The Cell (Omar ElFarouk, Visionaries)

The Cell

The following events take place inside a prison cell

Day in and day out, I am waiting for them to finish it all , for a bullet of mercy. For someone, FOR ANYONE to pull the plug on me; you see them, liberals, claim that capital punishment is a very cruel “crime” , crime they say!! They establish their fancy arguments about the powers that be, being as cruel and criminal as the cons themselves, well here I am sitting inside this frigging cell that I think I am more institutionalized then the bunk bed I sleep on every night when I can sleep. A bullet, a syringe, a noose, an electric shock, any of those would be a much needed mercy; a helping hand, a bridge that I am more than willing to cross over.

They ripped me of my humanity; oh was that too blunt for ya!! Did you need an Orwellian speech with descriptive details that make Brown and King seem like high school students, I guess you are one of them then?? Those ALIVE people...I am condemned to breathe here for the remainder of the sentence, the judgment they call my life. They thought this is the kindest favor they can offer me, little did they know, that if I was brave enough I would have taken my own life, they don’t get it, and they can't get it; you see there is that one short story about a stupid bet between a banker and a young man, both were dumb if you ask me, one of them argued that after 50...or...15 or was it 25?…Well after a large number of years in confinement one would no longer have the capability to function as a normal willing human being. It would simply drain over time and the other thought the opposite, so the bet went on as one of them stayed under lock and key while the other lived fearing that they would lose the bet and their money (it was a loot of money) the only thing that could make the banker dude win was that the other guy’s escaped the day before the last he goes into the room to choke him but instead he finds a paper and on it was the confession of the imprisoned fool and he explains to him how through his years , his reflection and his readings, he no longer wants the money and he has changed his outlook at life completely and thus he will be running away from his cell before the time expires by one hour….Am starting to think am making this up maybe I am, I wouldn't blame you if you agree…. Anyway what I want you to understand is that pile of crap I just told you about is REAL, you become a piece of furniture, just another page in a looong PAINFUL novel.

They break us out of our cells at the beginning of the day so that they can indoctrinate us, we are simply told about what we should know, and what we shouldn’t know is never mentioned. Our own original ideas, you ask? Stripped bare of any chance of flourishing, diminished to nothing, more than trivial fantasy not even worthy of the slightest chance of receiving constructive criticism … the pain,, what really makes it painful is the hope , the cruelest instrument humans could allow you to wield to torture yourself…they let it hang there , the chance of redemption , the gun with the single bullet , that really REALLY shiny knife in the kitchen,, the open door AND THAT DAMNED WINDOW…ohhh wait you have no idea what am talking about do you ?

My cell, or as “they” call it , my room has a window; it is not barred; it is not high for me not to be able to reach it; it’s big enough for me to look through at the vast open nothing outside which is in all honesty mesmerizing and beautiful, sometimes it’s a barren dead charming desert, sometimes it’s alive chaotic green fields, other times its busy entangled grey yet shiny cities , and it kills me every time I look through my window, as I know am never leaving and they know that or at least my mind tells me that they do. Otherwise, I am the only one being cruel here and I am being cruel to myself. I would prefer to believe my own excuses than to face the truth, I can jump through my window by the way…but I don’t.

After our classes are finished they send me back …"home". I can see the yard and those trying futilely to exercise and play , try as they may what is dead is dead and may never live again , only living people can experience suicide , others  can only know the torment of breathing .

My supervisor drinks a lot, or not ? They also like to beat us, me and my cellmate. They don’t look happy when they are doing it, and they don’t look happy after they are done with it, but they do it A LOT, so I came to the conclusion that they like it and that the tears and crying I hear coming from their room, their office, are cries and tears of joy otherwise why would they be doing it all the time if they were crying sadly?? Anyway, their beatings never stopped my brother from using, oh wait I don’t want to confuse you, already you seem very smart? That got a chuckle out of me…let me explain , you get very close to your cellmate , when you live with someone for so long , you are bound to like them , so they grow on you and you grow on them and eventually you find yourself calling them brother., so my brother is using now, whatever he can get his hands on, he is ready to use, whether he will snort it, shoot it, smoke it, or drink it as long as it makes consciousness go away, as long as it can make the hope, the ability to feel and realize that you are still alive in pain stop as long as it can make him no longer feel the beatings, he never invites me to join him though! I don’t know what I would do if he did, I am not sure I am brave enough to try this, to try things that can do this to you, things that may make me feel alive or even more dead? I still don’t understand why he didn't jump out of the window or why he was so angry when I asked once out of mere curiosity if I can try one of his drugs.

Tomorrow is my birthday.  I am 13.

My Love, My Dove (Bothaina Ayman, Visionaries)

My Love, My Dove

So many things to say,
But my lips are sealed.
'But it's a good day,'
I think to myself
'No! don't you dare speak'

My heart crammed with wishes
My mind alive with dreams, 
Alas my cheeks blush,
And my craving eyes gleam

How dare I confess,
When my tongue is tied?
My feelings are suppressed 
As well my lips had lied

To who?
To you,
My love,
My dove

I'm so sorry
That my words are all lies,
But I only worry,
That my love for you would die.

