The moon has freckles

The moon has freckles

(Translated from the Arabic short story of Muna al-Amad.)

She was plain, she knew. Not pretty and plain. But for God's sake, she was not ugly! Everyday she tries her best to look like a bride for her husband. But the women gossip about her lack of beauty and they even call her ugly. The problem is that every now and then she hears gossip about how plain and ugly she was and how handsome and good-looking her husband was.

Several times she joined a gathering of women and noticed them all go silent and even heard some hushing each other when they see her coming.

Roses and Thorns…

Roses and Thorns…

(Translated from the Arabic short story of Muna al-Amad.)

Shoked… she was, when her husband informed her of his intentions. He was going to marry another woman.

“You are kidding, right? You want to tease me, that's all!” she said that pleadingly wanting him to agree with her but he shook his head and said calmly,

“I have never been more serious”

Her temper flared, “why?”

He knew she would ask. He knew she would want a reason. He tried to prepare an answer, to find an excuse. Why did he want to marry? What did she lack? did she lag in her responsibilities towards him? Did she neglect her duties? Then why?

The soviet girl

The soviet girl

(Translated from the Arabic short story of: Muna Al-Amad)

In one of the busy streets of Russia, a pretty, young girl stood looking for someone desperately. Her eyes fell on an Arabian young man who had probably migrated for higher studies. Their eyes met and she smiled mischievously. She bit her lower lip and turned walking away…

She walked and walked but every now and then she looked behind her shoulder making sure he was following her and smiled encouraging him…

Her attitude intrigued him, rather confused him… though her behavior was immodest but her eyes overflowed with innocence.

In Search for The King…

In Search for The King…

He had killed my brother. I loathed him from the core of my heart. He did not recognize me but I will remember his face till the day i die. I stood there, before him, smiling brightly at his enthusiasm as he heard my fake story of how I had embraced Islam. He believed every single word I said. I was relieved enormously but then, I wasn’t expecting otherwise. First, because I was, at war, an excellent liar. Second, because Muslims get too exhilarated at someone’s so called, ‘guidance’; that they fail to remember that it might be a deception. And last, because he did not know me. And how would he? He did not even kill my brother for any grudge against him. In fact, he did not even know my brother before he had slain him.

A Child from Kosovo

A Child from Kosovo

(Translated from the Arabic short story by: Muna al-‘amad.)

She left with her child under the cast of darkness. & According to the appointed time, she met them. They all shared the same purpose in leaving the city, fleeing for their lives & family... & honor. They walked withholding their breath so that the Serbian soldiers wouldn’t feel their presence. Now & then, they would turn around & look at each other, trying to derive strength from each other. & From time to time, they would look at the sky & mutter prayers & invocations. Their heart prostrated & pleaded with Allah to blind the eyes of their enemies. Suddenly her child cried. Every one turned to her with a stern look on his face, obliging her to quiet him in any possible way. They all feared that the child's cry might expose them to the mercy of the hungry human wolves who yearned for prey & bloodshed. She held him to her chest & began feeding him & in her mind she saw pictures of the horrible genocide committed by the army against the people of her city.

Best Woman on Earth...

Best Woman on Earth...

(A story from Islamic history...)

standing, he looked down the cliff at the village that lay calm & quiet in the tranquil moonlet night.he mounted his white horse & strode slowly down the cliff through the sleeping village.

he could see the changes that had occurred to it. though it wasnt exactly what it was since twenty four years but he could still tell where the house would lay. & he reached it successfully. he looked at the house & the neighbourhood & found everything has changed but not the house. it still lay there with its red stones but old & much worn out. he breathed deeply & holding his sword in his hand, he opened the door.

the squeaking of the door broke the silence of the night & he moved through the dark doorway. Suddenly he  felt a very hard blow on his chest which was followed by oaths & curses & several other blows everywhere on his body. As soon as he realized what was going on, he started fighting back.

"how dare you?"

She was a woman…

She was a woman…

(Translated from the Arabic short story by: Muna al-‘amad.)

They were celebrating joyfully. It was a great occasion, a grand event. They have succeeded in the assassination of the great Muslim warrior. It was the aim that they have strived & struggled hard to attain for a very long time. This warrior was to them, 'a pain in the neck.' He led hundreds of operations & attacks that cost them dire losses. They tried hard to find him & arrest him but all their efforts went in vain. Now with the help of a traitor, they could trap him & kill him. Lying there, in front of them, they drank & cheered; congratulating each other at the great victory.Suddenly, one soldier came in & looked into the face of the martyr.He exclaimed anxiously,