trying to console her, “I’ll be fine. I just fucking hate him. He-”

“My mom’s in the hospital.”

“What?”

She replied quietly and briefly, “Yeah.”

I looked at her eyes again. Red. Watery. We sat in silence. And my eyes started matching hers.

“I’m sorry,” I said quietly, almost whispering.


A moment later, I got up in silence and just walked out. I felt guilty. Guilty for being mad. Mad at her mom for being hurt. Mad at her for not caring more about my story. Mad at myself for storming out. I needed air. I couldn’t breathe.

I finally reached the gardens. I could have sworn it was raining. I felt the cold air. I felt the droplets on my clothes. But I looked up and saw the sky was clear. I closed my eyes, felt teardrops cool my reddened face, and breathed a long, slow breath, doing my all to calm myself. When I opened my eyes, my breathing stabilized. I noticed the flowerbeds of lilies, daffodils, and jasmines adorning the sides of the pathways. I stared at them for what seemed like an eternity, as the yellows and whites captured me.

“Hey,” a voice shattered my focus, “long time no see!”

I turned to see a familiar face, and replied quietly, “Hi.”

“How’s your semester going?”

“It’s fine. Busy. How have you been?”

“I’m great!” he exclaimed, “Oh, have you met Dina?”

“No,” I smiled, “it’s nice to meet you.”

I saw the way he held her hand. His fingers lightly wrapping around hers. Her arm barely pressed against his. Hardly the way I did, when I tugged on his arm and held him constantly, worried someone would take him. I looked at his eyes and smiled. It has been years since I first explored them. They had instantly captured my attention, leaving me breathless: the light bronze surrounding his pupil. And then, one day, I decided I loathed them. I don’t know how, but it was so stupid. I hated every part of him that I used to love. But today I remembered. They were warm. Friendly. And I hadn’t noticed, but they were soothing me.

“I just wanted to say hi, but I have to walk Dina to class,” he said.

I had just really noticed Dina now. She smiled and recognized the pain I was hiding. I don’t know how I knew, but I did, and I don’t know how she knew, but she did.

“It’s okay, I bet you two want to catch up.” She kissed his cheek. “I’ll see you later on, okay babe?”

She had such confidence. Not just in herself but in their love. She knew it would be there forever, if she took care of it. And I remembered how I used to be with him. How I used to demand he come over when I was upset. How I used to go over to him when he was busy. When he was depressed. When he needed to be alone. But I needed him more. And I demanded him there, always.

“Are you sure?” I asked.

“Yeah. But let’s meet up some time, the three of us,” she reassured me, smiled and walked off. I guess she had no reason to be worried about me taking him.

A moment of silence passed. A moment that lingered for a while as we watched her walk off. Without turning, I said something I hadn’t told anyone in a long time. Something I had to learn to say more - to my partners, my friends. To the people I’ve hurt.

“I’m sorry.”


---

**Author's note:** Special thanks to Sara Shalaby and Maryam Kotb for editing the story, and Merna Ahmed for copyediting. Written for AUC Times.

---

Image Source: Artwork by myself

Bronze Eyes


**Synopsis:** A soldier gets bored after a long day in the sun.

**Content Warning:** Violence

---

The Soldier rested his back against the wall, taking a draw from his cigarette as he stared at the four men in front of him playing cards. Two argued that the third cheated, and the last was laughing in a way reminiscent of a donkey. The scorching sun stretched their shadows across the encampment. The Soldier stood alone, his dry lips stuck together from hours of silence, split in the middle where he held his Marlboro. They had been sitting tight for a few days, since the cease-fire had been called, and most soldiers had been enjoying their time off. Not the Soldier. He tapped his foot against the ground, eager to do something.

The Soldier pushed himself off the wall and picked up the rifle next to him. His black boots crunched against the ground as he walked. He entered the sniper’s den, a small area covered with a tarp at the edge of the base, and put his hand on the shoulder of the other sniper there.

“I’ve got this, Yusuf,” the Soldier said, the ashes from his cigarette falling as he spoke.