My love for you is a treasure 
That I can, in no way, measure.
My love for you is MY little secret,
For it's my absolute weakness.

My darling, can't you tell?
The way my eyes shine when I see you,
And my heart hammers as a thunderous bell.

Your smile is a treat to my eyes
That turns my thoughts upside down.
I point at you with heavy, secretive fingers
'That is where my heart lies'

Your voice is blessed, like a heavenly harp,
An angel would forfeit its wings,
Just to hear you sing

Oh how can I forget?
Your eyes that shine with mischief,
Yet shimmers would regret, 
When your feelings turn twisted

But what's the point in portraying your ostensible appearance?
My devotion for you, my highness, is gone

How foolish of me to believe,
To believe that love is for me.

Faked feelings,
Empty words,
Heart stealing,
Injured body

I gave you my love,
And what did you give me?
A hefty shove

But you are completely insane, 
To think that I'm in pain.

Oh dear, this is just the start,
For I have conned your heart

So let it rest for now,
As you next days
Are turning utterly foul

My 'love', my 'dove',
Good 'luck'

Chapter 1: Iris (Noha ElNahsar, Visionaries)

Chapter 1: Iris

The sound comes first then the pain in my ears begins to echo.

I wake up to the sound of someone giving orders in my ear. I should have noticed the chirping sounds of the birds or the ruffling leaves. Or even the fact that I’m lying in the middle of the street. But I don’t. It was only the sound in my ear. “Are you awake?” the voice in my ear starts. My hands move to my ears, tracing them, and I find a tiny headphone attached to it right where my earring should be. I speak without knowing whether the person on the other side can hear me. “Yes… yes, I’m awake.”

“Good!” the voice sounds enthusiastic. “Let me introduce myself then. Actually, I’m not alone; there’s a whole group of us.”

“There are others? Who are you exactly?”

“We are a team of archaeologists; we are the ones who sent you to this city. As you can see, the city is abandoned.” I look around to verify his words, and I mentally agree with him; the city is abandoned. He continues, “I know you might be wondering what you are doing here,” He pauses for a second. “Well, we want to play a game.”

“A game?” I ask incredulously. Couldn’t we play a game in my hometown? Or at least somewhere that doesn’t look like it came straight out of Jumanji?

The voice returns, “Yes, a game. Simple, really, but with rules that you have to follow. So listen carefully. There are four other people in this city; it’s a small city by the way. You have to find them and then you have to launch on a search for the list that gives you the rules. There are five rules. You have five hours to do so and if you fail, you’re stranded here. You can’t contact us; only we can contact you. And we won’t do so till you find the list. We’re watching you.”

I listen carefully to every word the masculine voice is saying, but I’m truly lost. What kind of maniac does something like this? But then I decide to go with the flow and see what happens. “That’s it?”

“Yes, that’s pretty much it.” The voice mutters something afterwards, as if he’s talking to someone else. I can almost hear him say, “Don’t worry; no, nothing is going to happen”.

“Okay,” I hesitate. But before I gain the courage to say anything else, the voice rushes on and says, “Well, good luck searching!” And the connection is cut.

I get up and shake the dirt off my pants as I wonder how on earth I got here and what exactly am I walking into. Then I think about the gravelly voice and feel the determination to win his game starting to crawl into my mind and seep into my body, filling me with a rush of adrenaline. And just like that I want to tear this city down and follow the rules to get out of here. I don’t realize that my feet started moving till I find myself wandering in a park. It doesn’t look any different from the other parks I’ve grown up in, but I still can’t shake the feeling of something creepy about it. For starters, the leaves on the trees have crisscrossing black streaks as if someone colored them, but when I touch them I find that those streaks are smooth to the touch, embedded within the leaves. I’m actually afraid to inhale them because what if they have a toxic smell or something? I watch too many movies to be that naïve. I look around the park that seems to extend immensely ahead of me. My eyes notice something first. The fountain in the middle. It’s a porcelain fountain with the statue of a huge owl erected in the middle of it, like an angel rising out of the water. Beside the fountain, something twinkles. I move closer to the fountain, hearing my footsteps as I go. Then I stop when I see it, a copper coin. Who has those anymore? And if I’m the first one to set foot in this city for years, how did it get here? Who did it belong to? Maybe it belonged to one of the other four. It’s a reminder I’m not alone. I pick it up and inspect it closely. Avivorous, the hidden gem of Iowa. Above the inscription is a smaller replica of the owl that stands before me. Oh, that must have been where they got the name Avivorous from. Weird but okay; I have a feeling this is going to be the least weird.

