Hello Everyone! I am here to present you a preview of a new series I might start on MDM, I personally loved the storyline so please go ahead and read this little teaser and tell me what you think! If you all liked the story, I will go ahead and continue on, thanks!
A wave of thunder rattled my windows, and I sprung up in a sweat; breathing hard and wiping my face. A sigh of relief escaped me as I realized it was just a dream. The clock on nightstand reads 2:00 AM.
Taking out my dream diary is no hassle; it’s placed neatly in between my mother’s bracelets and postcards from my dad. The exact moment I knew this dream diary was important was last Friday when I had recurring nightmares. From my bleak memory, a girl about my age or so was huddled in a corner. My body tells me I’ve been here before; this isn’t new to me – although my eyes flutter around with confusion. Where was I? I started to shout at her but I don’t think she could understand me, so I stopped and followed with my eyes once more. I could tell she was Muslim with a black niqab forming her figure of tan skin. Her face was tainted with bruises and blood, the only unmarked territory I could see was her eyes. It wasn’t her that made the dream intense, but the things that were done to her.
She seemed scared, with her eyes teary. Oh her eyes; -they were gorgeous!! I wanted to stare at them forever; the elegant iris fading hues of green and light blue over her pupil. But I know I had to focus on the real problem. Even those beautiful eyes were filled with sadness when I saw her cornered by masked men screaming at her a language called Pashto. All I could pick up was “Shame on you woman!!” and “Filthy girl is not worthy to praise Allah, die die die! I wanted to help but my willpower shattered and left me be a mere bystander watching torture.
This very dream continued day by day, I would expect the same Hell replay in my mind, but each time I experienced the girl with the scars in a different scene, each night I woke up with a beating heart and a wet forehead. This time was different, the men turned around and approached me, and what was I to do? All I did was back down and try to run but one of them grabbed my arm and had a gun in their free hand. A smug look formed their smile, as he raised his hand to shoot, my arms became noodles and I knew this was the end. My eyes opened up and I tried to catch my breath, this was my latest dream, sadly not my last.
As I jotted down the last points of what happened, my face got red, I was furious. What was I to do with this madness? Rosa was my name, and I live a normal typical American life. How come my dreams end up this way? Id plan on dreaming about the new boy in town, or my favorite pair of shoes but this is definitely not something I’d ever imagine happen.
The eerie thing is, the place looks awfully familiar, and I could swear I’ve seen the same brick walls in baby pictures of my father in an Afghan village.
A shudder runs up my spine even thinking this would happen to a girl, a girl I could know.