“How long’s it been," Yusuf asked, breaking into a yawn.

“Around three hours,” 

Yusuf nodded and rubbed his eyes, “Yeah, I’ll just go get some shut-eye.”

The Soldier helped Yusuf up by the hand, and swiveled to pushed him out of the den. He mechanically fixed his rifle atop the beige sandbags that gave him cover. Sprawling across the sand-covered wooden planks that made the floor of the den, he put his head against the stock of the rifle and looked through the scope.

He and Yusuf took shifts watching an old road that passed by the base, linking Kurdish Syria and Turkey. The road had barely been traveled for a month. Cracks ran throughout the asphalt, and it was covered with sand from lack of use. He remembered when he was first deployed, overseeing tanks and armored personnel carriers driving into Kurdistan.

After a few hours of staring through the scope, his muscles grew stiff, and so the Soldier rested his eyes and stretched his neck. As he opened his eyes again, he soon found himself gazing at his dozens of tattoos on his arms, he remembered when he got each of them. Tattoos were very rare in Turkey, but he had started getting them at 16, sneaking out of his house to get them with his small sum of savings. His favorite was a cracked skull, with thorny vines twirling around it. As he grew older the quality of the tattoos got better. Most of the tattoos covered swelling lines. There were more lines on his back, where his dad’s belt met his skin. Some were lines on his wrist. Those he claimed as his own. The Soldier’s body was a gallery of pain that he had turned into beauty with his little inked masterpieces.

Then he noticed that tattoo with his mom’s name. Cliché, maybe, but it was important to him nonetheless. She was always there for him. She was there when he won his football matches. She was there for him when he shed his tears. When she wasn’t feigning ignorance of how her husband was beating her son, she iced his wounds and made him feel better.  And now she was there for him on his arm.

---

The sound of spinning wheels drowned out the sound of music. The Boy was playing with his toys, an action figure and a toy featherless velociraptor, pressing them against each other to act out the fighting. He made sounds to imitate the grunts and groans of his action figures. The screeching of the velociraptor and the groans of the man. "Take that!" But he yelled too loudly and disturbed his father at the wheel. The Father spun around and smacked the Boy’s legs, making him yelp out in pain.

“Can you shut up for five minutes! If I hear another peep out of you for the rest of the ride, I’m going to break your windpipe so I can get some damn peace.”

The Boy stifled his tears, wrapping his arms around his legs to ease the pain. His mother turned in her seat and soothed the Boy’s bruise with her hand.

“Leave him be,” the father said. “if you keep babying him, he’ll never become a real man.”

The mother quickly faced forwards in obedience. The Boy knew she was just as scared as he was. The Boy’s tears fell onto his bruise, which helped somewhat. Soon, the father pulled over.

“I need a break. From driving, from you, from this fucking life. I get zero gratitude from either of you, and I’m so goddamn tired of it.” He slammed the door, and when he was a clear distance away, the mother turned and gave her son a kiss on the cheek.

“I know he gets angry a lot, but never mind him. You know, he loves you.”

---

The Soldier had stopped looking at his arms and was now staring into the desert. He shook his head to get some focus and reached for the water bottle next to him. As he drank, he saw dust rising far in the distance. He put down the bottle, seeing a Toyota driving across the road. The Soldier put his eye to his scope and took a closer look. The car came to a halt on the side of the road. He made out three figures inside the car, as one quickly opened the door and got out. It was a man, wearing a beige shirt and khakis. Half a minute later, a woman exited the other side, and stared out into the desert.

The Soldier stared at the figures for a minute, his hand grasping his rifle. His finger was itching. He hadn’t been in combat for weeks. But now, right there, he finally had a target. A hundred kilometers out, no one would know where the shot came from. Hell, no one would care. The Soldier looked to the ground and thought for a moment, finger tracing the trigger guard. The woman hadn’t moved, but the man was pacing back and forth.