A sound jolts me out of my reverie and I slightly flinch. It’s coming from behind the half-black-half-green trees. It must be the others. “Hello,” I call. “Is anybody there?” When no one answers, I creep closer, almost reaching out to move the leaves out of my way when I feel a great weight knocking me down and falling on top of me, causing the coin to roll out of my hands. I feel the breath knocked out of my lungs as I fall flat on my chest.

When I look up I find a girl smirking down at me. “What are you doing?” I ask, unable to keep rage from dominating over me.

“Knocking you down obviously,” she huffs as she gets off me. She turns to the other three people standing by, watching us and says, “This one here isn’t that bright.” She looks at me, “Get up.” She offers me her hand. I take it

“So, I see you both have made peace,” a boy chuckles and gives a high five to the other two. One of the boys, the oldest I guess, steps forward and says, “Hey, stranger.” He smiles at me. “I’m Eliot; this is Clara,” he motions to the girl who just knocked me down and who is now giving me the brightest smile I’ve ever seen. “And this is Luca,” he pats the boy who gave high fives on the back. “And this is Ethan.” They all smile and nod their heads slightly.

“I,” I struggle with the words, not knowing how to respond to this rush of energy that overwhelms me. “I am Iris.” I smile nervously at them.

“Well, hello, Iris.” Ethan smirks seductively. I shake my head discreetly as Eliot chastises him and tells him to stay away from me. “She is a lost lunatic for all we know.”

Boys.

“Okay, okay.” Clara raises her hands up in the air. “Iris, you do know what we’re up against, right?”

“Yes,” I nod. “The voice let me in on what we’re supposed to do.”

“The voice?” she inquires. “That’s what Laura told you to call her?”

“Who’s Laura?” I can feel the color draining out of my face by the time this question leaves my mouth. “It was a man who talked to me.”

“It was?” Luca raised an eyebrow then shrugged. “Well, Laura did say there was a group of archaeologists, so they must have divided themselves up.”

“Yeah,” I say as I move a tiny pebble around with my foot. “Yeah, I guess so.”
“So, there is a list we need to find first before they contact us.”

“What are we waiting for then?” Ethan grins and leads the way into the woods. I have no idea how those four get along or where they come from or where do I fit in their little family circle but one thing I’m sure of. I want to get out alive, and I will do anything to get out of here.

My Reflected Soul (Salma Gamal)

My Reflected Soul

You are the mirror to my soul and the direct way to my heart.

You are the calm breeze that tackles my face after a long day.

You are the sunshine of my life and the light of my heart.

You are my back that I always lean on whenever life gets to break me.

You are the vast sky filled with the shining stars of my dreams.

You are my eternal source of happiness and my running river of passion.

You are the keeper of my unspoken secrets and the savior of my unsettled acts.

You are the gate to my self and the key to my complicated mind.

You are the cure to my aching soul and the remedy of my suffering.

You are my harmony of felicity and strength.

You are the rainbow after an unstoppable rain.

You are the moon that lights up my life whenever dark it is.

You are the reason of my smiles and the secret behind my laughters

You are the promise that I will never break and the vow that I will always keep.

You are the cause of my gratefulness and satisfaction.

You are the best thing that has ever happened to me and eventually will happen.

You are my ever-lasting infinity that never seems to end.

You complete me and reflect me upon your beautiful soul....

I'm blessed and forever will be 

الزائر المُميت (Salma Gamal)

بسم الله الرحمن الرحيم..

الزائر المُميت

كانت منهمكة في مذاكرة مادة الأحياء التي تعشقها،كل تركيزها علي الأسماء المعقدة التي يصعب حفظها ،و كأنها منشغلة هكذا لتششت نفسها عن أمر ما!

أمرٍ مزعج يكمن دائماً معها و يلازمها دائماً!و يا ليت تلك الأمر يتركها في حالها....

ظلت تذاكر هكذا حتي وجدت مياةٍ منهمرة علي إيديها.تركت قلمها و فجأة تبخرت الأسماء التي تعبت في في حفظها و كأن الكون يتلاشي من حولها، وثم استندت بظهرها إلي الوراء و باتت تسترجع ما سبب هذة المياة المنهمرة؟

يا الله لم الحياة هكذا؟ لم الحياة تظل مبتسمة ثم فجأة تكشر عن أنيابها المفترسة؟

انهمرت دموعها و بكثرة،و هي لا تعي كيف توقف تلك الفيضان!

كم تكره نفسها و هي في تلك الحالة!

توقفت عن البكاء و لم تعبأ بمسح دموعها و لكنها مضت تفكر!

لم دوماً تنتهي هكذا؟ لم البكاء؟لم الخوف!

نعم إنه الخوف! ذلك الوحش المخيف الذي يفترس ما تبقي من روحها المرحة كل يومٍ!

حياتها علي ما يرام! ليس يوجد ما يقلقها!

هي تفعل ما تحب و مِجدة في دروسها،تحب من حولها و كل شيءٍ حولها في هدوء و تناسب!

