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A Short Story : The Story Of A Story

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Out of breath, her knuckles were bloodied and her throat was hoarse. Pain radiated through her shoulder and toes from the multiple times she slammed and kicked against the bolted entrance. “She is all I have!” Sara wailed. Sliding down the length of its cold surface, she fell to the ground and rested her cheek against the dusty floor. For the first time in a long time, she gave into self-pity and sobbed. Sayeed had taken everything—her identity, her sanity, her family. The life she once had was gone. The life she learned to accept—gone as well. Her lungs felt like they were being sucked into her throat. First Umber. Now Reema. After what seemed like an eternity, the tears ran out and the heaving stopped. Dust from the floor scraped against Sara’s cheek and lips, some drifting into her eye. Grasping the hem of her abaya, she wiped the speck away. The packet Reema stitched into the bottom grazed against her fingers. If the As-Sirat were out there, then Sayeed would no longer be her issue. They would. Images of what might await her flooded her brain as shivers ran up her spine. No one would ever be allowed to do what he did to her. With a tug, the folded paper popped out of the threads. She circled her fingers around it. What difference did it make now anyway? Everything that mattered was gone. Why not put herself out of this misery? She closed her eyes. How would it feel to sleep and never wake up? To escape to a place where monsters could no longer hurt her? Sara

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