Suddenly, a jolt of energy came to the Soldier. He put his finger on the trigger, aimed at the woman, and fired. He watched her look around for a moment, before she lunged forward and collapsed a second later, when the bullet finally hit. The Soldier grinned. The man in the distance turned to face his wife and swiftly running towards her. The Soldier grinned further as he turned the rifle towards the man and shot. It felt good. The release. The adrenaline. The power he’s wanted for so long.

The fact he could make that shot filled him with a looming lust for blood. The Soldier stared through the scope at the man crawling towards his motionless wife, leaving behind a trail of blood. The man soon turned onto his back, his body twitching and chest spasming. And then he just stopped. The deed was done.

The Soldier reached for a cigarette and stared at the bodies through his scope. As he gazed at them, he noticed that the woman was moving strangely. Soon, an arm reached out from beneath her. It was small and skinny. Feebly, a small child pulled himself out from under the woman. The Soldier had no idea the kid was there. His jaw dropped, and his cigarette fell to the ground. The Boy, whose shoulder was bleeding from the hit, dropped to his knees as got out from under her, before turning and pushing his mother to wake. His expression was almost indescernable from this distance, but it was clear he was dazed and confused. The Soldier stared for another minute. He saw the kid looking over at his dad, and begin to pull his mother towards the car. His finger tightened again, and he took the shot. The bullet hit the Boy’s head so hard he flew backwards snapping his neck, besides the giant hole left by the 7.62×51mm round passing cleanly through. The Soldier lifted his head up from the scope. And he smiled. Ear to ear.

---

**Author's note:** Special thanks to Arwa Hezzah and Laila Ghoneim who helped me with editing the article, and Ingie Gohar for the picture! This story is a work of fiction, but is inspired by the carnage that comes to civilians with every war, not just that between Turkey and Kurdish Syria.

---

Image Source: Ingie Gohar

Through The Scope

The Grey Wolf


**Synopsis:** A student battles with her social anxiety. 

**Content Warning:** Depression and Anxiety

---

My hands tapped against my pants. My teeth were gritting. My heart was racing faster than ever. I clenched my fist and looked down to try calm myself. Twenty years old and I still had no idea how to do this. Class had ended five minutes ago, and I was still in my seat. The walls  around me were  alabaster-colored, with beige tiled floors and wooden desks. Shahd and Dina, two of my classmates, were in the row ahead of me. I had overheard them talking towards the end of class and had since been enthralled, pretending to work on my assignment. They were talking about my favorite band, Queen. Shahd was filled with excitement as she talked about her favorite album - *A Night At The Opera*, while Dina played with her hair, dark as night, preparing to get back to her rant about why *News Of The World* was far better.

“Even without *Bohemian Rhapsody*, you have *You’re My Best Friend*, *‘39*, and *Love of My Life*,” Shahd enthused, gesticulating dramatically.

I opened my mouth to agree. I wanted to say how intense *The Prophet’s Song* was, and how *You’re My Best Friend* filled me with happiness. I looked up towards them, thinking  I could finally say it. I waited for my opening. My chance to reply. And when it came - when Shahd finished - I simply shut my mouth.

I picked up my books and bag and walked out of the classroom. I was tormented by a shriek – a cacophony of voices, all mine.

*Nobody wanted to hear my opinion - why would I inject myself like that?*

*They don’t care about me at all.*

*You’re My Best Friend? Please, you have no friends.*

I tried not to listen to myself when I was in these moods, but I was right. I had been going to this university for two years, and still had no one to talk to. Every semester I hoped that I would finally be able to meet someone, anyone at all, and every semester, my hopes would still fade away.

I walked past the gardens, the scent of freshly cut grass filled the air. I saw dozens of students in groups of two, three, and even eight. How could anyone manage that? Talking to not one but *seven* other people? I dared not look at them longingly, dared not hope that someone would say, “I love your dress”, or “I know you from Algebra, right?” I simply stared down. I didn’t want to get my hopes up. I didn’t want to scare them off.
 
