Showing posts with label Fiction. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Fiction. Show all posts

Jan 10, 2013

When Truth Lies in Ugliness!


This article was published in Momken Magazine | Issue 4 | December 2012
Hannah smiled with content, adding the final touches to her first portrait. Eventually, it is finished. At first she had trouble learning to paint professionally, but she kept practicing on and on to polish her skills till she got the hang of it. Her pipe dream turned into reality at last.

The next day she was headed to the atelier, seized with excitement. No sooner did she rush through the door than all the faces expectantly gazed at her, full of eagerness to see the artwork of the girl with the wild imagination and phenomenal talent. Not taking notice of the excessive attention fixed on her, Hannah unveiled the painting amid the unfeigned curiosity of her amazed colleagues who could not help but raise their eyebrows. Before them laid a portrait of an ugly-faced man with evidently flawed features. At the sight of it, they were about to exclaim in unison,” what the heck is this nonsense?!”, but barely did they hold their tongue; however, the expression on their countenance said it all; it obviously turned them off.

“It’s just peculiar!” one of Hannah’s colleagues said after hesitation.

“yeah, it is,” Hannah replied in a quiet voice, trying hard to swallow the disappointment that swept over her on account of the apparent negative reaction . There was a lot of murmur around her about the terrible ugliness in the painting, but she tuned it all out, lapsing into glum silence.

For a moment, she stood still in front of her portrait scrutinizing it with her fingers and eyes. It carried the same image visualized in her mind for long. Now it became tangible and visible, which, in her view, was a worthwhile accomplishment itself. Then, why would she feel down due to people’s remarks? She thought. They just saw the outcome without encountering the same hardships which she went through and did her utmost to get over; she was the only one aware of her strenuous exertions; and nobody would ever appreciate her work as much as she did.

Strangely enough, such a sudden feeling of self-worth she was struck by had her sense the distinction deep down, along with the uniqueness of her endeavor.  Not discouraged anymore, a broad grin crossed her face in the midst of the baffled looks of her mates. Her own satisfaction with her achievement was what counted the most no matter how others perceived it.  

********
The portrayal of the facial flaws was meant to be perfect since this is the way most of us in reality look like; our inner flaws are inadvertently reflected on our outer appearance, which makes us end up resembling this very portrait; so we give it our all to conceal this odious look by putting on such excessive, long-lasting make-up; but when wiped off, our rank duplicity is disclosed and the flaws appear unblemished. This is the truth which lies in the ugliness, the ugliness that we are reluctant to contemplate because it is not as appealing as beauty.

Literally inside every human, ugliness resides, but practically the majority insists on rejecting this reality to the extent that they get to believe that their fake beauty is genuine; and on top of this, they rebuff criticism and expect others to behave ideally, forgetting that they themselves are not devoid of defects.

“Why don’t they just remove the make-up and fix the ugliness from within?!” is a common question that frequently flashes through the minds of the puzzled minority who is willing to pull out the roots of deceit and fraudulence.

As a matter of fact, a part of the majority intentionally shuts their eyes to their ugliness because the latter serves their interests; meanwhile they keep wearing those delusive masks which, they erroneously think, make them seem more attractive although those very masks actually do nothing but distorting the traces of the diminishing beauty inside themselves.

Ugliness clearly manifests itself in oppression, selfishness, arrogance, transgression, violence, hatred, envy, cheating, to name a few. The fear of ugliness around pushes us to shun it though by doing so we will never manage to get a tight hold of it. It is a disease that spreads rapidly like a plague. Mulling over it will let us have more comprehension of its nature, and accordingly there will exist the possibility of curing it.

********
“The ugliness in this painting is totally remarkable! There must be a long story behind it,” a friendly, familiar voice said from behind Hannah, interrupting her train of thoughts. In disbelief, she twisted around to find, much to her astonishment, her mentor closely inspecting her portrait with a warm smile on his face. “I knew you would come up with something ingenious as usual.”

Hannah beamed with pleasure, realizing that in any case the diligent effort never goes for nothing, and there always comes the day when somebody appreciates it.

Two weeks later, her painting was displayed in a well-known art exhibit, and below it the following caption was written:

“Ugliness gives us insight into our lives, yet not in an explicit manner. The message it conveys is always subtle; only the smart ones are capable of grasping it!” 

By Noha Fathi  

Feb 11, 2012

The Sole Tear



This piece of writing was published on TEDx AlexandriaU Blog

I’m still roaming in the sky, viewing life from above in a futile attempt to capture traces of the diminishing beauty therein, the beauty that the dark fire of injustice and bloody violence consumed the bulk of it only to give way to vague ugliness to prevail.

Inadvertently, a tear fell from me, fell amid the fangs of the raging fire which swallowed it ferociously. My sole tear will never put it out, I know, but at least its fragrant vapor lingering on the smoggy horizon may be smelled by others, compelling a rainbow of hope to reluctantly manifest itself under the thin rays of sunlight that poke every now and then through the cracks between the overcast clouds.

By Noha Fathi  

Dec 22, 2010

The Ghost on Facebook !! (Short Story)


This story was published in Momken Magazine | Issue 6
March 2013
After all, it never happened that somebody said to me he was a ghost. What a ridiculous joke! But frankly I was ill at ease.
I got back from work, tired. Soon I lapsed into deep but uneasy sleep, full of odd dreams crammed with shadowy figures I could not recognize. Two hours later, I woke up, or rather something woke me up, I can’t tell. I rose right away, looking about, troubled; something was roaming the room-as far as I could gather-invisible and never tangible, sensed but not seen.


