First Published in SUM issue 110, 2023
Dreams. What are they? Are they signs towards a path yet untaken? Are they truths or lies that we tell ourselves, or a mere manifestation of unkempt thoughts that scatter in our conscious but stick within like that piece of gum on the green bench?
That dream in particular kept me awake. It was not particularly scary, at least in my admittedly twisted mind it was not. Perhaps the dream brought me the only source of inspiration that I could have possibly needed; a muse.
My thoughts scattered about as the pencil in my hand began to etch on the paper. Now that I think about it, there was no reason for worry. It was just a moment of inspiration that helped reshape the world around me.
To tell you the truth, it was as if I heard a calling from above; my name whispered with the devil’s silver tongue that even the world around me had taken other form; a form in which I can only describe as unworldly. I remember the stories that I’ve heard in my childhood about ‘El- Naddāha’ who would call upon men and claim their souls, that when they return, they are never the same. Their minds dissolve and their memories fade and all that remains would be the shell of their bodies and a blank gaze.
While I yielded the pencil, it was not I that was in control. As if an invisible hand had taken control over my own, I continued to sketch. My eyes were blinded by the darkness about so that I could not even make the strokes of my pencil. Like a lullaby, I was struck by the music that echoed in my ears. It was almost as if I was experiencing a Fata Morgana.
The strokes of the pencil finally stopped and as if I hit a restart button, my vision had returned to its origin. Around me, I saw the orange and red leaves of fall flailing in the air; spreading on the muddy ground and even the faded green bench I sat upon. All of a sudden, I felt cold; a cold that pierced my bones and my soul as if all the warmth in the world had been taken away. I felt an emptiness, no, a void, similar to my understanding of what postpartum is. I had finalized the pencil painting of the muse that was in my dreams, and all of a sudden, I felt as if my soul had parted my body. Not even the tears could bring the warmth to my heart at that moment, the moment I had finished my work and used up all my inspiration.
Story and illustration by Amr Abbas.