I.

Little hands crawl through Sheila's body, stopping at her neck. It snaps! She breaks into excruciating pain.

…

"Another dream?"

Sheila wakes up, panting and sweating. She nods, drinking the special water Harun's mother gave her to stop the nightmares but in vain.

"Harun, it's that dream again. It'll kill me."

Harun furrows.

"It'll be okay."

With his assurance, Sheila falls asleep.

…

This dream of a little child started after she conceived. She dreamed of the fetus turning into a full-grown baby gradually. The day she dreamed of it coming out of her womb, she bled. Then the crawling started, hurting her in places.

Pinches. Scratches. Now- snaps.

Her superstitious mother-in-law wouldn't let her see the doctor. "It'll damage the baby", she'd say.

…

"It'll kill me. You kill it, before it snaps my neck."

Sheila pleads to Harun before heading to the O.T. on her delivery date. He'd do anything to save the…baby. They wanted an heir. Little does he care about Sheila now.

…

The doctors declare Sheila dead. She fell from the bed breaking her neck. But her horrified eyes betrayed the report.

…

At night, Harun hears his mother murmuring to the newborn.

"Good job, kiddo. My son deserves better than that catfishing Sheila. We'll look for a brand-new bride. If she's anything like Sheila, you know what to do." She laughs. The baby smiles.

Harun drops the feeder, spilling milk on the ground as he discovers four eyes staring at him, dead as fishes.

by Nodi Tabassum

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‘Delete’: Sehri Tales selections, Day 8

II.

Little did I know, when I left the nest

Every day in a metro, equals surviving a test

Flying solo, in a world so fast-paced

Almost twenty five, yet priorities misplaced.

.

The city's noise, cacophonous, deafening,

Own thoughts drowned, no chance of singing.

As the night falls and I'm all alone

I think of the life, I proudly own

My faithful friend, the semicolon,

A testament to my struggles

And the battles I have won.

.

And though my heart still aches at times,

For what I had, I've left behind.

The longing for home, my mother's embrace

The familiar scent, of my childhood days

And for the meals, my mother would make

The comfort of home, I cannot fake.

The little moments, that once seemed small

Now cherished memories, I hold above all.

.

Lost in the shuffle, of each passing day

Burning flames in heart, are they fading away?

With a smile on face, I carry on,

Didn't Waters write

"The child is grown, the dream is gone?"

by Mahiya Tabassum

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‘Phobia’: Sehri Tales selections, Day 7

III.

I fumble with the keys while trying to keep the groceries still. I swear if the eggs crack anywhere other than the pan today, I'll stop having eggs forever. There are two keys but of-freaking-course the door opens on my third try.

I run to switch on the tv for the countdown. What's the fastest Iftar one can make in 4 minutes? Tang? Eggs?

I open the pack of four eggs to find three broken. Where are the dates? Did I leave those at the store?

I struggle to light up the stove and remember about the gas leak being fixed; every little thing just has to go wrong today. And I am just so angry.

I am angry at my boss for keeping me late and not paying overtime. I'm angry my mother is dead and now I can't ever seem to open her favourite Tupperwares. I stare quietly as the container finally opens, leaves my hand, and it all falls.

The azaan starts and I collapse to the floor crying when I sense a small tap. It's Moriarty staring at me innocently. I try to lift him but Moriarty runs away leaving little pawprints on the orange floor. That's when I see it.

My formerly-white-now-orange cat Chandler is angry–angrier than I have been all day. I break into laughter while Moriarty returns to lick Tang off Chandler. I pick Chandler up, dusting her, while Moriarty follows; I let the two little beings pick me up yet again.

by Fahin Rahman Aungkita