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| Sleeping Murder https://forum.art-en.com/viewtopic.php?t=3598 |
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| الكاتب: | قاسم عيسى [ الجمعة أغسطس 31, 2007 5:33 am ] |
| عنوان المشاركة: | Sleeping Murder |
[englishtext]Sleeping Murder: It was really a horrible sound, echoes reverberated in her ears. It was the sound of her machine. What a machine! The murderer's machine; so simple and so small, so cold too though the blood made it warm. She killed him by the same knife they used to make their dinners. The wounds standstill in her memories. The whole sight stuck and no medicine could stop it, even drugs. At times she focused on her face she found only blue color under eyes and dark color in the face. Was I discolored because I slain him? She asked herself sardonically. She knew that her life would not be stained even if she killed him, the evil one. No one could catch her in the act. She can still walk in the streets and no one even can suspect this strange angel _ she. No I will not pray for his soul to find peace. That what she thought about while winters weep three times and the body _ his corpse _ was wholly vanished in the soil. She grew older and older and older; she was still free to do what she ever liked to do. But this present she acts her wishes in eerie way. She felt that time that she would be hanged soon in the middle of the yard of the town, the wonderful dark town, down the valley where her outcries were not heard at all when she recalled him once again. Her head stuck with his existence. She waved her fingers of the left hand before her eyes, in fact the same guilty hand. She grew up using her right hand, but when she murdered him in that neat peaceful room she did it with her left one. She wished to cut it off. Shall I get rid of the pain that grows inside of me? She asked her pain. If I cut it off and throw it away in the abyss of this valley? And again it was not a surprise because she used this kind of remembrance; the sound of the knife took place in her dirty dreams. Oh what a dreadful reveries! She laughed then got her cup of tea at that wintry morn and went down to the lake to watch the reflection of her thoughts in the lake which washed her sins after the last day of murder, she was not brave. She was the one who addicted on the sight of this lake which her tears created it and her pain was its never-ending fountain. 09.09.2006[/englishtext] |
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