Ten minutes later, I reached my dorm room, and let down my bag. I’d hardly gotten any sleep last night. I hoped to get some work done, but instead I just collapsed on to the bed. I stared up at the ceiling and the blankness of the beige textured paint stared back at me. I felt so alone. I turned to my side and pressed my knees to my chest, curling into a ball. I breathed slowly, trying to stifle my tears. My eyes started to feel heavy, and I drifted away.
 
When I opened my eyes again, I found myself staring  into an endless void. Blackness surrounded me, but somehow, I felt just a little bit less lonesome. A chill ran down my spine and the cold of the emptiness seeped into my bones. My entire body was suspended, far from anything that could warm me, far from any feeling whatsoever. I floated forwards. Soon, streaks of light began to pass me by. They started coming out slowly, but soon, the muted colors were flying past me at a million miles an hour. The longer they flew, the longer the rays grew. The colors slowly grew bolder, and my body stiffened in fear. The hues began taking the shape of a bright red silhouette, a girl, far ahead in the distance. As I reached the girl, the outline enveloped me until I saw nothing but the cherry hue. Next a girl of canary-yellow started to come over the horizon, before she promptly encompassed me as well. I went through girls of salmon, violet, and emerald before suddenly, everything stopped.

A dark hallway appeared around me, with doorways on each side. As I walked past them, I saw different dates. The first date seemed familiar - my birthday. I walked past more doors with  varying dates, until I came across an open door, with a piercing white light flooding the corridor. As I approached the door, my skin grew paler, anxious of what I may find. I turned the corner, and saw a small figure, a girl , surrounded by more children, a few meters around her in every direction. All the children were raven-black, on a scarlet matte floor. The child started to walk to the right, towards some of the other boys and girls. A bright white figure soon floated down, her wings supporting her. Soon, she surrounded the girl in the center. As my eyes adjusted to the piercing brightness, I saw a face emerge. I recognized her but could not place her - my mind was far too frantic. A bright blue gemstone on a silver necklace adorned her neck. She smiled down at the child. The girl looked back at me, and I soon realized – she was me, back when I was eight. The gateway slid shut in a fraction of a second, forcing me back with a gust of air.

There was a pause. Then, a shift in the atmosphere, though I couldn’t say what exactly. It felt…drier. I waited for something to happen, for the pain of remembering something to come back. And then I felt nothing. I felt hollow. And it was worse than any pain I could have possibly imagined. I looked down, crouched, and put my face into my hands. I couldn’t even cry. I heard a whisper, growing louder, and becoming higher in pitch. I felt the pressure increase around me.
 
And then I heard my alarm. I was cold. I cradled myself tighter. I pushed myself up, and slowly shifted out of bed. I looked back at my clock and saw I had only twenty minutes until class, so I quickly got dressed, grabbed something to eat and began to head out. As I picked up  my keys from the doorside dresser, I paused to look at the photograph facing  me.

I picked it up. I hadn’t seen my mom in two months. I missed her terribly, but college work always got the best of me. She looked like me. Dark brown hair, bright hazel eyes, and a round, youthful face. As I ran my fingers gingerly across the black frame, I thought of all the times we shared together. I put down the photo, getting one last grin as I saw her  bright blue lapis lazuli necklace shining at me.

Time to get to class.

As I walked to the classroom, I started thinking about it again. How she never let me play with the other kids. She always had her reasons, that she was scared I’d get hurt. She missed me. Whatever the reason, I never got to see any of the kids in my grade. Tears welled out my eyes. I wiped them quickly before I walked in.

I pushed through the door gently, peering inside. I had been rushing to class, so I was four minutes early. The girls, Shahd and Dina were the only ones there already. The sunlight streamed through the windows, tinting the class orange. I walked past them quietly. “Morning,” Shahd said to me, and I anxiously smiled back subtly out of the side of my mouth. I put my backpack on my desk behind them. Dina peered at me before looking back at Shahd, and began talking about yesterday’s assignments.

I unpacked my bag and began doodling in my notebook, sketching the base of a head, to take my mind off my revelation. As I started to put in the eyes and iris, a shadow covered my drawing.

