Consciously Adrift

[Malocchio 983]

 

 

8th of the Snow’s Maiden,1543

 

A bitter draft seeped into a room of hardened, sturdy earth . . .

 

Fluttering lids would finally allow an aging Qalasheen woman to awake from a slumber that had lasted for an extended period that felt like a lifetime. Rigid digits struggled to uncoil from their position at the side of her lithe frame; the figure of the dismal, forgotten Saharfajhari el-Abdulrashid.

 

That was her name. A name that was both so familiar and so obscure.

 

“Salaam, Saharfajhari. Oh, it’s been such a long time! How was your slumber?”

 

Jalaf went rambling along aimlessly, though Saharfajhari hadn’t caught a single word of what he stated. She had not a clue where she remained, though she did have the ability to acknowledge her brother of forty years whom stood firmly on the opposite side of the fading, crumbling hall. He stiffly folded his arms behind a most sinewy, structured build, his voice carrying about the vacant room, waking her further. “Time to go, ta’lab.”

 

With considerable, unstable effort, Saharfajhari reeled from the trundle she rested upon, twisting about the crack and loosen the bones she hadn’t used during her quote on quote slumber. The surrounding environment was harshly cold and she was certainly thankful a pelt was wrapped ‘round her svelte shoulders; yet something seemed out of place, just as her brother was seen the same. It’s almost as if she had been away from home for centuries and her stirring, sudden ailment nearly affirmed this peculiar thought.

 

A vision lingers inside her head, however; picturing a man of aging features, jade orbs and an ever-so-acquainted visage. Yet without hesitation, she waves off the image with a content shake of her head, one a disobedient youth would be known to view upon their parents’ faces.

 

Jalaf offers a slim hand in direction of his sister to gesture her alongside his being- and she was quick to obey, moving to take a strained stance next to him. It had been even a challenge to be on her feet, for her muscles were wiry and lacking even a minor ounce of strength. The ‘slumber’ had weakened them.

 

“Do you miss them?”

 

There was no response instead of a sage, artless silence between the two and he simply nods at this.

 

“I understand. Aren’t you glad to have me, ta’lab? You would be lost without me, wouldn’t you?” Jalaf continues along in enlightened murmurs, causing the lips of Saharfajhari to offer but a ghost of a smile. He wasn’t speaking with fiction, however- for it was unquestionably just and the woman was knowledgeable herself. The duo moved ‘forth with three, striding steps, Jalaf supporting his weary sibling during her time of trouble.

 

“We cannot return.” Saharfajhari mutters to him, curling emaciated digits around the harsh stone railing of the enigmatic cavity they stood inside. The lips of the ominous fellow who stood beside his kinsperson naturally emitted an amused chuckle that held a virulent string to it. She furrowed her brows in bemusement, inclining her head upwards to assess him curiously, granting her features a most sinister grin that matched her brother’s own.

 

Something clicked within her head, then and there. Things finally had made sense. She, too, was enlightened.

 

“Or can we?”

 

Jalaf el-Abdulrashid dips his head out to the environment that remained just beyond their earthen haven, lifting his index finger to gesture towards the land below. And then, he’d state nonchalantly; as if the world was wondrous and pleasant during their current standpoint. “We can, ta’lab.”

 

The Qalasheen blinked profusely, raising a disgustingly bony, visibly malnourished hand to press ruggedly against her prominent, exaggerated features; the osseous matter within her cheeks engraved so plainly.

 

“I cannot wait to see the faces once more, Jalaf. They must miss us.”

 

Saharfajhari casts her gaze out the irregular window they stood just in front of; but her stare held a glint of enmity in its purest form, owning an unsettling malice to them. Such was so. The woman, who once was deemed a generous, moral and amiable being lost the remaining shadow of altruism that taken so kindly to her expression.

 

Permanently conscious with acrimony and adrift with unmitigated rancor.

 

[TheGreasyChef 129]

Malik sits silently within the home that they once shared, sulking since the day she disappeared. The newly crowned Sultan bends at the waist as he sits on the very sofa he and his wife once shared. His tired, aging face rests almost delicately into both of his palms as he releases yet another sob into them. Inside he cries, no begs, for help. He can not do this without her. Malik only quietly watches his son from afar, having never said more than two words to the young boy. Ameen, Malik breaks into yet another sob as he thinks of the father he has become. His young boy looks just like Saharfajhari. 

 

Malik pulls himself together moments later, rubbing at his own face, though not leaving the couch. He would look up, to one of the large windows within the eerily silence of his home, hoping to see his Habibi, standing there, looking out of it. Malik pulls the wide headband from his head and tosses it to the table between the two sofas before laying down. He has never slept in the bed that they had shared together alone, and he never will. "Farewell, habibi.. I hope your pain has ended."

[Reckless Banzai Screamer 15456]

Running his digits through the chopped locks sprouting from his sleeping daughter's head, a dim candle light illuminates Nafis' face. It had been a week since he had set north right after his attempt at Faiz's life. Something held him back from slaying his only remaining father figure and now the Qali was left to wallow in the choice he made. Hell was certain, Shai'tan's grip tightened. The diamond blackened.

 

Many names came to mind in his late night contemplation of where he could have went wrong. There was a lovely woman he remembered fondly back home but their later years had left them estranged and at times the Qali made attempts on her life much like he did Faiz. Her fate was unknown to Nafis but he could not stop thinking of her unlike all those who came and left his frame of mind.

 

Leaving a cookie wrapped in cloth by the bed side of his little Almas, Nafis goes back south accompanied only by his horse Osman and his arbalest. He named the latter 'Big Papi'.

[tilly 5115]

Moved to the Archive. It shall be sorted into the appropriate category shortly.