Alara
A fuming man pushes the contraption off his leg and stands. Signs of an injury show when he limps towards me. He stays speaking to me—not with anger, but like a father would chastise someone he loves.
He's not old enough to be a father. He looks similar to the men who took me on that boat and threw me into the ocean. A dark beard, heavily tanned skin and a naturally intimidating facial expression. His eyes are like the other woman's—an intense green colour that I have never seen before. Not on Qadura or Wadi or any land.
He wears a loose white shirt and white pants. The knee area of the pants are now slightly dirty, after grazing against the ground.
Unsurprisingly, I have no idea what he is saying. "I'm sorry," I apologise, though it will be pointless. I suppose my luck is not good enough to find someone who can understand me.
His expression changes, his eyebrows lifting which causing lines on his forehead. "Yalla." He gently takes my arm. Finally, a word that I can understand.
He starts dragging me towards his tipped over bike, speaking to me hurriedly in his language. After fixing the position of the bike, he climbs on and waits as if expecting—no. I'm not going with some strange man.
My mom may have not taught me a lot in terms of formal education, but she most certainly taught me to never follow or trust strange men. She would say she'd have a hernia if I did—although I don't know what a hernia is, it doesn't sound good.
I take a step back. He notices my hesitance and starts rambling. But this time, I recognise the words 'Qadura' and 'Diyar'.
I nod my head. "Diyar, how do I get to Diyar?" I just want to go home. My mom is my home.
He points forward, making big gestures with his hands and trying to explain something to me. His voice is rugged and has a slight lilt, an accent I've never heard.
He is bigger than me. He most definitely could hurt me, but he has information that might be helpful.
I'm going to take the risk.
He shifts forward to make space for me on the back of his contraption. My heart pounds in my chest at the risk, and at the chance of finally getting some answers.
I get an aching feeling in my chest, wishing Zayen was here. I'd never had a male figure in my life, but when he was around I felt safe—like for once, I didn't have to fight alone.
The contraption seems to come alive. As soon as he starts it, the wheels begin to turn causing that same blue light to emit. It makes gentle whooshing sounds as it moves, like rapidly spinning liquid.
I nearly fall of the bike, trying to see the wheels, and the man chuckles and makes a comment.
He has a warm laugh that makes me want to laugh along with him. There are smile lines on the corners of his mouth and creasing the edges of his eyes which put me a little bit at ease.
We pass many buildings that are all the same; tall and white and unusual. The buildings seem to have pieces of grass and greenery growing on it, like it is alive.
People walk along the sidewalk, everyone looking completely normal and ordinary except that they wear the same white uniforms. A few other contraptions with the same blue spinning wheels go past. At crossing points, when the contraptions stop, the blue colour disappears and the wheels become transparent.
I nearly fall off the bike completely when a strange creature crawls along the side of the walkway. Because we are moving, I don't get a proper look but it looked like a crab, except much bigger and rougher.
My eyes go to the silver material that has replaced the sky. The reflections make it look like it is moving and flowing.
What in the impossible world is going on here?
Up close, I can see small details of the man driving me that I wouldn't have noticed from farther—the brushes of grey in his dark hair, the leathery texture of his skin, the tiny smudges of dirt on his clothes.
Let's hope he is not intending to kill me.
The land seems to go on forever—the same buildings and black roads with small flowing rivers along its sides. There is no way to identify one area from another, as if someone copied and pasted the same thing over and over.
The man's contraption comes to a stop outside one of the large white buildings. He gestures for me to climb off and then swings one leg over with a grunt.
He hasn't touched me once, which has made me feel much more comfortable and unthreatened.
So I follow him towards the building. The entrance is an archway with a glass door. Water lilies are hung up, possibly to create privacy.
But the building itself is a strange texture. Little indents go along the surface. I run my fingers along them. It's hard and rough.
"Marhaba, marhaba," he says, welcoming me to . . . his home? I don't know where I am.
But it is nice that he is trying to speak in a way understand, even if it's only one word.
Inside, the building is not what I had expected. It's a supermarket, cluttered with foods and random items.
But the strangest thing of all is the blue spinning machines on the roof. As they spin, that same blue light shines bright, making me feel like I am still in the ocean. It's incredible and impossible.
The man gestures to all of the products and then taps his chest, explaining without words that the store belongs to him.
It's only then, seeing the fresh sandwiches in the glass casing and the fruits displayed in one isle, that I start to feel the empty hole in my stomach.
He waves for me to follow him. As much as I desire to walk through the isles and take something, maybe just a bottle of water, I follow after him as he limps ahead of me, through a back door. I don't know how I can make it up to him, for throwing him off his bike.
The room that he leads me to is small and dark, the only light coming from the store behind us.
There is a bed in the corner that looks exactly like the one I was offered earlier—crisp white sheets and thin white veils on all four sides.
Is there only one bed store in this entire place? And one architect with absolutely no creativity? And how the heck is the sky silver?
There is a gigantic bookshelf covering one wall, filled to the brim with books to the point that he had to make a new pile of books on the floor.
"Diyar?" I say. He knows about Diyar. I need answers.
He nods, pointing to his book shelf and gesturing for me to come.
Taking a second glance over the room, I notice things I hadn't before. Through the white veils on the bed, there is thick black rope lying on top of the sheets. There's no windows.
I take a step back, accidentally bumping into the frame of the door. There is no handle on the inside of the door. Alarm bells go off in my head. I really should not be alone with a unknown man in his bedroom.
He notices my hesitance and jumps to grab me. I scream, clawing my hand out to scratch his face. He roars in pain, sounding like an angered animal. There are new, red marks spanning across his cheek, stopping just before his upper lip.
We fall back against a stand of candy. It topples with us, giving him the advantage of being on top of me. He crushes me underneath the weight of his body.
No. Please. Nobody knows where I am. I don't even know where I am. Nobody will ever find me. He pins my hands to the ground, next to bags of sweets. The fear that courses though my veins is nearly paralysing.
With no options of weapons, I grab one of the larger bags of candy and tear it open with my teeth. The contents fall out of the top.
He says something in his language. In one quick motion, I shove the bag over his head. He goes to lift it up and I use the distraction to shove him off me.
There's no time to grab the rope, to tie him up, so I grab a giant jar of what seems to be pickled mango and knock it against his head as hard as I can.
His eyes roll to the back of his head, his body going limp. "No more!" I've had enough of people trying to take control of me, to gain power over me, to hurt me.
But I know it's not going to stop.
Leaning down, I press my fingers against his neck, checking for a pulse. His heartbeat pushes slowly against my fingers.
Now I take the heavy black rope and tie both his hands and legs. His body is too big and heavy for me to lift him off the bags of candy, so I leave him on the floor and go to the bookshelf.
It's too dark to properly read any of the titles.
I grab one and take it out into the light. Of course, it not in the right language. I keep going, taking books out into the light, until I eventually find one that I understand.
'Rules of Aleamiq'.
~~*~~
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T w i t t e r : xPineappleGirlx
I n s t a g r a m : laylaawrites
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