Amylian
02-08-2009, 05:44 PM
Hello guys,
It has been a while since I wrote a short story. Here is one and please feedback.
You can also view a previous short story here (http://www.online-literature.com/forums/showthread.php?t=36872). It is called "Shadows of Superstitions.
Bahrainstitution
The people are always seeking freedom. It has to be an encroachment created by Allah, but, to gain freedom you have first to protest against those who strangle freedom with their own will, and freedom. By protesting, you are to be beaten by people who are enslaved to other free people. A free man is beaten by a slave, how ironic this can be? This only can happen here in Bahrain, the so-called paradise. I don’t know, it keeps getting weirder and stranger every time I think of Gilgamesh. Was he really out of his mind when he was trying to seek out immortality by coming to Dilmun, which is believed now to be Bahrain? I think he deserved death; he made a grave mistake by ever stepping a foot in this cursed land, where free people get beaten and harassed by those enslaved ones.
I am an innocent man. I may be part of this land, but not part of anyone’s fault especially teenagers who show up out of the blue and burn the garbage containers. “Why” I asked myself hopelessly knowing an answer would definitely be, “those mercenaries, the slaves of the government, do not care about who burns what or who killed who, the only thing they care about is to beat anyone in front of them.” Am I supposed to fear them and not go through them? Am I supposed to turn my car back and take another route just because they were “guarding” the main street for safety?
I was asked to step out of the car by four police officers, or rather, four strangers. The first one’s accent is that of Pakistan, while two of them Bahrainis and the fourth one is indistinguishable, he was either Syrian or Yamani. I was alone at 8 and around 43 PM. Behind me, the garbage containers still burning. The Bahraini one asked me with a harsh tone as if I was the guilty one, “step out of the car.” I did. They vandalized the car while searching for…. I don’t know, a prostitute maybe, or a kidnapped prince. Who would kidnap a prince that belong to a filthy government and always gets middles of honor for everything anyway? He has yet to have a middle of honor for professional wrestling. It is not as I am going to have a sex with him or anything.
“Laish inta yamshi besura’?”1 the Pakistani asked me with his funny accent that a child would laugh immediately if he or she heard him. These are the police that care for the safety of people and cannot even speak properly. The question was irrelevant to what was happening behind my back.
“I was just….” I got a kick from behind by the other Bahraini one. I fell down. My face faced the ground and my lips bleed.
“get up,” the Syrian or Yamani guy ordered. I got up, but they all gang up on me and started beating everywhere.
After they finished, The Syrian guy asked me, at this point, I knew he was a Syrian because I caught his accent. It was the accent of those Syrian people who lived near and between the border of Iraq and Syria. “Inta Elli Haragt?” Oh boy, he accused me of burning those garbage containers. “La,” I told him the truth. My mouth was bleeding.
“La Techdb,” he said that I was lying.
“Ma….” Another slap hit my face hardly. Another one. And another one. And another one on my head.
“Wain bekaket?” The Pakistani guy with his rough voice asked where my identity card is. He was supposed to say “Betakhk” 2 and not “Bekaka.” It sounded funny. I didn’t have it so they kept up the beating and the final blow were the shoes of the other Bahraini guy who stood all the time just watching the play. I was told to take the car and go back. One of them hit the car hard and kicked it.
It was my first experience and to tell you the truth, I felt humiliated by being beaten by those who share your own blood, and more by those who feed on your blood. It is as if your brother comes and skins you with a knife, then cook your meat and feed it to strange ones. Anyway, I haven’t told you why, but these days, one of the popular Human Rightist is being held in prison. He is accused of spreading words against the government and that he plans to overthrow the current government. Huh, so much for a government that its Prime Minister is over 79 years old and has been a Prime Minister for over 39 years. It is a joke.
The tale ends….
Footnotes..
1- "Why are you driving fast?"
2- It is spelled in Arabic like this "بطاقة" but the Pakistani guy said "بكاكا", which abvouisly of a very different spelling and pronounciation.