و لكن تعلمون تلك هي المشكلة!

فالعواصف المميتة يكون دوما قبلها الجو هاديء و مستقر!

هي خائفة من كل شيء! خائفة أن تصبح تلك الحياة الوردية بشعة لا روح بها! خائفة من سهام القدر المفاجأة التي تأتي في الصميم!

ماذا بعد؟ ستظل هكذا؟ الخوف يسرق عمرها يومٍ بعد يومٍ!

ليت أحد يفهمها! فكلما تُحدث أحدً عن شعورها أو مخاوفها تُتهم بالجنون و السطحية! فحياتها مثالية لم الخوف و القلق إذاً! لم هذا التفكير المتلوي؟!

كم مقتت الناس و كم أرادت أن تخبرهم أن هذا الشعور ليست هي من تختاره! إنه شعور يأتي وقتما يحب و يمكث مثلما يريد!

لقد ملت من كونها ضائعة هكذا بلا جدوي،و لكن ما الحل؟!

اعتدلت و قامت من علي مقعدها و قررت أن تتجه إلي شباك غرفتها و أن تنظر إلي الشوارع الخالية....و كأن لهذا الشباك مفعول سحري....

وقفت و الهواء البارد يصطدم بوجهها المُندي من الدموع،توقفت عن التفكير لبرهة و أشاحت بوجهها ناحية السيارات المتحركة.

ظلت تراقب السيارات في هدوء و ثم انتقل نظرها إلي المارة أمامها

تمعنت بهم شخصاً شخصاً.

ملابسهم،وجوههم،طريقة كلامهم،كيف يضحكون....مشطتهم تمشيطاً شاملا ً!

و فجأة صعق رأسها بعض الأسئلة التي لا إجابة لها!

"تُري هل يوجد من بين هؤلاء من هو مثلي؟"

"هل حياتهم علي ما يرام كما أري؟ أم هم يدفنون ما يؤلمهم بداخلهم!"

"هل إذا تحدثت مع أحداً منهم سوف يفهمني و يشعر بما يراودني؟"

شلالات من الأسئلة التي لا لون لها!

أسكتت أفكارها المتمردة و أغمضت أعينها و قررت أن تستمتع بالهواء الذي قليلا ً ما يمر من شباك غرفتها!

ظلت هكذا حتي شعرت أن روحها في مكانٍ و أن مخاوفها سجينة تشاهد روحها و هي طليقة!

تخيلت هذا الموقف و كأن خوفها مسجون،و هي حرة لا يوجد ما يقلقها!

و ثم أفاقت من تخيلها! و أطرقت تفكر....

لم لا تفعل هكذا في الحقيقة؟!

لماذا لم تسجن خوفها و تترك نفسها آمنة سعيدة؟!

لم هي دائماً أضعف!

هي لن تكون كذلك بعد الآن، إنه ليس بشيءً هين و لكن هي ملت من كونها ضعيفة و قلقة ولا بيدها حيلة!

أخذت نفساً عميقاً و كأنها تودع الهواء العليل،أغلقت شباك غرفتها ،و اتجهت إلي مقعدها لكي تُنهي ما لم تذاكره.

و كانت تعي بداخلها إنها سوف تكون مختلفة عن ما هي عليه! بطريقة أو بأخري!

و تمتمت لنفسها أن انتظار البلاء قبل حدوثه لن يجلب إلا مزيداً من البلاء،و إنه هي فقط من بيدها طرد تلك الزائر المميت الذي يسرق كل يوماً جزءٍ من فرحتها المفقودة.

نعم،يمكنها طرده و إلي الأبد...

Have You Seen Him? (Noha ElNashar, Visionaries)

Have You Seen Him?

Have you seen him? ‘Cause I’ve been looking. They try to hold me back, but I’m still looking. They don’t understand why I keep looking. And who is to blame them? They are oblivious to what I have seen and what I have felt. They tell me I should stop looking, but how can I? How can I when looking is the only thing that brings me happiness and keeps me sane? They give me weird looks when I say I’m not giving up, but it’s not my fault they have given up on their happiness.

They think I am the echo of every failed search. They think I should follow the rules, and they don’t get that I am the exception. They think I’m too optimistic. Well, I say they are too realistic. Why can’t I keep looking? I know what is waiting for me, so why not keep looking? They say I will get hurt. But I have; a thousand times, I have. And look at me now. Am I not standing? Why listen to them when I know my joy is in looking? Even if it takes a million years, my happiness is in looking. Why not keep looking if I’m willing? I’m willing to look and wait and hurt and smile and cry and yell. I’m willing to live.

They say the story should end here, but I’m willing to let it take a life of its own. They say everyone has a story to be told, but mine isn’t the perfect one to be passed on. And maybe it is not, but imperfection is where my happy ending waits to be picked up. They say I shouldn’t be so much of a fighter, but if I don’t fight for my happiness, what else have I got left? And maybe, after all, they are just jealous, for my happiness is in looking, and theirs is lost, for they have nowhere to look.

