The dress was a shimmering shade of white; it puddled around her feet when she walked, making her far more beautiful than one could possibly imagine.
She was flawless and incredibly stunning, with the heavenly white dress to top it all off.
Living far above, she could but see the reflection of the image she had built in her head, of the world she had come to love so dearly.
This made her oblivious of the small details, the small imperfections that made the roots of her beloved world.
And so, one day, out of curiosity, she stepped out of her heavenly abode and for the first time, set foot into her much cherished world, flapping that brilliant dress behind her.
As she reached the gate, it opened before her, welcoming her with open arms, to prove to her that she had done well…or so she thought.
For once setting foot into the world, the light blue skies turned into a deep shade of grey and the green grass, burst into flames before her unbelieving eyes.
Hearing a loud tear, she found that the right strap of her dress was torn viciously.
And suddenly, she heard a crying scream. As she turned her head abruptly, she found herself – hoping against odds, it was a mere figment of her imagination – hurrying towards the sound.
Upon reaching the source of the sound, she could do nothing but stare in sheer despair.
She stood in a battle field, watching the massacre take place, unable to prevent it from happening.
People killing people, out of materiality, out of greed.
And with every tear shed, every drop of innocent blood spilled, her dress became scarred. Piece by piece, the elegant white dress, turned red – the color of brutality, of inhumanity - , the soft fabrics, of which the dress was made, were mangled beyond recognition.
And as the white dove was shot out of the sky, heartlessly, and without even the smallest hint of hesitation, she fell on the ground.
Holding, what was left of the once flawless, one-of-a-kind dress to cover herself up, she put a hand on her heart, trying her best to put an end to the pain she felt, the disappointment in the inhabitants of her beloved world.
Looking at the dove, now lying on the floor, eyes still and resembling crystals, she lay on the floor beside it.
The world had lost so much, in that moment, for the heart of the earth, was bleeding.
And one is faced with a perplexing question: Will she be left to bleed, or will she be saved miraculously, by the same people who had inflicted the wounds on her?
-Layan Adham Ismail
Self-proclaimed 'writer wannabe', 'drama queen', 'annoying know-it-all', 'avid exaggerator'. The makings of a creative megamind.
She was flawless and incredibly stunning, with the heavenly white dress to top it all off.
Living far above, she could but see the reflection of the image she had built in her head, of the world she had come to love so dearly.
This made her oblivious of the small details, the small imperfections that made the roots of her beloved world.
And so, one day, out of curiosity, she stepped out of her heavenly abode and for the first time, set foot into her much cherished world, flapping that brilliant dress behind her.
As she reached the gate, it opened before her, welcoming her with open arms, to prove to her that she had done well…or so she thought.
For once setting foot into the world, the light blue skies turned into a deep shade of grey and the green grass, burst into flames before her unbelieving eyes.
Hearing a loud tear, she found that the right strap of her dress was torn viciously.
And suddenly, she heard a crying scream. As she turned her head abruptly, she found herself – hoping against odds, it was a mere figment of her imagination – hurrying towards the sound.
Upon reaching the source of the sound, she could do nothing but stare in sheer despair.
She stood in a battle field, watching the massacre take place, unable to prevent it from happening.
People killing people, out of materiality, out of greed.
And with every tear shed, every drop of innocent blood spilled, her dress became scarred. Piece by piece, the elegant white dress, turned red – the color of brutality, of inhumanity - , the soft fabrics, of which the dress was made, were mangled beyond recognition.
And as the white dove was shot out of the sky, heartlessly, and without even the smallest hint of hesitation, she fell on the ground.
Holding, what was left of the once flawless, one-of-a-kind dress to cover herself up, she put a hand on her heart, trying her best to put an end to the pain she felt, the disappointment in the inhabitants of her beloved world.
Looking at the dove, now lying on the floor, eyes still and resembling crystals, she lay on the floor beside it.
The world had lost so much, in that moment, for the heart of the earth, was bleeding.
And one is faced with a perplexing question: Will she be left to bleed, or will she be saved miraculously, by the same people who had inflicted the wounds on her?
-Layan Adham Ismail
Self-proclaimed 'writer wannabe', 'drama queen', 'annoying know-it-all', 'avid exaggerator'. The makings of a creative megamind.
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| Watercolor painting by Agnes Cicile
Previously published in TeenStuff Magazine, Egypt.
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