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Author on Reedsy Prompts since Mar, 2021
-        It’s mine and you can’t have it. -        No, I saw it before. -        Nobody saw it, it remains unseen. -        I dream it before. -        But you can’t dream. -        Who said so? I can dream whatever I want to dream and take whatever I want to take. My freedom is limitless. I am my own master. -        Yet, you are here, stuck with me, inside this hollow space.
Mr. Khoury was a banker by day and a baker by night. He always rose at 6 AM sharp without the need of an alarm clock nor any other help. His mind was sharp as a polished stone and clear as still water in a haiku poem. His French mom used to repeat constantly that the day belongs to those who rise early. His bright eyes at the middle of his clean-shaven face carried sunshine beams to everything and everyone. At 7 ...
In our old house, was a window. A window that steals children at night. That is what my grandfather used to tell us. Us little kids running around in the house barefoot on a hot summer day.Grandpa rarely visited, but whenever he did, he used to stare out of the window just like I'm doing now. Wearing a smile and enjoying a cup of tea, he would sit on a chair facing the window situated in our kitchen just next to our green refrigerator. For hours, long into the night, where sounds and emotions went quiet and then dead.
“I always wanted to be a summer dress”, said the wrinkled wool coat. “A flowery summer dress. The kind of dress that women wore at parties, gala dinners and outdoor evenings. Where music played all night long, and fresh breezes caressed smooth delicate naked shoulders. Where women smelling like vanilla and coconut, danced to the rhythmic nocturnal beats of fresh sounds, shaking their soft body under my skin. I would feel so fine, so free, like a satin queen”.It was dark and damp, in the closet, where the wool coat laid. Hanging on ...
I, Melquart, god of the unknown, welcome you into my story, my realm, my tangled web of fiction, my sea of interpretations and fantasies. Welcome stranger, welcome friend, welcome victim, welcome misfit, welcome everyone. Before we begin, can I interest you with a glass of wine, straight from our generous vineyard, kissed by the sun, squeezed under the feet of our maidens, can I tempt you with festive alcoholic j...
No voice was heard in years. No sound was made in ages. Everyone was asleep. Everything laid still. In the deep earth kingdom, time stopped since 200 years ago, after a spell was cast on the realm and its inhabitants. Sleep descended on the people as a fate, as witchcraft, as a curse. All entities surrendered to the pressing sultan of slumber. Even animals, insects, and ants. They all rested...
It was burning hot that day in august. The lazy streets of Beirut never seemed emptier as I walked to the local bakery. The fresh smell of thyme reigned over the places once occupied by busy and rushed crowds. I craved a “Mankouche” fresh from Abou Walid’s oven, despite all my nausea and disgust, I was craving a mankouche and a cigarette.   Antoinette, sits outside. Her swollen leg lays on the white plas...
This is the first time I write in English. I have written in Arabic my entire life, mostly poetry. I think it's important to keep learning.
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