آروي الغضبان

الله موجود، داخلي.

أراه في كل مكان أقصده، في البيت، في العمل، في الملهى، في المسجد والكنيسة والكنيس، أراه في كل مكان وأحب أن أراه .

ليس عندي لأحد دليل،لكن عندي أنا دليل يسكن داخل روحي وفي طيات قلبي،وأنا أقسم بحياة الذي لا يموت لو أن اجتمعت كل قوى العالم لتحاول انتزاعه من داخل نفسي لن تقدر ولن تستطيع.

Avivorous (Noha ElNashar, Visionaries)

Avivorous

“Laura, they have arrived!” A shout erupted in the control room, making everyone jump at its intensity. They all stared at him, making a blush creep its way to his face. “Sorry, guys. I didn’t mean to startle you.” He said sheepishly, awkwardly scratching his neck.

To relieve him of his embarrassment, a woman, Laura on the other side of the room got up and made her way to him, shaking her head in the process and trying to suppress her laughs. “Okay, Andrew, calm down; I’m here. Show me what you’re talking about.”

Andrew zoomed in to the heap of bodies lying down on the grass as Laura bended over to see what was on the screen. There were four figures lying beside each other in such uncomfortable positions that she knew they would suffer cramps for days following their wake. They looked so much alike. Laura had no doubt they were siblings. Before she could ask Andrew about them, the screen changed, showing a girl with jet black hair lying down, her hair covering half of her face. The strand of hair covering her nose and its movement into and out of her nose was the only indication that she’s alive. She caught a movement in the somewhere beyond the girl; when she focused on the sky beyond, she could see a helicopter flying away.

“This is one of ours,” Andrew said, pointing at the helicopter. “It’s the one that got them there.”

Laura took a seat beside him and scratched her chin like she always did when she was immersed in her own thoughts. She tried to think of where “there” is, but she came up blank. All she could see were asphalt roads and a stretch of green land far in the distance. A park maybe. She looked up at Andrew and asked, “Why are they in different places? I mean why is she dumped on the road and the others, as I recall, in the woods? Why not just put them all together?”

“That, Laura, is something only I can answer,” A loud voice entered the room, slamming the door behind him. When he walked in, everybody stopped talking. They were, in a way or another, like deer caught in a headlight.

Laura stood up and smoothed down her shirt and walked up to the muscular man who walked in, taking in his askew lips, the glasses that rest on his hooked nose, the way his hands never stopped scrabbling notes in his leather notebook. When she was right next to him, he took his eyes off the notebook and stopped writing. He smiled at her and leaned to kiss her cheek. Before she could speak or ask him anything, he said, “I am doing something, Laura. Something huge! It is both rewarding and worth taking all the risks.”
He led her to a seat and stood in the middle of the room, watching as each person turned their seats away from the screens and centered their attention on him.

“What I am doing is an experiment. A test. I like to call it Avivorous for personal preferences. But I can promise you all that if we work together, we will reap the rewards.” He announced in his bossy demeanor that he adopted whenever he wanted the crew to do something for him.

Laura raised a hand and said, “Could you tell us what exactly is that experiment about, Marcus? And what is it that you expect of us?”

Marcus clapped his hands enthusiastically and said, “It’s really simple! All you have to do is watch those people make their way through the abandoned city I have dumped them in--” Laura could feel coldness creeping its way through her body. Something about how Marcus was so excited to perform an experiment on humans felt extremely repugnant. “But,” Marcus went on. “Our role is not just watching them. Andrew, you’re responsible for telling them about the experiment and what they’re supposed to do to yield the best results.”

Andrew was about to interrupt when Marcus put a finger up in the air signaling for him to be quiet till he’s finished. “Laura,” His eyes met hers and softened. He smiled as he said, “You monitor their behaviors and actions and report them to me. And I, with help from Candice, will study them and come up with what I need.”

“And what might that be?” Andrew asked with a hint of sarcasm that Marcus noticed but chose to let go.

Just then, a red-headed girl with a messy bun and a lab coat came in, holding pamphlets and another stack of papers that had the word “Avivorous” written in bold ink on them.

“This,” Marcus motioned at the papers as Candice, the redheaded girl, started to distribute them. “Contains everything you need to know about the experiment. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some other things to tend to.”

And with that he left.

Andrew looked up from the stacks of paper he was holding and his eyes rested on Laura. “Before you read those papers, why do you think he’s doing this?”

Laura stayed silent for a second then shook her head and said, “Well, he’s your brother. You ought to know him best.”

Andrew raised an eyebrow at her and said disbelievingly, “Oh yeah? Well, you’re his fiancée. What about that for knowing him best?”

“Well, I guess Marcus isn’t open with anyone.” She said with finality in her voice that made Andrew drop the subject and start reading what was written on those papers. And, as they both read, they started to know why Marcus never told them about that experiment. Because if he did, they would have killed him first before allowing him to carry on such a transgression.