Regards,
Amylian
It has been a while since I wrote a short story. Here is one and please feedback.
You can also view a previous short story here (http://www.online-literature.com/forums/showthread.php?t=36872). It is called "Shadows of Superstitions.
Bahrainstitution
The people are always seeking freedom. It has to be an encroachment created by Allah, but, to gain freedom you have first to protest against those who strangle freedom with their own will, and freedom. By protesting, you are to be beaten by people who are enslaved to other free people. A free man is beaten by a slave, how ironic this can be? This only can happen here in Bahrain, the so-called paradise. I don’t know, it keeps getting weirder and stranger every time I think of Gilgamesh. Was he really out of his mind when he was trying to seek out immortality by coming to Dilmun, which is believed now to be Bahrain? I think he deserved death; he made a grave mistake by ever stepping a foot in this cursed land, where free people get beaten and harassed by those enslaved ones.
I am an innocent man. I may be part of this land, but not part of anyone’s fault especially teenagers who show up out of the blue and burn the garbage containers. “Why” I asked myself hopelessly knowing an answer would definitely be, “those mercenaries, the slaves of the government, do not care about who burns what or who killed who, the only thing they care about is to beat anyone in front of them.” Am I supposed to fear them and not go through them? Am I supposed to turn my car back and take another route just because they were “guarding” the main street for safety?
I was asked to step out of the car by four police officers, or rather, four strangers. The first one’s accent is that of Pakistan, while two of them Bahrainis and the fourth one is indistinguishable, he was either Syrian or Yamani. I was alone at 8 and around 43 PM. Behind me, the garbage containers still burning. The Bahraini one asked me with a harsh tone as if I was the guilty one, “step out of the car.” I did. They vandalized the car while searching for…. I don’t know, a prostitute maybe, or a kidnapped prince. Who would kidnap a prince that belong to a filthy government and always gets middles of honor for everything anyway? He has yet to have a middle of honor for professional wrestling. It is not as I am going to have a sex with him or anything.
“Laish inta yamshi besura’?”1 the Pakistani asked me with his funny accent that a child would laugh immediately if he or she heard him. These are the police that care for the safety of people and cannot even speak properly. The question was irrelevant to what was happening behind my back.
“I was just….” I got a kick from behind by the other Bahraini one. I fell down. My face faced the ground and my lips bleed.
“get up,” the Syrian or Yamani guy ordered. I got up, but they all gang up on me and started beating everywhere.
After they finished, The Syrian guy asked me, at this point, I knew he was a Syrian because I caught his accent. It was the accent of those Syrian people who lived near and between the border of Iraq and Syria. “Inta Elli Haragt?” Oh boy, he accused me of burning those garbage containers. “La,” I told him the truth. My mouth was bleeding.
“La Techdb,” he said that I was lying.
“Ma….” Another slap hit my face hardly. Another one. And another one. And another one on my head.
“Wain bekaket?” The Pakistani guy with his rough voice asked where my identity card is. He was supposed to say “Betakhk” 2 and not “Bekaka.” It sounded funny. I didn’t have it so they kept up the beating and the final blow were the shoes of the other Bahraini guy who stood all the time just watching the play. I was told to take the car and go back. One of them hit the car hard and kicked it.
It was my first experience and to tell you the truth, I felt humiliated by being beaten by those who share your own blood, and more by those who feed on your blood. It is as if your brother comes and skins you with a knife, then cook your meat and feed it to strange ones. Anyway, I haven’t told you why, but these days, one of the popular Human Rightist is being held in prison. He is accused of spreading words against the government and that he plans to overthrow the current government. Huh, so much for a government that its Prime Minister is over 79 years old and has been a Prime Minister for over 39 years. It is a joke.
The tale ends….
Footnotes..
1- "Why are you driving fast?"
2- It is spelled in Arabic like this "بطاقة" but the Pakistani guy said "بكاكا", which abvouisly of a very different spelling and pronounciation.
Regards,
Amylian