Moving Finger - Issue 3 - Brunel University

churning its evil sickness through my body. Its skin seemed light, almost like air, making
my grasp seem futile as I tried to pull it away from me. I felt desperate, powerless. As I
looked at the serpent, I realised it had no face. It wore a mask of sealed identity. I dreaded
its aura, which clouded my judgement, my sanity, even more now. The force of its hatred
possessed superhuman strength. It could not be dissolved. It filled the room, crushing my
belongings, shattering everything that had constructed me. This was no longer my room.
It was the snake’s.
Androulla Savva
WAKING TO NIGHTMARE
I wake up, sticky with sweat, still able to hear the silent whisper from beneath the bed.
Unable to move, frozen with fear, I remain still until the whisper fades. A brilliant white
light fills the room, blinding me, momentarily. My eyes adjust and before me, at the foot
of my bed, is a doorway, emitting an alien glow from its borders. Hypnotised, I approach.
The light immerses me.
I am no longer in my bedroom, but inside the thought of a dreamer. As I descend the
cold stone steps, a disfigured form lurks below, disappearing suddenly as I look in its
direction. Finally the steps end and I am confronted with an impossibly narrow hallway.
The portraits lining the walls seem eager to gloat, their malevolent faces twisted in
grotesque glee. Again, I hear the whisper and follow its maddening insinuations. It
belongs to a demented cripple. He sits in a room that is rotting. "You cannot leave." His
malicious eyes never move from me. "You cannot leave." His mouth twists to form a
devil's smile. "You cannot leave. You are one of this dead."
Alan Ismail
NIGHTMARE
The place seems dark. Though it is supposed to be day, thick, black clouds cover the
sun. It seems as if the sky is going to cry any minute. People are moving in circles
silently. I can hear the sound of bombs and shootings, following me wherever I go.
I can see several men running round with guns on their shoulders, shouting at people,
but nobody is listening to what they say. I think I am in hell. People from every kind of
age group are present: the young, old, middle-aged. They are all wandering round, not
knowing what to do.
A bomb has just exploded nearby. I can see people gathering to watch the scene; I am
also making my way there. My God, it is so crowded, how am I supposed to get through?
Somehow I snake through. Oh God, I don't want to see this! Blood is everywhere as if it
has been raining here with deep colour. I see the dead bodies lying on the ground like
leaves in winter. I see my own body among the dead. Is that really me? Am I dead or
imagining things? As I go closer to the body, I see the wound in the heart. I am dead. This
is the Afghanistan. I am in hell. I start crying and crying, but nobody notices me. Nobody
will ever notice me.
Frohar Poya
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