Winning Sehri tales of Ramadan, day 26
Top entities for the prompt ‘Lost’, by popular vote.
Writer: Zaowad Adrito
I thought I was lost and wandered off into the wild, hoping to find who I am, and what I am supposed to be. But at the end of the long winding road, where I thought my destination was, death awaited for me. That is the moment I realized, I wasn't lost back then, I just didn't know how to find myself. But now, at the end of the long journey, I can see all the moments that I have let slip, no way of getting them back again.
At the end of the path, I found myself, but I lost my life.
Writer: Tanim Ud Dowlah
Nikita checked her phone, it was almost time. She sat in her car waiting, she hated being early. She finally saw him pull up in front of the restaurant handing his keys to the valet. It was time to go in.
Nikita was finishing a piece of her yellowtail when Brian had to take another call. It was the third time he left the table. The date was clearly not going well and Brian was drinking like a fish. She swiped right two nights ago to the sleek haired Hollywood lawyer. It was her idea to choose Sugar Fish, conveniently located in downtown LA where he lived. Despite the red flags Nikita knew what she was getting herself into.
Nikita offered to drive him back home. Brian was visibly inebriated and struggled to stay awake. When they reached, they somehow managed to get on the elevator to his penthouse apartment.
“Make yourself home babe”, slurred Brian.
Nikita smiled in response. As Brian slumped in his couch falling into a drunken stupor, Nikita finally got him where she wanted. She spiked his drinks all night. She quickly got out the syringe from her purse, rolled up his sleeve and pushed the Ricin into his veins. As she waited for his breathing to labor down, she finally felt at peace. She was once a victim of him and his drunk fraternity brothers in college. Nikita didn’t feel lost anymore, he was the final monster off her list.
Writer: Tareq Adnan
Build Me A City
The back of the car as the lights flash by, the unnatural weight at the airport, that pressurized smell, a window seat and a view of the wing, all these buildings and all that glass, the odd lack of noise; all leading to the little room and the years of insomnia.
This place doesn’t look that different from home.
Except it always rains differently here.