Paper Airplanes (Nora Keshk, Visionaries)

Paper Airplanes

Her thoughts were like paper airplanes. They were literally airplanes.

She launched a hundred airplanes outside her bedroom window upstairs. Each plane easily found its way home somewhere. They all were dedicated to her late best friend, Ethan; they all got lost somewhere in the small town.

Each clean sheet was surfaced with ink that bled through. Nonetheless, she took time to fold and crease each section of the paper to make it into a flying airplane. Each letter was filled with the love she never got to express to him. But the hundredth letter, launched in the windiest day known to the quiet town, traveled a far distance until it reached a green tree on a stranger's porch and then fell to the green patches of grass on which he would walk by to get the early newspaper, where he later found it. His wondering mind helped him unfold the neatly creased paper airplane, where it soon revealed one of her paper thoughts…

Dear Ethan,
It's been a year since you passed away – at exactly five o'clock in the morning. I was there with you, telling you everything was going to be fine. Then I heard that heart retching sound of terror; the sound of the loud, clear, and deafening flat beep coming from the cardiac monitor. 
I also forgot to mention, your mom was there too. She was asleep on the couch by the window overlooking the town. When she heard the sound, the fright on her face was beyond the one on mine.
We all miss you so much.
While you were asleep earlier in the day, I started rambling things about us, hoping you could hear me, so that the next morning I'd find out if you felt the same way.
But I never knew.
I never knew if you felt the same way I did. I never knew if you felt butterflies in your stomach the way I did when I'd hear you laugh.
And that's why I'm writing to you.
The last words you told me were, "I'm feeling tired." And now I can't help but think I'm feeling the same now that you're gone. Tired.
This is my hundredth letter to you and also my last.
All I wanted to say were the words I didn't get to say to you, and they're the most said words in the universe – I love you.
Your Best Friend, Lana

And soon enough the stranger who found the letter will be doing the same as Lana did. He'll talk to his late wife; this time sending her his paper thoughts.

Through Grey Eyes (Bothaina Ayman, Visionaries)

Through Grey Eyes

His vision was laced with dull colors of grey, black, and white. The lack of joyful colors caused his steel eyes to bore on the whiteboard. His hands were folded together, while twiddling his thumbs.
Who is he, you ask?
Nathaniel is an average teenage boy, with average grades, average life, and an average family; however, his vision differed from his normal, boring life – you see, Nathaniel is color blinded, which is inherited from his deceased grandfather. Sadly, his parents cannot afford enough money for treatment. 
Nathaniel was seated in the last seat, left corner by the window – he wouldn't want to drag too much attention, would he now? However, his mismatched clothes did in fact brought too many unwanted eyes. His wardrobe consisted of a purple baggy shirt, green pants, blue converse with red and blue shoelace, along with a blue back bag, which was almost empty. 
He gazed out the window, looking at the plain grey sky. In reality, he knew what the sky looks like; his mother explained every single detail about it – a wide, blue blanket, stained with feathery like cottons – alias the clouds. At night, Nathaniel would imagine the night sky a lady with a long inky dress, adorned with diamond rings and earrings. 
Looking down at the grass – also grey, somewhat darker than that of the sky. Grass, meaning green, like his pants, his father's eye color, the wallpaper of his bedroom. 
As a child, Nathaniel was considered to be an outsider, also "The weird one". In kindergarten, his English teacher asked him "what color is my shirt?", and with all confidence, Nathaniel answered "Black!" 
That's not right. The teacher raised a very perplexed eyebrow, then looked down at his brown shirt. He decided to ask another question regarding colors "another question, Nate," the boy nodded "what color is the sky?"
Nathaniel curled his lips in a beaming smile "Grey!" 
The class broke into laughter, leaving the boy with a big question mark above his head. Nathaniel heard the teacher mutter something about 'parents', 'call', and 'colors'. 
So, there he was, sitting in his own plain, dull world, colored in grey, black, and white. Boredom engulfed his life, depression grasped his mind, and loneliness broke his ties with the outer world. It didn't occur to him that something so simple as colors could differ in his simple life, but the fact that it did bothered him terribly.

Section Choices (Noah and Zahraa, Divergent)

I can't believe section assigned me with her.
She has no field experience whatsoever. Her subtlty is below zero. She actually went of asked the bartender for the information we wanted; she won't hold a gun, and she always has this annoying innocent smile on her face. When I ask her why she joined section, she tells me "to help the country of course to get rid of of evil spirits out there." So basically I'm stuck in India with a rookie, wack job.

I can't believe section assigned me with him.
He's so megalomaniac. He thinks he's freaking 007 for God's sake. He was so mad when I told him to ride the elephant. How can we skip that spectacular chance, I mean we won't be in India everday!
He keeps talking about killing and shooting people. I can't stand hearing gun shots and seeing blood. We have to spread love and peace. He freaked out when I asked the bartender for information, I mean the guy was nice enough to take my name and phone number in case he found anything out. Why wouldn't he understands that people are nice?

