Is this a thing? Well I'll make it a thing.
> the gathering of old women at the front of the house hear the happy cries of a family not far. A marriage proposal has been accepted. They shake their heads as they whisper "dewha". ("They've taken her". Another woman is lost to marriage and no one interferes).
>there are mosques everywhere. The people who build them believe that for every prayer prayed there, their good deeds will rise. But everyone knows, it won't diminish their sin count. There is nothing more soul sucking than knowing that.
>there is animalistic anger in the fights that happen between family members. The animosity terrifies the children, hardens the teens and sets a fire in the souls of the adults. The cycle continues.
>but God forbid someone spits at a sister, back bites a mother, looks down on a son or cheats a father. There is nothing like the age old fury that becomes ignited in the family members as they move to defend. The savagery reminds the onlookers that although we are developing as a country, our roots are deeply imbeded in a blinded loyalty that belongs to our tribes and ancestors.
>everyone smiles. You must except their kindness and repay it tenfold. You don't know what happens if you don't do so. You're too scared to find out.
> the Imams lie about what's written in the Holy scripture. Even though the younger generation is learning how to read, they won't speak up.
>the sand storms arrive without a warning. You're in the middle of crossing a road when the cloud of sand sweeps over the area. You try to finish crossing the road but your cousin grabs you. Everything stops. The cars, the people, the birds and the horses. Once the storm has dispersed everything resumes to normal.
> the buildings have no roofs. There is no rain in this land, only droughts.
> "women are the devil's creation. That's why we deserve to be hurt". You bite your tongue and clench your hands as your aunt explains the Holy scripture. You bite harder because she's wrong, she's wrong, she's wrong. You taste blood in your mouth and see it seeping from your palms. You calm down.
>the pathways run red as once a year these people sacrifice a sheep to their God.
>you turn to talk to your mother in her language. Suddenly everyone's gaze is upon you. You ask your aunt about it. "they are allowed to look". You look back at them and they still stare. You lose.
> everyone's sick. Everyone has some sort of medication they must take. You ask your mom about it. "there's a phosphorus site near by. It's close to the town's water supply".
> you and your family are invited for dinner. You accept. No one ever declines an invitation.
> an infection sweeps the town. 67 children die. Your earphones aren't enough to block the screams of the mother nor the muttering of the words "black eye".
> no one speaks about the mentally ill boy next door. After fifteen summer holidays spent here you find out that his father had slammed his son's head so hard into the tiled wall that no one dares to look at the broken tiles when they come to visit the family.
> your mother never let's you drink tap water. The one time she sees you drinking it she shouts at you. Now you only ever drink bottled water from the shops.
>your parents always bring gifts for the relatives but it's never enough. Nothing's ever good enough. They're learning.
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