Lingering in the Twilight

Well, the aftermath proved I should have jus shut up and kept my opinions to myself.

 

 

I-----I

I-----------I

I-------------------I

 

Chapter (5): Lingering in the Twilight 

 I-------------------I

I-----------I

I-----I

 

 

 

Why was I even watching this? My lips cambered in disapproval and I titled my head resting my cheek on my palm.

"Ma?" I idly called from the couch, the ordinary, eleven-year-old shade of brown in my eyes slightly shimmering, reflecting the discriminative parody broadcasting on the television screen.

"Ah, habeeby (Yes, sweetie)?" she answered, her hands actively stirring the tolerable smelling, chicken broth bubbling on the stove.

"Why do people around here hate the Kimas?"

Ma thought for a few seconds before she answered.

"Jad, you're watching that bad documentary channel again?"

Alright, let me just summarize this piece of political crap:

Kima Kabeela -loosely translated: mountain peak clan- was an offended minority cluster known here.

When I was a little boy, I learned that, a long time ago, they invaded, occupied and gained rule of the pioneers' settlements in between the Low Mountain Range on the borders of Ivory town.

The Kimas were said to have been strong, tall warriors with fast-growing snow-white hair, distinguished, intense baby-blue eyes that defied the bitterness of the mountain winter, fearsome battle and supernatural tactics that had concerned the present regime of our town.

Even long before I was born, the undying yet losing battles to reclaim the Low Mountain Range appended more reasons to complete the horrid depiction of the Kima Clan, painted and passed to younger generations.

It was only a matter of time, people thought, before the hooligans made one, sweeping move of incursion on our town. So to all the minds that were saturated with political media, this permitted the refugee to the policy of: kill or be killed.

I guessed the Kimas' leader was symbolized sort of like how Osama Binladin was in the United States American Culture.

At my school, if there was anything worse than being called a homosexual, it was being called a Kima.

My tenth-grade teacher, Yusra Majdi, officially got on my nerves after the millionth time she'd asked us to write an essay about being a soldier in the Low Mountain Range.

I mean, would you re-read the last sentence above? There was not even the slightest bit of political freedom here.

I didn't 'long' for the right of expressing anything with or against either parties. I never liked taking sides anyway, feeling at ease the way I am, just lingering in the twilight.

"Jad?" she called my name in a 'why did you do that' tone, without lifting her eyes from the papers on the desk in front of the blackboard. "Why do I see a blank page in your assignment notebook again?"

I raised my head from the desk crowded with stupid doodles and put my pencil down. I slightly pursed my lips, staring through the board behind her comical red glasses and horrifying hair-do, unevenly dyed highlights, curled and stuck up in the air.

What could I have said; sorry, Abla (teacher) Yusra? I don't feel like agreeing with most people in town?

"Do you not care about your land's safety from enemies? Do you not have any thoughts or feelings to share with us?" she asked in response to my silence.

"Uh, no? I'd just leave it alone." I said, glancing around, my low voice growing a little steadier, "I live in this town, and those guys live far in the mountains. So, I see nothing really worth bothering about." I shrugged, calmly going back to my doodling, raising my head back again and looking around seconds after realizing how sudden the silence had plagued this class. All the other students had their heads turned in my direction, wearing uncomfortable expressions on their faces.

Did I talk too much…? Well, the aftermath proved I should have just shut up and kept my opinions to myself.

I groaned as my nose received a painful punch and my back thumped against the corridor wall, the olive-brown satchel skidding from my hands.

"Nicely aimed, Muraud." Leena's musical compliment chimed from the back.

"Just get it over with quick." I sighed at the routine, "Break time ends soon and I haven’t eaten anything since morning."

I wiped the itchy ooze of blood off my nose with the back of my sleeve and opened my squeezed eyes just to flinch and shut them again when Muraud's fist jerked back and forth before my face.

"Morning, Jad. "she smirked at me with crossed arms and a tilted head, following a whole-hearted snigger. "Walking to school with Dujaun has become a new habit of yours."

Leena had always been a bully with a knotty history of rich family issues, but she'd never really taken interest in torturing me until recently; once the clash between me and Dujaun ended and our old friendship slowly started to heal. Leena had harbored feelings for Dujaun for a few years now -everyone knew that, even when she insisted it was a 'secret'- and she thought -no, she was positively certain- that we were more than just friends…I'll stop there because I've explained enough.

"Look at the f****t, will you?" Muraud laughed along as he yanked me closer from the collar of my shirt, "talking big in Yusra's class today, yet so defenseless at the moment. Tsk." He shook his head in fake disappointment, his fist aching to strike again and his other hand constricting around my throat, forbidding the air from my lungs. My hands reached upwards in between my winded hisses, weakly attempting to unclog his grip.

"Do you suck hard, emo boy?" he whispered loudly in my ear.

I really wished he hadn't said what he said, because it initiated an unhealthy churn in my empty stomach. There goes my yet to be eaten lunch…My eyes rolled up and blackness started melting over them, forwarding for an even more unpleasant feeling. I couldn't…breathe.

"Shway, shway (easy), Muraud." Leena said, "You're not seriously planning to get jailed over killing a nobody, are you?"

Muraud's hands promptly pulled away, and I slumped down on the tiled floor by the water cooler, pathetically coughing and gasping for air.

"Your dad's been so busy disagreeing with the world," Leena sighed glancing down at me, and admiring her well-polished short, fingernails, "he forgot about saving you from the mobs who togetherly agreed he's not in his right mind."

I already knew there was something wrong with my father, otherwise I wouldn't have been oppressed because of him, but seriously…what kind of word was: togetherly…?

My parents were unlike any the other resident of Ivory town…in a bad way, I thought.