للحلم بقية (ريم, Divergent)

أدركت وجودي يوماً ما بين الأحلام المنسية
و جلست لأبحث عن ماضي بين دفاتري الَملقية 
فوجدت رسائل و حروفاً مبدوئة من دون بقية 
أحرفها قد مُزجت عَمداً بنِقاط القهوة التركية
و ظللت أحاول مرات فك الشفرات العبثية 
أختلقَ حروفاً و بدائَل عن أحرِف كانت ممحيه
تتزاحم حولي الأوراق و المُكتتبات الشعرية
و أرى مجموعة أشياء تحمل ذكرايا الرمزية
ألمح بجواري أوراق صفراء اللونِ و مطويه
ففتحت الأوراق و عقلي يتذكر مدَد زمنية
حينها قد كانت أقلامي تكتب بطريقة حرفية.
أتذكر كنت وحيدة هناك أبحث عن وطن و هوية
و أحاطت بي الأزهار، صفراء اللون ووردية،
و عصافير متمردة لا تعلم إلا الحرية.
أذني تلتقط صوتَ ما يشبه موسيقى الصوفيه
مع مزج صهيل لحصان، يعلم ما معنى التضحية
و سماء كانت غاضبة فإنساب المطر بعفوية
و الأرض و قد رويت فرحاً فتفوح روائح عطرية
فتوقفت بفكري لوهلة، عاودت قرائتي جهرية
فى أخر صفحة قد كُتب "مازال للحلم بقية"

The True Standards of Beauty (Zahraa, Divergent)

The True Stanards of Beauty

You wake up in the early morning, you feel very light and exuberant. You walk towards the mirror, yet something abrupt happens, extraordinary I'd describe. You don't see your face or any other organ of yours. You see nothing but purity, faith, kindness, felicity and passion.

You see the poems you wrote, the paintings and drawings you drew and the songs you sang. You come across the books you read, the music you listened to, the movies you watched and everything that satisfied your soul.
You watch your valiant experiences, your recklessness and the adrenaline rushes you went through. "This is uncanny" you would say. Enticement takes over. You become extremely impressed, but anxious. You see beauty, but not with the standards you've always known, with entirely different standards. That beauty has a way of perplexing you one minute, and allaying you the next. Because, what you saw in the mirror was your soul and everything it carried from the most astonishing to the direst.

You walk down the streets, you don't see bodies. You see souls. You are astonished by some, but you recoil from the others. You don't see any facial traits; you don't know whether the person in front of you is white or dark-skinned. You don't know how this person is dressed. All you see is kindness or hostility, modesty or arrogance, and every shade between them.

You see art in every possible form. You hear music everywhere, different genres, ones you've never heard, ones you absolutely admire and others that you dislike. You read poems everywhere, and everything becomes metaphorical. The world is now overly dosed with emotions, all kinds, one that put you in a state of jubilation and another that put you in frustration.

You head towards your school, to find out that everything has been altered. Everyone is a soul, without a body. You don't see baseball jackets, boots, low-kneed skirts, sleeveless T-shirts, tight jeans, dresses or even teacher's suits. You see love along with hatred. You see what everyone has always held inside. You see the truth of everyone and you stand in dismay, because you now realize that everything has exceeded your expectations.

Emily, the girl who used to be the most popular, is now getting wisps of attention or no attention at all. Hatred, evilness, envy, violence and inhumanity are now revealed, showing the truth of that girl. They flabbergast you, bewilderment and disappointment start to fog your brain. Then, you ascertain that Emily was loved for how she looked and dressed, she was so pretty yet from the outside only; white-skinned, fit body, long blond hair, hazel eyes. She has been coming with the most elegant dresses ever. She mocked a bunch of people in the school, Charlie the introvert with the bulky glasses. Anna the studious and a-bit-of-a-wallflower girl. Mia, the nerd. Mr. peter, because he always wore old-fashioned clothes. You had always seen students gather around her table at lunchtime every day, listening to her nonsense.

Then, you see Ayana, the African dark-skinned, fat introvert with messy hair. She is no longer dark-skinned or fat; she is now a collection of love, faith, kindness, compassion, art, music, poetry and inner beauty. After being disappeared into oblivion, she is now the most beautiful and admired girl in the school.

You now hear screeches from the street, shaking you out of your revere. The reverie of observing souls, of knowing the real standards of beauty and of digging deeper in everything and everybody. You now realize that you were outsmarted by appearances. Unfortunately, everyone is.
"If only our eyes saw soul instead of bodies, how different our ideals of beauty would be"

ملخبط (نوح, Divergent)

الإنسان هو الكائن العظيم اللى أعظم حاجة عملها إنه جاب علم الفلسفة والمنطق لعالم كان يعيش في الفوضى,وبذلك طوع العالم كله لرغباته عن طريق تعليم الكون النظام والمنطق والمحشى. 