“That’s pretty good,” Dina said. She grinned at me widely with a sparkle in her green eyes.

I looked up slowly and gulped. I nodded gratefully, and was going to just look back down, but I felt I had to say something more. She was admiring my work.

*What if she hates my voice?*

*What if she is just teasing me and hates the drawing?*

*What if she’s pitying me and doesn’t actually care?*

I close my eyes and sigh. “Thank you,” I reply softly, “It’s going to be Alex Turner.” Her eyes brightened up even more, shining like a pair of emeralds, clearly a fan of Alex. I put down my pencil. “I’m Nada by the way.”

---

**Author's note:** Lots of thanks to the wonderful Amina Abdel-Halim for editing this story, originally published in the AUC Times.

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[Image Source](https://www.pexels.com/photo/person-wearing-blue-hoodie-near-body-of-water-433142/)

Detached


**Synopsis:** A woman stands in her apartment anxiously, nervous of what's to come.

**Content Warning:** Domestic Abuse

---

It was a hot Monday evening, with a cool breeze breaking up the warmth. Dina sat on a couch by the window, stiff, with her arms to her sides, clenching the fabric of the couch. She’d been sitting there since she got home from work half an hour ago, now staring intently at the clock in her living room. She had two minutes. She broke her gaze, and began to look around the room, trying to occupy herself in her last few moments. Dina turned to a vase on her windowsill, noticing she’d have to change the water of the flower that occupied it. She picked it up carefully, delicately, and took it to her kitchen. After she dumped the water in the vase, she started filling it again while she gingerly checked the rose, admiring the soft crimson petals, which wrapped around themselves gracefully. She raised it up to her nose and smelled it, admiring the refreshing aroma. She began to smile to herself.

She stared out her kitchen window, as the light highlighted her small frame. A woman in her late twenties, Dina had long brown hair, soft rosy cheeks, and glowing hazel eyes. She was vaguely aware that she was pretty: which people told her a lot when she was younger. She was popular in highschool, and successful in college and in her early career, owing to her  intelligence and charisma. Now, her concept beauty was ephemeral, no matter what people said. She did not think much of herself in any way. But as she stood there holding onto the rose, she felt somewhat content. Like her, the flower was beautiful, though ignorant of it. Like her, the flower was small. Like her, the flower was gentle.

Suddenly, the door slammed, catching her attention. He was here. She quickly put the rose back in the vase, turned off the water and rushed to the door. There stood Adham, tall and handsome, with a dark, trimmed beard and even darker, curly hair. He turned to look at his girlfriend and smiled warmly. Although his bright blue eyes pierced her, they had not matched his smile—far too relaxed. He went up to her and held her warmly, his hand caressing her side. Dina shifted uncomfortably, but subtly. 

“I missed you so much,” he announced, breaking the embrace. “How are you, honey?” She sighed and kissed him.

Over dinner, Adham was talking about his colleagues - about their hilarious jokes and sad stories. Dina looked into his eyes as he spoke, smiling at the protectiveness and care for his friends. As he finished his tale, he insisted upon knowing about her day. Dina’s eyes lit up as she began talking about the children she had taught, who all got together without her knowing to get her a nice mug as a gift.

“That’s nice,” he smirked, “I’m proud of you.”

“Thank you,” she grinned back.

“How did you get back in time to make lunch though? The bus usually arrives late.”

“I came home with Z-.” Dina cought her tongue and slowly swallowed her words. She regretted opening her mouth. 

“With whom?” Adham asked, raising one eyebrow inquisitively.

“Ziad.” She already knew the weight of what she said..

He clenched his fist around his fork and grit his teeth together as he swallowed his food.

“I told you not to spend time with the guys at work.” He hissed as he continued cutting his steak.

Dina grabbed her own arm and began stroking it nervously. She didn’t know what to do - whether to explain herself, or to stay silent. She gulped again. “I – I can’t ignore all the men around me,” she stuttered.