My mother supported minorities; she'd befriend handicaps, immigrants, and allegedly true wizards/witches, attend homosexual weddings…etcetera.

My father was a free-lance journalist and a person of controversy, deranged, illogical mood swings, and an irritatingly deep understanding of the world around him.

He used to tell Ma about the documentary journeys he'd made to the Low Mountain Range. He'd show her photographs; sceneries of the Kabeela architecture and culture. I guessed if this had been another country, he'd be executed for the crime of: aiding an enemy. My mother would call him a truth-seeker.

I'd call him a selfish a*****e.

When he was younger, and I was just a kid, Pa got fired repeatedly from work and some of the frustration that accumulated, was emptied out in me. As the years passed, I learned to effectively push his burden of undeserved blames off my back, and he learned to stay away from home as long as he could.

"What's all the racket about?" Dujaun appeared with a couple of books packed in one of his hands. His glare briefly locked with Muraud's smirk.

Leena's jealous eyes didn't even slightly cringe at Dujaun's abrupt suspicions.

"Hello, Dujaun." Was all she said before following Muraud.

"Wait, wait, what just happened here?" He asked in an unfriendly tone, glancing down at the reddish bruise labeling my neck with a slight frown.

I lowered my eyes away …I didn't need that look.

"Uhm, I don't know." she shrugged, her body half-turned to Dujaun before she resumed walking again, "He must have choked on his sandwich or something."

"Get up." He said, offering his hand, "I'm sorry I wasn't here to prevent this--"

"I'm fine." I frigidly interrupted clouting his hand away. I gathered the crumbs of self-esteem left and pulled myself up, "I don't need your pity."

His eyebrows slightly jumped in silence. I stared at him with the edge of the drained brown shade in my eyes, wiping my nose with the back of my hand.

"Jad, I don't pitt-"

"Yes, you do." I exhaled, drawing up the olive-brown satchel around my shoulders, "Everyone does, thanks to him."

"Him? Your father doesn’t decide for you to get stomped beneath peoples' feet. It's your life, man. Fight for it." He said in a strong, loud tone, hoping it would stiffen my defeated backbone.

The bell rang across the hall.

"I have a class now. Maybe I'll fight later." I straightened the crumbled collar of my shirt and headed past him, making sure I perfectly avoided his eyes.

A few days later, Muraud fluently cornered me with the other three Pumbas of his gang and attempted harassment in the open. Dujaun spotted us and summoned his backup forces, merging in a clash after school. The next morning, the boys' parents signed up a terminal warning and a three-day-suspension, which they needed anyway, since both Dujaun and Muraud lay bruised up in hospital beds for the rest of the week. Leena kept her distance and so did Muraud, making it easier for me to attend a long, seven-hour-school day

A year after I heard of the last military encounter in the Low Mountain range, people, including my father, rarely mentioned anything related to the Kima Clan. It was as if they had disappeared from existence.

Author's Note

Chapter 5....a flash back into main character's background. I like everyday life, because it's much easier to write than never-before-seen hokus pocus. That is why there was not much to polish here. All my life I've studied mostly in privates schools, so to me, as a conservative student who only faced superficial teasing, the bullying in this chapter included a bit too violent for school life. Anyway, comments and constructive advice is always welcome. : ) Enjoy.

Reviews

[Nothing Personal]

I got a bit confused at times. But Maybe its just me on a Sunday Morning rather than your writing. I enjoyed the tensions you were describing and the ages at which it affects us. I am a staunch advocate of egalitarianism and the "hate" directed towards Kimas in your story is an universal truth which happens in every society to some sections of people. There is a great need to emphasize "humanism" as opposed to "whitism", "blackism", "yellowism" and what not.
Maybe i digressed a bit. But i liked where the story is headed. I would probably take some time out to read the other chapters and follow your work. Keep going...

[Coyote Poetry]

A amazing story. I had to go back and read all the other chapters. I like the pace and the character in this story. A lot of interesting topic came up in this chapter. I will read on. A very strong chapter.
Coyote

[Zane]

This chapter was really good. I'm looking foward to reading the continuation of the story.

[Havatara]

I kind of got confused at the end, with the "a year after" part. When would that be, exactly? Does that mean a year after this stuff at school happened or what?

[Deviant Works]

Another great chapter. Gave us more on Jad and a historical background. You are building a solid foundation for this story and I see it growing. Love the characters and how you show glimpses of Jad's life. His friends, family and how he is treated at school and by his father. You are very good at not giving too much away on your previous chapters, just faint hints that leave me wondering.

[tshigg]

Another great chapter. Good background info on the Kima. Now you have me curious I want to know more about the mother and Dujuan. I know I am getting ahead of the story. I guess that means the story is even better becuase you have me believing the characters are real! Good Job!

[Erin]

“…this permitted the refugee to the policy of: kill or be killed.”
The “of” in the sentence is basically a colon in word form, so you don’t need the colon at all. You could take out the “of” and put the colon after “policy” and it would make perfect sense then.
“So, I see nothing really worth bothering about.’”
The “so” does not require a comma there, so you can just take it out.
As for the story, you maintain The Balance very well. I applaud you for that. Your description isn’t living up to your dialogue, but it’s nothing too major to get worried about yet. I would say that when you finish the book, look at every sentence, read it out loud if you have to, and then make corrections when necessary. Shoot for perfection, although you might not get it. Don’t settle for anything less than perfect.
I think that the plot is a bit confusing as to where it’s taking me, but I’m still strapped in for the ride. Send me a read request when you finish the next chapter. Nice job.
PBP

[Geralyn Miller]

Story: working just fine. The structure needs to be smoothed and polished. Do it yourself, don't leave it for an editor down the road; the subtlties of meaning can be lost when someone else edits.