Predestination And Other Stories



  PREDESTIONATION AND OTHER STORIES

  BY ANNIE HAQ

  Published by Annie Haq23 at SmashWords.

  Copyright 2012 Annie Haq

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  This story has been taken from my novel “As Angels Fall.” I hope you give this novel a read. Your comments and reviews are welcome. Thank you!

  FOR I HAVE SINNED…

  Swirls of mist unfurled around the small cottage; hiding the silver gleam the moon cast onto its rooftop. It was past midnight. The weather was cold but not as cold as the people in the house had grown. The people who dwelt within were mere strangers. They did not know each other, though they had been together for years.

  Mariam tried to sleep but the cold made it impossible. The sixteen year old tossed and turned for a while. She finally sat up and grumbled. She threw her blanket off and shuddered. She walked to the fireplace and lit it quickly. The small blaze flared weakly in front of her. She poked it so that it would not die that quickly.

  She settled next to it. She did not have her own dreams anymore. So, she adopted other people's dreams and fostered other people's hope. The path she had deemed as the right path lead her to a dead end. She felt lost momentarily but then realized there still was another path she could tread.

  The path they called the "wrong path". She soon realized this was the direction she was meant to take. This was her path; she was right where she belonged. The line between good and evil became hazy; it was completely obliterated. Yet, a feeling of regret pursued her everywhere. Her mind had spun a web of guilt that was slowly choking her. She had not figured out what she was guilty of but she was one of the condemned all the same.

  She looked at her wrists; remnants of the incisions she had inflicted onto herself gaped at her. She refused to believe she was addicted to the feeling yet the hope of feeling anything even if it was agony made her cut the soft tissue again and again. Long sleeves covered the scars well. Nobody noticed. Nobody cared.

  She despised her apathy. That pain was the only thing that made her feel human-made her feel she was capable of emotion. But the pain did not last either. She cried for hours at length, for no apparent reason, she knew she was not sad. She knew she did not have much to cry for anymore. She knew she had nothing to lose.

  She immersed herself in alcohol and drugs but, nothing sent a ripple through the stagnation. She was surrounded by people but she could not understand them, they could not understand her.

  The past and her memories were cold and humorless, the travesty of "love" and the indifference she had suffered-everything seemed to be ridiculing her. They were nothing but reminders of who she really was…of what she really was...

  "Are you enjoying it?" his ominous voice reverberated again and again. "Say thank you." "Yes." she would answer helplessly. "I still am enjoying the repercussions of what you did. Thank you." She spoke acridly.

  She remembered how much she had prayed that it would end soon. How long she had waited for somebody to intervene. It had ended now but the past threatened her even more. She had nobody to despise so; she directed her hatred towards herself.

  The truth made her hideous. The truth made her unworthy of the joy everybody else deserved. The truth could never set her free. She pretended not to care about these things but the hollow feeling made her envy the people who could laugh carelessly. She was so jealous of the people who could trust others, of those who had others to care about them. Though, she never admitted it- she yearned to find somebody to care about her. All the same she was certain that such a person did not exist.

  She flashed fake smiles at people and called then her friends but they knew nothing about her. Mariam was just so sick of everything. Redundant life, spun slowly like a carousel leading her nowhere. She was stuck. She was lost. The only thing that made her feel alive was the blade.

  "I need it again today." she decided. She retrieved her blade from its hiding place and studied the silver metal carefully. "You just might be the only real friend I have." She knew there never was a panacea to her condition. She heated the metal on the far edge in the fireplace. She then twisted the blade into her arm, deliberately and slowly. The gash did not bleed, she savored the agony. Her eyes watered, a surge of emotion warmed her limbs, she feasted on the sensation thirstily; it subsided quickly.

  She was disappointed, she surveyed the wound. She knew the scar would persist for some weeks but it was nothing compared to the other scars she had- the scars that seared deeper than skin, flesh or bone. Time heals all wounds but nothing could make those scars fade. She was tainted; beyond redemption, beyond salvation.

  Her brother Mahad was sleeping on the bed. He was the anti thesis of her sister. He spoke of hope and joy; she listened to him and laughed derisively. He did not like that but he did not know that she was in fact, just laughing at her self; mocking her own life.

  They could not afford a bigger house so they shared the room. Raised voices came from the living room. Their small, defunct house rumbled every time her parents fought. This was their routine now.

  She did not care anymore but, she knew her brother was affected. She wished she could help, she wished she could protect him but she had learnt it through bitter experience that she could not help any one. She knew Mahad heard their voices too but he pretended to be asleep whenever this happened.

  She tiptoed to the door and listened to what they were fighting about this time. Something was very different today.

  "You take them. I don't want anything to remind me of your pathetic face!" her mother shrieked. "You are their mother. They are your responsibility, after how you have raised them. I don't want anything to do with them." "Yes. Blame me for everything. You have spoiled your children. You bear the burden now." "You know I am busy all the time. How will I raise them?" "Do you think I was sent to the world to baby sit your children." her mother yelled. "What sort of mother are you? Stop screaming, they might listen." her father lowered his voice.

  Mariam had heard enough, she went back to her chair. Her mother was leaving them. She had been threatening to do that for a long time. She had heard of custody battles; she had heard of people fighting for the right to keep their children. Her parents wanted to rid themselves of their kids. She knew what she had to do. A small piercing could not assuage her angst.

  "It's time." she thought calmly. She locked the door to the room then walked around the room. The floor creaked but Mahad did not open his eyes-he was actually asleep today. Mariam was relieved. She impassively took the blade and slashed one wrist as deeply as her strength allowed. This longitudinal gash bled profusely. Her clothes colored mahogany in a mixture of their original color and the blood that soaked them now. She experienced the painful spasm through gritted teeth. The agony wrung out tears; she groaned quietly. Then, she slit the right wrist, repeatedly. She wanted to make sure this was done right. She did not intend to survive. She rested her head against the sofa's leg and watched rivulets of thick scarlet fluid pour out. Blood began to pool around her.

  She watched the red fluid. “Take the poison of foolish dreams and baseless desire with you. They never had home in this heart” She whispered softly. She gazed light headedly over to the desk. Books and papers lay scattered. She had always reckoned that she would say something to her family.

  Now, as she stared at it she realized she had nothing left to say. "I am sorry," was never enough…had never been enough. She cast one last glance at her brother; she felt a pang of sympathy for him. She knew she what she was subjecting the poor boy to but she knew he would have to carve her own destiny. He had to learn to get back up on his own two feet.

  Her twisted story could only produce so
rrow now. It could only yield pain. "Forgive me." she whispered softly and lay down on the floor waiting for whatever was left of life to leave her. They reached a decision an hour later. They knew they had to talk to their children straightaway. Her father knocked at the door.

  No answer. He knocked again. "Mariam? Mahad?" He banged the door impatiently. Mahad stirred.