Strings - Capstone Amal Al Shamsi (1)

“Don’t try,” Hamza said, moving next to him. Faisal pulled out bills to pay anyway and
none of them had the strength to pick any more fights, including the decapitated Raed.
The weather outside was chilly, like walking in the frozen section. The pavement was wet,
as it seemed to consistently be. Hamza stepped right into a puddle, too preoccupied with trying
to figure out what to say to make him stay. Kicking his foot in annoyance, he lagged behind the
others for a while. Then, he stopped in place. He watched the boys move in front of him, getting
smaller.
Salem and Raed were talking, but their heads bobbed lazily like it was just small talk.
They moved carelessly letting the bags thump against their thighs as they moved. Faisal was not
as tall as the others but he kept up a steady pace in the front. Hamza could just barely make out
his navy blue coat. If he closed his eyes, they would continue to walk. Things would happen to
them, external to himself. Faisal would choose to stay or go back home and Hamza would be
none the wiser, if he stayed still on that wet pavement.
“Did you get kidnapped?” Raed called out, twisting his head back and holding his arm
out to slow down Salem.
Salem had that look like he was just pulled out of a thought, or sentence.
“Who would want him?” Faisal said from the front.
“The miserable truth.” Hamza caught up with them, slowly, not bothering to rush. The
way back seemed longer, Faisal was turning down odd streets. “Do you know where you are
going?” Hamza asked him.
“Don’t ask me that. I am tired of that question.”
Salem laughed a bit at this.
“Oh, it’ll be weird without you,” Raed said, offhandedly.
Hamza glanced at him. Faisal continued moving forward.
They came to a bend in the street. In the end, there was that rolled-up mattress that the
boys would pass on their way to their university buildings. It leaned against the cast iron fence of
a little park. They had no idea it was a corpse, but still skirted around it.
“It’s still here,” Hamza said, gesturing with his chin.
“What?” Faisal asked, looking back at him before answering his own question. “Oh.
What, do you want to bring it home?”
“Remember how you thought it was an art piece?” Raed asked, snickering.
They stepped onto the road to avoid the little arrangement. That night, there were
colorful wrappers, Ferrero Rocher chocolates, small bits of paper, and bits of ribbon strewn
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