!كل الكلام اللى فوق دا هرى. 

الحقيقة إن الإنسان مش هو اللى اخترع المنطق ولا الفلسفة (يمكن المحشى). الكون كله طول عمره ماشى بنظام أدق من الساعة، و لا يمكن فى يوم من الأيام يحيد عنه. حركة الكواكب، النظام البيئى (أيوة اللى احنا بوظناه هو دا) عادات كل حيوان ونبات وكل جزء من الكوكب، الألوان، الأصوات ...

كل حاجة ماشية تمام.

طب ليه الإنسان بس هو اللى يعرف علم المنطق؟ ليه هو بس اللى واخد باله من النظام والكون والحاجات دى، ليه هو شايف منطق؟ 

دا ﻷن كل حاجة ماشية فى الكون بالمنطق، إلا الإنسان. 

تخيل الموضوع كأنه شخص راكب عربية، ومش شايف أى حاجة برا العربية دى، والعربية دى بتتحرك على أرض مفهاش مطب. 

محدش هيعرف أن العربية دى بتتحرك إلا اللى واقفين براها وبيتفرجوا عاليها.

ومفيش كائن فى الكون هياخد باله من المنطق الكونى إلا الكائن الوحيد اللى مش ماشى بيه.الإنسان. 

طب إزاي ياعم؟ إزاي تقول الإنسان مش منطقى؟

تهييس ثانوية يا كابتشن تقول ايه!

لا بجد هضربلك مثال.

إحنا على البسيطة بقالنا 7000 سنة (منذ نشأة الحضارة الفرعونية، أول حضارة وكدا) ولسى لحد دلوقتى مفهمناش إن الحرب غلط وبتقتل ناس وكل الحاجات الوحشة دى. بالمنطق كدا، فى معادلة تقعد 7000 سنة ما تتحلش؟!

دا الحيوانات يا عم، الحيوانات اتفقت على نظام تتخانق بيه وتاكل بيه بعضها وعايشين مع بعض عادى! فكرك إحنا ممكن نوصل للدرجة دى من التطور؟

إحنا اعتنقنا المنطق من فترة طويلة جداً لدرجة إن إحنا فهمنا كل حاجة في الدنيا ماشية إزاي و عرفنا نطوعها حسب رغبتنا و نبقى أكتر نوع من الكائنات مزدهر على وجه الارض. فهمنا فعلا ً كل حاجة إحنا اتعاملنا معاها،بل و في حاجات مشوفنهاش و فهمناها برضه (فيزياء نظرية و كدهو) لكن ما يزال فيه حاجة واحدة إحنا مقدرناش نفهمها. الحاجة الوحيدة في الكون ده اللي مش ماشية بالمنطق (لو بصيت فوق هتلاقيها في أول الصفحة).

هتقولي لا إحنا فاهمين الإنسان و عندنا علم نفس و بتنجان؛ 

استعنا ع الشقى بالله. 

أولا ً مش علم النفس بس هو اللي اختص بدراسة الإنسان،فيه فلسفة و أحياء و حاجات كتير جداً حاول العلم بيها إنه يفسر أو يتوقع تصرفات هذا الكائن الغريب. هرمونات و مؤثرات حياتية...إالخ إلخ. 

ثانيا كل العلوم دي دقتها في قياس الإنسان و تصرفاته زي دقة الكف في قياس الطول. لا يعتمد عليها. أنا بقول كده كواحد خُضت في علوم قياس الإنسان دي فترة من حياتي، كلها قواعد تقريبية عامة و شواذها تفوق عدداً الملتزمين بها، هدفها قياس كائن مثالي مكتوب في الكتب و غير موجود في الحقيقة. ده غير إن فيه حاجات إحنا طبعا مش لاقينلها تفسير.

زي البوسة!

آيوه متعمليش فيها مكسوف، البوسة! كل العلوم البشرية من أول علم النفس السلوكي لحد الاحياء الجزيئية مش قادرة تفسر أو حتى تقترب من تفسير ليه البني آدم بيستمتع بالبوسة!

قيس على كده كتير بقى. و سبب الحيرة دي أن البني آدم مش جزء من العالم المنطقي عشان تحللوه بالمنطق! لكم شرف المحاولة برضه. 

ندي للبني آدم حقه برضه. هو الحاجة اللي كسرت روتين الكرة الارضية برضه.

أحسن حاجة البني آدم عملها، أو أكتر حاجة المفروض يعتز بيها؛ إنه متبعش المنطق و حول العالم لرغبته هو. خرج بره نطاق المنطق و مع ذلك استعمله و فهم الدنيا ماشية إزاي. أعظم هدية من الإنسان للكون مكانتش النظام. لكن إنه طوره و كسر النظام.

أعظم هدية من الإنسان للكون كانت الفوضى.