“Yes, you can. I don’t care how, I don’t trust you around men,” he began cutting quicker and more forcefully into the meat.

“There’s dozens of people there, I can’t just leave th-“

“Yes, you can. I don’t want my girlfriend being a slut. Now drop the fucking subject or else.”

She paused. The silence filled the room, the only sound coming from Adham’s knife, which was cutting randomly into his steak all over, as he tried to let out his anger. Dina stared at her glass of water.

“Or… Or else what?” she asked. She tried to put on a straight face, but her feet were tapping anxiously but silently under the table.

He dropped his silverware and grasped the table, which screeched along the floor by the force of his anger. “Excuse me?” he snarled back at her.

“Adham, I can’t handle this. If you keep this up,” she paused and sighed. She looked into his eyes. She fought against herself. Her mind was tearing itself apart. She loved him – she knew she did – but just because you love someone doesn’t mean you belong with them. She continued: “If you keep this up, I’m going to have to kick you out.” Her brows furrowed as menacingly as she could make them, but her gentle features betrayed her.

Adham tossed the table aside, spilling all the food and breaking the plates in a cacophony of sound. He rushed over to her and in a moment, he was standing above her. Dina flinched but kept her composure, her hands surreptitiously gripping the sides of the chair in fear.

“Say that again.” He raised his hand menacingly.

Dina pushed her chair back and folded her arms, and she slowly gave the order: “Get out.”

Adham noticed she was trembling, and smirked. “You don’t want me gone.”

“No, I don’t.” She looked down at her feet, before she worked up the courage to continue, and looked him in the eye. “But I need you to leave anyways.”

His smirk turned sour. He stared at her and lifted his hand, and she closed her eyes, terrified. Nothing happened. Her eyes were closed for what felt like an eternity, but a moment later, she eased them open, and across from her, the door was left ajar as she caught a peek of him storming out in rage. She knew he didn’t want to hurt her. He was a cruel man, though in his own, disturbed way, he did love her. But that excused nothing. That did not make up for the years of emotional pain she felt. That did not mean she was at all free when they were together. But he was gone — for now.

Dina let out a sigh. She began shaking uncontrollably, knowing this was just the beginning of the fight to get out of this hell. Dina noticed her hand was clenched, ready to fight back if need be. She walked nervously into the kitchen, and took a glass from her brown oak shelves, and filled it in her sink. As she took a sip and gulped down the water, before openning her eyes. Shifted her glance to the red rose which absorbed her attention. Dina put down her glass and picked up the rose, and sniffing it again and relaxed her. She felt something on her fingers though, and opened her eyes, noticing blood flowing down her finger. Then she remembered. All roses have thorns.

---

**Author's note:** I wrote this story to talk about domestic abuse, a huge problem not only in Egypt but all over the world. I wanted to write specifically about domestic abuse when you love your partner though. This happens constantly and is extremely dangerous because victims tend to rationalize their abusers' violence. If you or anyone you know is in a potentially violent relationship please seek help.

I tried to ask many women for their perspectives on the story before I published it to avoid portraying the situation incorrectly or potentially hurting someone. Thank you to everyone who reviewed it, especially to Raneem Mangoud and Laila El Refaie, who gave a lot editorial advice.

[Image Source](https://www.pexels.com/photo/beautiful-bloom-blooming-close-up-593655/)

The Crimson Rose

**Synopsis:** The world through the eyes of a dog, Patchi.

---

Darkness broke as Patchi’s eyes flutter open slowly, taking in the warm hues of the room around her as she feels a hand rub her back. Wagging her tail, she let out her tongue, panting, excited to see her family. She quickly got up to lick her dad, who then attached a leash. They walked through the piles of bills and warning notices, around their television stand, and left the house, getting into her dad’s red flat-back truck. 

