The Adamancy of Hope

To all those who think the people around them just don't understand them. They just don't have that 'it'.

The Adamancy of Hope

`BANG! BANG! BANG!’ went the noise of the gun aiming at me from the back, completely out of the blue ; bullets ripped through my heart, tearing my skin and the sheet of clothing that covered it like a delicate sheet of paper.  As dark red blood, my blood, spilt across the surface of the cold marble steps the distant screaming of a child and a woman met my ears. The excruciatingly inexplicable pain being endured by me was spreading all over my twenty-seven year old body. Clutching my chest, I took a deep breath.

 I had no regrets.  My life had been lived to the fullest of all my desires. I was one of the most famous and wealthiest figures in the world. Sobia Mustafa. Actress, singer. Writer... Humanitarian and very importantly, entrepreneur.  Some of the most loyal people in the world were my friends and significantly, an individual was my beloved husband as well. I wondered how he was going to react to the news of my death... Five fantastically satisfactory years had passed by our marriage; which had been spent in laughing and enjoying. All other friends of mine would be deeply grieved as I was one of a kind. I had few of them as I had been very selective in my friendships throughout this life of mine. Newspapers would print articles regarding this news.  The public would be devastated. Movies would be directed on my life... Several tributes would be made to one of the greatest and controversial people in the history of mankind �" that left me wondering whether I would be included in the 27 Club as a companion to individuals such as Jim Morrison and Amy Winehouse along with the identity of my assassin. Was he a sycophant? Or was he an Orthodox who had been offended with some of my numerous religious statements? Whoever he was, those bullets had pained me immensely...

 Ten years into my fame had earned me various types of lovers and haters across the world. The loathing of my personality, formation of hate clubs had not affected me or my career to any extent. I had carried on as I believed myself to be a warrior. Strong. Bold... Courageous? Yes, indeed these were the three adjectives my mind simply adored describing its occupant Sobia Mustafa with. My parents had left me long ago, mother passed away when I was fourteen awakening a rebel in me. Contact with father had been avoided ever since my marriage which led to the formation of distaste in his mind.

  As I lay on the floor, the arrival of the police and the ambulance was signaled by the sound of the familiar sirens belonging to each respectively in addition to human voices screaming and shouting, 'WHAT HAVE YOU DONE? WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!’

As the angel of death loomed over me, my last breath greeted me and a smile spread across my face as I recited the Shahadah, being a Muslim, in my mind...

 ‘SOBIA MUSTAFA!’ in a recognizably loud volume, the voice of the last person on Earth whose voice I wished to hear, cut across the beautiful world I had created brick by brick with my very own hands. Choosing my intellectual mind to be its venue that wall paused as the sound cut across it like a lightning bolt.  Unfortunately when the world was just at the brink of its completion, a defect compelling it to tumble down to smithereens appeared at its base; rendering me as culpable.       

‘Where are we reading?’ was the most dreaded question which she imposed upon me.

‘Oh, I see.’ Murmured my disturbed dead brain cells who had risen from their graves, located in the pink jelly which was held by my skull.  ‘We must have been reading an annoyingly factual Urdu comprehension isn’t it?’

‘Well Sobia. You know what to do.’ Spoke the fourth chamber of my heart. Automatically, my head turned towards my only neighbor; the son of Miss Uzma, the teacher who had placed this demand upon me. And do you know what that jerk did? He flashed me a lazy and careless grin �" a signal that he too was in the middle of nowhere! 

‘GET OUT OF THE CLASSROOM!’ 

‘Yeah, yeah, whatever! My pleasure.’ Thought I.  You know she said that to many of the students all the time but no one actually bothered to go out, they just sat there glued to their seat, smiling cheekily or in the case the teacher continued their insult �" That person stared at the floor, expressionless and sometimes, in the case of idiots, endeavoring to suppress their laughter.  Goodness me, what is the future of this country?

You see, undoubtedly I had a sense of dignity and self-respect absent in my peers.   Therefore, without a word my legs strode towards the door, my chin raised upright in addition to my pride. My theory regarding this topic was poles apart which spoke of looking fearlessly into the eyes of the person insulting you irrespective of the fact whether it was an elder or not; only occasionally when it was my dad… but. You get the picture! Troublemakers or outsiders should be delighted when offered this opportunity due to the fact that the teacher never reported you to the headmistress �"  they merely pleaded (in their mind not actually showing it) for a chance to scrub their class clean of all those uninterested in their talk and leave behind only the nerds. Besides they give you extra time to cook up those wonderfully ridiculous fantasies in your head so why hesitate?       

The only scenario I loathed were the incredulous looks I received from the academically perfect students of the class, well not only them but everyone, though they must have different thoughts running through their minds being the owners of a completely different psyche.  I was popular in the class but I had no best buddy. Here again I did not regret as the whole class to me was a pile of rubbish, stinking most revoltingly with every step you took closer. It was a meaningless pile of rubbish which had no understanding of my wild imagination, of my kind personality.  A meaningless pile of rubbish, loaded with all those slimy monsters to who this life only meant passing with good grades and to achieve that rote learning would have to be adopted.  Who never made any rules for themselves and chose only to abide by the existing ones. Who never thought ‘What if…?’ Who thought that Sobia Mustafa was just some weird and worthless idiot who had no dress sense, not my fault actually I never had many clothes termed socially acceptable by my age fellows, come on I didn’t do my shopping! Who listened to music termed as ‘old’ by them. The Beatles and U2 were exceptionally wonderful, they had problems which I didn’t give a damn about.  That’s what they thought of me as. A lone, lonely loner.  A lone, lonely loser.

