My Pakistan

This is a short story I wrote for a competition at my school this year. I hope you enjoy.

 

My Pakistan

 

I love my Pakistan.

 

– – – | – – –

 

My mother had friendly eyes that crinkled when she laughed. She had a contagious laugh that caused everyone around her to laugh too. Every day she would go down to the river to wash her clothes with her friends. She would talk and laugh the loudest of everyone. She could always make me smile.

My brother, Sahir and I would chase each other in the streets playing Pakan Pakari with our neighbours. Sahir could never catch me. I was much faster.

Ever since Sahir’s first day of school I couldn’t wait to go myself. My mother walked him to school every day with me in toe. She laughed and greeted people passing in the street. She was happy.

 

Then they came with their guns and harsh uncaring faces. The monsters that said I was less than my brother. The evil men who would never bring happiness and fairness to my Pakistan.

 

When I started going to school too she still walked us.  But she didn’t laugh anymore and never greeted men in the street, only her female friends who she would talk to in hushed urgent tones.

I walked into my classroom with Sahir, my mother having left us at the gate. I was a bizarre mix of excited and nervous to a point where my knees were shaking. There were a dozen other children sitting on the floor already and looking almost as nervous as I was.

“Goodbye Nadia, see you soon.” Sahir whispered to me. “Make some friends.”

I just nodded and sat down next to a girl wearing a pink shalwar kameez.

“Hello, my name is Nadia.” I whispered to her.

The frightened girl turned to look at me saying soflty, “Rabia is my name. Nice to meet you.”

A lady walked into the room at that moment. She had a sweet face and a kind voice. She said we are to call her Ustaad Haidar.

 

Rabia and I sat together at break time, talking and laughing.

 

My teacher didn’t come to school today. A man came instead. He told us that she couldn’t teach us anymore.

“Why?” One boy said.

Another girl asked, “Is she hurt?”

But the man just told us to look at the blackboard.

 

My mum didn’t walk me to school today.

 

I showed Rabia how to play Pakan Pakari during break and some other boys and girls joined in. The man who now taught us instead of Ustaad Haidar had to tell us that break had ended because we were all having so much fun and laughing so loud that we didn’t hear the bell.

 

My mother doesn’t laugh anymore. She doesn’t leave the house. She stays home and cooks and cleans.

 

My mother told me I couldn’t go to school today. I asked her why but she just ignored me. I was sad because my friends would be having fun without me at school but I knew I would see them all tomorrow. She made me help with all the chores.

 

I wasn’t allowed to go to school today either. I thought that was unfair because Sahir could still go. I told mother that I wanted to see my friends and she said that they all had to stay home too.

“Can I ask Rabia if she wants to play outside?” I pleaded.

“No Nadia, no. You must stay inside.” Her once soft and caring eyes showed a trace of pity for a moment before becoming once again wooden and stern. “You can help me cook.”

 

One day the men came and took my mother onto the street. I saw them throw rocks at her and whip her. Sahir was crying and told me to cover my eyes but I still saw. I still saw through the liquid despair overflowing from my eyes.

 

Sahir told me it was because she left the house without our father. He said that the Taliban killed her because she did not adhere to their stupid rules. She wore the burka. She did not laugh or walk me to school or go to the river or the baths. I hate them.

 

– – – | – – –

 

I hate their Pakistan.

Lemon Coloured Waking

I wrote this short story a while ago for school. It is my version of the chapter Max In the amazing novel, The Book Thief by Markus Zusak.

I implore all of you who are up to a challenge to read it. Because yes, this book is a challenge, but if you have the patience to decipher it I assure you you will enjoy it immensely.

This piece may not make a whole lot of sense if you have not read the book.

 

Tell me what you think of it!

***(Small) SPOILER ALERT***

Lemon Coloured Waking

 

Hitler resisted my arms no more and all could breath again.

 

Time was non-existent for Liesel Meminger. She divided her life into sleeping and waking. The waking she spent mainly at the Steiner Tailor Shop. The sleeping was spent in the house on top of the hill that she knew so well.

Life was black for Liesel. Charred from the fires that rained down from above. She walked through the hazy, blurry, complex world with a simplified vision of what it could become.

The tailor shop was her getaway. A beacon of colourful hope for the old life she could not turn back to. Business was nonexistent and the seemingly worthless papers were few and far between. Liesel worked for the distraction from her new life and the opportunity to see the translucent outline of Rudy come to greet her every day after school. She would stand and meet his lips briefly before he left to complete his important homework and assignments.

The tailor shop was bright from the warm yellow light hanging in the middle of the room. The colour of lemons emanated from it and filled the room with life.

 

Life from someone dead.

I like that idea. That someone dead to everyone else can bring life and near happiness to two despairing mortals.

 

The sky was a yellowy-white and seemed solid from inside the tailor shop. The white walls dotted with sketches of old suits and dresses. The wooden men standing in the window wore masterpieces of tree green, blackberry and charcoal. The clothes fit for a funeral.

 

It was one lemon coloured waking when Liesel found him. Her friend in times of need, her feather topped Jew. When he walked through those doors Liesel very nearly fell down with gladness. She ran, not with the speed of someone living only on what Ilsa Hermann could coax down her throat; but with the speed of someone who was being reunited with an old friend after a time of loss and grieving. They embraced and she talked to make up for the times they had sat in silence together. To the disapproval of Herr Hermann, Max stayed at the Hermanns’ for many sleepings. Liesel spoke only with Max.

 

Two years and forty-eight days later, Liesel stopped grieving on the outside.

 

Eighty two year old Liesel smiled in her sleep, took one last breath and muttered.

 

Many souls came to me with faces blank and grey. With faces that told no stories. No journeys. No life. Except for one. She painted life with words of lemon.

Broken door

Look at what happened to this door!

I killed the zombie that did it, but lets just say it’s never been the same again!

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Minecraft messing around!

It’s me, in a cauldron!

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Funny Door Sign

Here is a cool sign I found in front of someone’s house on a public server! It wasn’t much of a hobbit hole but points for trying!

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Minecraft

Hello!

As some of you might know i am addicted to Minecraft. I have been on a couple of servers and there are some great designs. Like this:

Sandstone Castle

Sandstone Castle

HI!

Welcome To My Website!

This is my very first post. My name is Nina Mountford and I have decided I am going to put things on my website that are either cool, cute, awesome, happy, great works of art, amazing ect. You won’t find any scary, sad or mean stuff here. I am Aussie and I live in Sydney.

See Ya Till Next Time

-Nina