Does this have something to do with that eccentric hacker yesterday on Facebook who claimed to be the ghost of Solomon? I mused. Ugh, this is just absurd. What kind of nut is going to buy this nonsense?!

Curious, I went on Solomon’s facebook profile. Nothing was new; the last post by him was about a year ago, which did perplex me because I expected this very hacker to mess the profile up! I reclined in my seat considering the whole matter but abruptly a message notification popped up.

“Oh my! It’s from Solomon,” I exclaimed in bewilderment, straightening up.

This hacker was giving me the creeps, I told myself, but he was …
My train of thoughts stopped as I viewed the message:

Dear Joseph,
What I told you yesterday is real. I’m Solomon’s Ghost. Just switch off the monitor and have a close look at the screen to know for sure I’m not a hacker.

His words left me alarmed.

“What the heck does that mean?” I frowned. Suddenly, an appalling thought struck me, making my blood run cold. I sprang to my feet frantically sweeping around the room ,but much to my surprise, all was still, nothing peculiar. I got back to my seat, deep in thought. Reading the message over and over again, I finally concluded it was merely a sick joke from a mentally retarded person.

However, I couldn’t resist switching off the monitor to see what he meant. My curiosity is always hard to curb. Apprehensive as I was, I slowly reached out my trembling hand for the monitor to press the “turn-off’ button. Clicking on it, a strong gasp of horror got out of me.I caught sight of his reflection on the black screen; he was right behind me. My heart was beating like crazy as if it were going to jump out of my chest.

I was terrified, hopeless, helpless, and on top of that incredulous of what my eyes glimpsed. Can it be only a hallucinatory nightmare that will be over soon? But how come? I was never diagnosed with mental disorders!

A boom of thunder broke my flow, recalling me to the gloomy present. Though a gruesome feeling overwhelmed me, I made up my mind to face this thing. Struggling to master my infinite fear, I cautiously twisted around. Nothing was there! Baffled, I scrutinized the screen. All the reflections were pretty normal.

“This thing is messing with me.” I muttered through my teeth, switching on the monitor again; shortly after that I could not help but raise my eyebrows. There was another message from Solomon.

I’m sorry I didn’t intend to freak you out but this was the only way to let you know I’m a real ghost!
You may wonder what I want from you and most importantly why you especially?
Well, I’d like you to do Solomon a favor. I can’t do it myself since people will erroneously think I’m a hacker and definitely I will not spread panic over Facebook trying to prove I’m a real ghost as I did with you.


You are the only one added to Solomon’s friends list after his death. You’re a pure soul, Joseph; that’s why I chose you particularly to help out Solomon in his distress; just suggest Solomon as a friend for as many people as possible and tell them to pray to God to forgive him. He committed a lot of sins during his life but he did not repent. Death caught him off-guard and now he’s in severe torment. He just needs God’s forgiveness but how can he get it while he didn't ask for it when alive?


I'm begging you to help him.

By the end of the message, I felt the tears well up my eyes, an endless stream of tears which I failed to fight back. I wept bitterly like I never did before, remembering that I RARELY repent. The terrible sense that my sins are just accumulating to bring about my impending doom one day racked my desperate, troubled soul,squeezing my heart cruelly.

I spent the whole night praying to God to forgive him his sins and deliver him from hellfire.

************

I was sitting on the rocking chair, worked up about the ghost lingering in my room when a flash of lightning, in the middle of the pitch-black night, shone  through the window, imbuing the dimly-lit room with an aura of mystery. Automatically I darted a glance at the source of light, hearing the wind howling outside and the raindrops splattering. Yet this was not what sent a chill down my spine; rather, it was this very sound coming from the dark corridor leading to my room, a sound of floorboards creaking, as if somebody were out there groping his way.

I leaned forward, listening vigilantly, my attention fixed on the door. Feeble as the light was, my eyes did not miss the human shadow that materialized as it approached my room. I held my breath, feeling my blood freeze. In a couple of seconds, the figure behind the shadow came into sight.

Startled, I got up and drew back shakily till I banged my back against the wall. I wanted to cry, to shout, to run but the charming smile on his serene face that I glimpsed as he got closer helped me compose myself a little bit. Strangely enough, his features seemed familiar to me ,but I failed to remember where I had seen him before.

“Thank you!” the twenty something young man said gently in deep gratitude. “I’m Solomon who you prayed for all night long.”

I gazed at him incredulously; his words struck me dumb for he had passed away a year ago as I recall.

“Your supplications saved me from unendurable torment.” His melancholic voice carried distinct pain.
“I wish I had asked for God’s forgiveness while alive. I always put it off until it was too late.” He lowered his head in agony, his words infused with harsh remorse.
“I just thought I was too young to die”, he muttered in a half-suffocated voice, biting his lip to stop a tear glistened in his eye from falling.

I had a pang of compassion for him as I saw the anguish engraved on his features. I wanted to say something, to soothe him, but my tongue failed me. I just approached him, reaching my hand out to pat him but he kept receding till he vanished. I looked around, uncertain. He was gone, without a trace!

************

I blinked as the sunbeam penetrated my closed eyes, finding that I was still in the rocking chair. It seemed that sleep had crept over me while I was unaware. Solomon’s words were still ringing in my ears. In spite of the fact that what I experienced was incredibly vivid, I still can’t tell whether it was a dream or reality! Maybe it was just a supernatural incident, one of a kind, one which will never sink into oblivion.
Now, only now did I realize how precious it is, my being alive.

By Noha Fathi  

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