‘Begin’: Sehri Tales selections, Day 1

I. Notes on a Long Distance Demise 

-one-

It is 2am. I have missed a call. Several actually.

1:36am, missed call.

1:40am, missed call, some unknown number.

1:46am, missed call.

1:52am, missed call.

I wake up at 1:54. I pick up.

I find out at approximately 1:58am.

My uncle is in tears.

It is 2am. I have been sleeping. Missed several calls. Until this one.

I can feel the tilt of the earth. I can feel my heartbeat grow irregular. The texture of the fabric making up my shirt. I am cold.

I can hear sounds. The phone gets passed around on the other side.

My kid brother. His voice. My other brother. His voice.

I only hear voices.

There is a story here. A terrible one and it is non-linear. It is made up of words.

Words are an alien concept. Abstractions, too civilized, too refined.

It is 2am. I was sleeping at 1:50.

I am so cold. There are scars on my liver. I feel new ones forming, my other viscera being maimed.

I hear things being said. Reasons, complications, preparations.

It is still 2am. And I've missed a call. Several but none of them matter.

Except one.

You see, my mother was still alive at 1:36.

She'd called.

2am still. She died at 1:50am.

I can feel the walls starting to sweat from the weight of my grief.

All art begins as a form of prayer.

So let this be mine, meager though it may be.

by Tareq Adnan

II.

Let us begin all over again
and this time, let us not meet all.  

by Muneera Mun

III.

"And then the prince and the princess lived happily ever after. The end." Zayna closes the storybook and looks up.
The room is filled with children's books and toys. But the tiny bed is empty.
The night begins. So does a mother's tears.

by Tajrian Binte Zaman