Waiting

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As the dark approached I looked at the hills, the sun setting and giving a Cimmerian shade to the sky as the anxiety crept into my veins and flowed through my blood . My stomach began to churn and it felt as if someone knotted my gut, getting harder for me to breathe every minute passing. WAITING! That’s the most horrible thing that could happen to human beings…we wait to grow up, wait to get a job, wait to find the perfect companion, wait to get old and we wait to DIE! Waiting can be a painful task since you never known when it might end. I was always an impatient child though, waiting was a word not in my dictionary and to be honest I think I fully deserve this now don’t I? the sky was now dark and only a half moon peeked behind the clouds and illuminated everything in the room, in a distance the wind had begun its dance to delight the trees and I sat by the door now; waiting…I thought I heard footsteps in the grass and ran to look out the window but to my dismay nobody was there…again I had to wait for him to come. I waited 22 years to have him. The day I heard he died was like a knife in my own hurt but then again magicians have it one way or another don’t they?  And now I’m near the window looking out the door waiting for him to come, for him to tear the door apart with his dead and burnt skin, his empty eyes bleeding nothing but pain and sorrow his arms dangling and like a dead corpse I know he’ll come I can feel it.

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About Bano

I’m trying to find a better introduction but since, I can’t? Hi! I’m Sheher Bano Zafar and I write. I write not because there lies aspiration to be a writer someday but because, it keeps me sane. I love the color silver, black and grey. I also realize that they fall under the same color tone. Whatever, I write is a result of my 3 a.m blues or insomniac depressive tendencies. I can’t write during the day. I’m addicted to caffeine and well, anything and everything (if I like it). Also, I suck at conversations. I bite my nails. Most of the time I’m clueless about the world around me. I love politics and youth activism. People tell me that art and politics don’t belong in the same mind, but I’m passionate about both. One day I might be drawing on a canvas or writing a story and the very next day I will be heading off to attend a summit on the role of youth at the United Nations. I have multiple people trapped in the same body. Each side does try to express itself, in minimal ways if not fully. I’m currently going through a rough patch in life. I guess, I’m adjusting to the world through multiple perceptions. I absolutely love talking to myself because an expert opinion is always required. Most of the time, I just play scenarios in my mind that would never happen. I’m very contradictory in my thought process and actions but it is okay, people get to be what they want to be as long as no other soul is hurt. Peace out!

7 responses »

  1. I loved this story. It was entertaining and well written. I love the image! I love the title! I loved this line ‘The day I heard he died was like a knife in my own hurt but then again magicians have it one way or another don’t they?’ Keep up the good writing!

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