Anyway, I had a glorious time seated on the grimy floor outside the classroom.  And why should there be three bullets which shot me? There should be thirty! Alright, maybe that’s too dramatic. Um… well then, ten! Yeah! Then people would be impressed later on and I would leave a lasting legacy. I should have some impressive last words too but I’ll think of them later.         

The rest of the day passed in no peculiar fashion. Teachers came and went, and so did my daydreams.  The sweltering summer day led to the formation of sweat all over me. Most uncomfortably it left a lasting stench due to which taking a shower even two times a day made no significant difference.

This place I lived in was exactly like a bird cage. The lock was never opened at any time. Pakistan. Life for other girls was way different but again going out alone for girls was strictly forbidden in my family, my family which adamantly held on to the old customs and beliefs of the ancestors and refused to move ahead. They were where they were. Never did they wish to make any progress. We might have the grandest house in the world, but what’s the use of a palace if you’re trapped inside it all the time? I don’t even have a brother who can stand up for me and take me out.  I do but he, by being mentally challenged by Down’s Syndrome, is never able to do anything let alone for himself…  I don’t want to go towards this topic, it depresses me…

My mother and sisters are nagging me all the time. ‘Why don’t you come to work in the kitchen?’ I’m thirteen years old and if these people think that I was born to chop onions and cook chapattis then no thank you. I do not wish to give them an opportunity to think that I have accepted this slavery as my fate.  You know, I don’t mind doing it once in a while, but then they take me for granted and one night my sister goes, rather idiotically, ‘Go fill cold water in the bottles, do some work, you’re a girl.’ From that night onwards I’ve not been helping them, goodness, the rage this sentence filled in me. I’m no expert either, let me mention or you might be mistaken in thinking that she’s exceptionally well at it. I always leave my work area relatively messy and when I chop potatoes, their shape is ridiculous. The other problem comes in the fact that the society that the underdeveloped part of my family is in contact with starts talking badly about it. Absolutely ludicrous. ‘Oh my God, her daughter doesn’t work.’ I’ve been to the village many times and believe me it’s full of gossiping chit chattering women, whose lives are based upon pointing fingers at someone else. To hell with such a life I say. And then the thought comes that all these people are Muslims. Then how can someone not doubt religion if the people of God are like this? I don’t mean anything against any religion but I think faith and hope should be kept.

And what keeps me going is the fact that I’m a warrior. Every stage of life is a battle and has to be dealt with in a brave and patient manner. Anyway, night approached in the same way as it did every day. And when my fellows went to sleep, I paced up and down the living room, building up more fantasies. All of a sudden I stopped in my tracks. I thought. I thought. Well if I really am a warrior then I shouldn’t be afraid of anything, not even the dark; which supposedly meant that I could go out of the house. No one was in the streets at this time of the night as well. Well, I’ll admit it. I was afraid, that is due to the fact that whenever this sort of situation is confronted by me scenes of horror movies I have watched start flashing before my eyes.  To make it worse, we even have a rocking chair in our drawing room, which keeps on rocking at a slow and steady pace, alright. Alright! Well maybe it doesn’t, maybe I just imagine it but it’s still creepy when you look at it, the curtains of the rooms blowing hard due to the wind and my imagination placing a menacing dead woman on the chair with a knife in one hand, getting up and ready to proceed towards me… Okay! Enough of this talk.

Vigorously I shuddered as this sent a shiver up my spine and the feeling of the breath of someone at my neck was felt.  The next second did what I never thought I could do. Not even stopping to think about anything, I just forced myself towards the entrance door, unlocked it and opened the gate and as soon as this procedure was completed I started running across the empty and wet road in our street. It had been raining therefore the effect was wonderful. It is what always happens. Like if you’re trying to jump from the stairs then if you’re thinking that ‘oh my God, I going to jump now. Now.’ Then you go ahead and then go back again to your start. So isn’t it better that you think and worry of nothing and just do what you want to?

 I ran as I had never run before, the cold wind slapped my face energetically and I never once looked back. I only thought about my future and all the wonderful things to look forward to.  Deep down inside a wretched voice spoke ‘Of course you’re not running away forever you’re going to go back.’           

I didn’t care. And my mind transformed my dull grey setting into a beautiful dreamland, full of lush greenery, a magnificently colourful sky… Um. No sun. I’d had enough of that. The sky cold but colourful, and then me running across that place free as a bird.  The situation which I would have to meet would be met. ‘I will see you.’ I said to it. And when I do, we’ll see…                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                             

Author's Note

How did the character interact with you? How personal is the story? Are there times when a smile comes upon your face? If yes then due to which reasons? Are there times when you get excited? What do you think of all the stuff she describes like not fitting in with her peers and describing them as monsters and all? All those descriptions? And what do you think about her getting kicked out of class and her thoughts on it? Her dramatic fantasies?