She had no idea where they were going, but usually loved going out. She jumped up from her chair next to dad, up to the window, letting the cool air blow against his face. She sniffed the wonderful smell of the oak trees and cornfields that pass them by. She turned and look at dad lovingly. He had a sad look on his face as he stared forward, but when he looked back at her, he smiled, before he looked back ahead. Soon, the car came to a halt and they got out at a large building. At first, Patchi worried they were at a vet. But that wasn’t it. Dad walked in and talked to a strange man sternly, a tear falling down his eye, and Patchi, not understanding, looked up confused. Soon, dad pat her head, took her face in his hands and kissed her snout. But then got up and walked past her. She barked, and tugged, but couldn’t move. She turned back, seeing the strange man holding her leash. She tried the best she could to run. Soon, Patchi gave in and fell down. Tears in her eyes, she put her snout down to the ground, closing her eyes.

Patchi’s was there for what felt like forever. Locked in a dry, cold cage, she was fed tasteless dry food. The bars of the cage were scratched all over, not only from her own claw marks, but from the claws of hundreds of other dogs, all wanting an escape from their prison. Patchi sat, tail curled around herself, hiding a scar she got when the other dogs met her, which stretches long across her back leg, the blood flaked in the fur around it.. Soon she heard a rustle, and looked up, scared. And then she heard a familiar voice. She looked up, and saw dad again. Dad hugged and kissed her, and Patchi, unabashedly happy. Dad hugged her. “I’m so sorry. This was all a mistake. And I promise you, it’ll never happen again.” Patchi didn’t understand, but licked his face anyways. Dad hugged Patchi, and picked her up. “Let’s go home,” he said, “there’s some treats just waiting for you.” 
    
 Soon, they arrived back home. Patchi, overexerted from the day’s trials, laid down on the floor. Dad kissed Patchi’s snout again, gave her a treat, and cuddled her. They laid there for an eternity, where the television used to be. The boxes gone, the couch gone, it was just the two, together, as it should be.

---

[Image Source](https://www.pexels.com/photo/light-golden-retriever-puppy-close-up-photography-159541/)

Patchi

**Synopsis:** An office worker tries to come to terms with his mundane life.

**Author’s Note:** This short story was based off a challenge to write a short story about a man who is bored - by showing and not telling, where I can’t use the words tired or bored, or any of their synonyms. Special thanks to Amina Abdel Halim for editing this piece.

---

Click clack. The sounds of fingers hitting keys. Tick tock. The noise of gears
twisting and churning at the center of a nearby clock. Bla bla. The utterances
of people speaking all around me. I only started working for this company half a
week ago, yet, I see the paradoxes clearly. The silence was deafening. An
oppressive cacophony of empty noises filled the large office, echoing and
reverbing. You don’t notice it when you arrive, but after the first hour, the
racket is enough to drive a man crazy. Then there was the office itself. The
workplace was filled mostly with men in white or blue shirts. The walls were
white. The ceilings were white. The floor was a light steel blue. So many light
colors can be serene, but here, it merely exaggerated whatever colors did not
conform to the desaturated hues. Finally, there was the smell. The smell of
nothing. The office was cleaned daily, so that every inch of it was sterile of
any imperfection, both in terms of dirt and smell. Every so often, the aroma of
a donut, the odor of coffee, or the whiff of perfume filled the space around me.
It woke me up from my passivity, only to come crashing down as soon as the air
was clear.

*I can’t do this. I can’t do this. I can’t do this.* I’ve been studying for
years to live my life - to do something – and now I’m here. I turn to look at
the framed photo on my desk. There I am. Sitting with her laying on a bench, her
head on my lap. The park we’re in is just so vibrantly green it radiates out to
me. Our bright smiles pierce through the photo and capture my attention. The
glint in our eyes maintains it. God, I miss her. God, I miss those times. I
remember how her Golden Retriever used to drag me all over to meet the other
dogs. How we used to pick strawberries from the bushes, and flowers to put in
her hair. I move my hand to my wrist, to the brown lace and white beads of the
bracelet tucked beneath my shirt cuff, the one she gave me all those years ago.

