The Potato Nation

7: Tired

Okay, okay, I am so sorry for being so late. I should have updated four days ago but oh well. It's not my fault anyways bc i was busy and then you need inspiration for writing and I lacked it until today :o 

(I haven't proofread bc i am tired (lol see what i did there) and lazy but I'll try to do it tomorrow, promise)

Go read now and do not hesitate to leave your feedback bc I LOVE IT. (thank you all for the support btw it makes my day) 

~Rida <3

7: Tired

If there is one thing that Farrah has learned in her whole life, it is the fact that there isn't always a reason for grief. After all, there is no other way to explain the tears that run down her cheeks, under the sheets, in the unabridged darkness of the night.

She has no idea why she's crying. She guesses that it's the tiredness that is catching up with her - that the burden of the whole day was too heavy for her fragile shoulders to carry and even though, she did, she is breaking now. 

She has got no reason to cry. Everything is okay. Perhaps, even better than okay. Yet the tears won't stop and neither does the ache in her throbbing body. She adjusts her position and lies on her back, her head pressed on her pillow. 

Her eyes stray to the window on the side of the room. The tree outside is moving because of the wind. The glass blocks out any sound of whispering leaves and snapping branches. Farrah is grateful for it - any sound in the middle of the night scares her shitless. 

The moon is full but the sky is starless. Full of clouds that give the sky a reddish shade. It looks frightening - the sky - and Farrah looks away, hot tears still prickling her eyes. She covers her head with her sheets and curls up in to a ball. Nothing seems to be able to make her feel better. 

She starts crying then, without any particular reason. Her hands absently touch her scraped knees and she lets out a small, inaudible yelp when the pain makes her jerk. Slowly, she brings her hand down back to her knees. She touches it again but doesn't jerk this time. In fact, she closes her eyes and lets the pain shoot through, slowly rubbing her hands on the injury. 

Somehow, she is thankful for the pain. It distracts her, pushing all those murky thoughts away. The pain almost makes her feel better. She doesn't know why. Is she going mad? She doesn't want to be a mental patient. 

She doesn't know anything at this point. It's as if the taps of knowledge have been squeezed shut and no matter how hard she tries to get them to open, they just won't. So she does the one thing she knows best - she cries. 

A few moments later and she is more tired than before. Yet when she closes her eyes, sleep fails to beckon her and she just gives up. Quickly sneaking out of her room to the living room, she opens the cupboard and takes out her laptop. 

She tiptoes back, careful not to make any sort of sound. She ignores the sound of moving furniture from above - knowing that there are jinn in the night and thinking about them too much might bring her bad karma. She's heard so many stories about the jinn and they all make her fear them - even though all Muslims should only fear Allah - but right now, she just chooses to forget about them. Tune them out. 

When she logs in to her Facebook account, she is surprised to find ten unread messages from Farhanna. Each tells her to call her, no matter what time it is. There is a green dot beside Farhanna's name that keeps glaring at Farrah and sighing, Farrah decides to ditch her loneliness and finally call Farhanna.