“Hey, you!” The shrieking voice breaks my focus, and my head swivels swiftly to
look at the source of the exclamation. A face hovers inches away from my own.
The bold, black glasses are the first to catch my attention. Then the short,
carefully trimmed hair, the clean-shaven face; the skinny, weak jawline, and the
bright red power tie all slowly bring me to recognize him: one of the dozens of
middle-managers roaming the office. I don’t know the man, he could be faceless,
but they all look so alike that he’s still instantly recognizable.

“What the hell are you doing?” I stare despondently into his eyes, then shift to
staring at his lips. I don’t need to know what he’s saying; I know why he’s
here. I just mumble in agreement and look back to the bright blue fluorescence
of the monitor. To excel. You know you’re not meant to be where you are when you
stare at *fucking* excel all day.

Work stretches on for hours and hours. I get up and go to the kitchen for my own
cup of coffee. I start circling the rim of my mug as I wait for the pot to boil.
But there, a flash of green draws my eyes. I walk to the window, and see a park
lit brightly, of amber and verdant leaves dancing in the sun. Tall, brown pine
trees tower above children chasing each other, and dogs chase the children. I
press my hands close against the glass as I lean forward, looking down. I let
the vision consume me. Upon closer inspection, I see a girl of around 10,
staring up at me. Her brown pigtails fly in the wind as she sits on the grass.
She starts to smile, and wave. After a second, I realize she means me. The
corners of my mouth pull back into a smile. She looks for a moment more before
she turns away – must have been called back by her mom.

As she leaves, the reflection starts to catch my eye. The whiteness. The blues.
I clench my fist and sigh before turning, grabbing my coffee, and heading to my
desk. As I approach the cubicle, the man from before catches me again. With the
same disdain, the same anger, simply using his power to bark orders at whoever
he can. A minute passes by of him yelling. I can’t take it. I close my eyes.
“Look at me when I’m talking to you, *dumbass*!”

I can’t take it.

My fist clenches around the handle of the mug. I open my eyes. I swiftly hand
him the mug and push past him. “Get back here. I’m not done with you!”

I have my targets set. The door at the far end of the office. I’m **fucking**
done.

My colleagues get up and start to look at me. “Hey, are you okay?”

They start to whisper amongst themselves as the manager’s screeching rises.

I push past them all. I push past it all. And I reach the handle.

I twist it.

*And.*

*I’m free.*


---

[Image Source](https://www.pexels.com/photo/light-road-landscape-nature-35600/)


The Leap

Hey there, and welcome to my first blog post! I'm Karim Abdel Hamid, a Computer Engineering student at the American Univerity in Cairo. I'm currently working on my game engine, [Grindstone](/grindstone.htm). I'm also co-developing [Oak.js](https://donn.github.io/Oak.js/) an web-based assembler, disassembler and simulator for RISC-V and MIPS. 

I hope to open my own game development studio way in the future. I love games because it's both a science, and an art, and I love engine development specifically because it feels like I have the power to do anything at my fingertips! Computer graphics is such a deep and immersive topic that I could talk about it for days on end, and it really makes you appreciate the beauty in life. Game engines are also a lot more than that though, they're a huge software engineering project, and one that I find very intriguing!

I also love making websites! Both front-end and back-end. I really enjoy animation in UX/UI, and adding social functions to my websites (this doesn't count, since it's all frameworks).

In my personal life, I love to draw, cook, play the guitar, write stories, and hang out with my friends, family, and dog, Chewy! I have a big love of music, video games, and film, and I try to read and watch tv shows when I get a chance to (most of my reading now is computer graphics academia related though).

## Why follow the blog?
In this blog, I plan to talk about:
 * Grindstone's progress updates, including feature highlights
 * Oak.js progress updates
 * Various other projects
 * Computer Graphics Tutorials
 * Game Engine Tutorials
 * Whatever else is on my mind

I know not everyone will be interested in everything so you can search by category, but hopefully there's enough to interest everyone!

I hope you enjoy whatever is to come! Let the adventure begin! ALLONS-Y!


Karim's Blog