A New Home

A New Home

A Story by Ayesha Atif

How 'love' primarily effects us.


I was told that Sarah is crackbrained, foolish, demented and an unexpected personality suffering from bipolar disorder. A gut feeling gave me the urge to meet her. I functioned myself into her room wriggling so that I may be left unnoticed. There was a silent force spread in the room even my tiptoe could be clearly heard.

I found Sarah sitting in the corner of the room like a corpse.

Or were those just her remains?

I crept slowly near her, she turned her face round like a puppet tossing its eyes in a haunting way and she looked away.

I serially tried to touch her skin, Sarah resisted it.

I gathered endurance to start a conversation.

'How are you doing, Sarah?' I asked fearlessly.

'You ask a dying body,

How has it been?

I have a feeling cold,

Ever since', she responded.

It was strange. I was perplexed or mystified how you would define it.

Poetic answer, it was not what I was expecting from a mentally ill paitent.

'Do you remember anything from your past?' I stretched the conversation.

'Ever since he left,

Has lived within me,

There is no ever possibility,

Or a cure to my anxiety', she replied unafraid.

'What are you trying to explain?' I asked curiously.

'There's no clear gesture to what,

I see, I feel, I smell and hear,

There's no cure to the memories,

Which has left an empty affair', she murmured rottenly.

The only feature I could see in the darkness was her lips.

Frozen sealed lips were moving after a long time. She might have heard her own voice after a very long gap. 

I ignored and continued.

'Empty affair? Do you feel alone?'

'An aching heart designed of clay,

Recognizes her folks as her enemies,

While God forgot to add death in her grave...'

She paused.

'I let the journey progressed on its own,

A faith inside told me I am never alone,

But dust is dust, stones are stones,

I was left unconcocted to be drowned'

It was he who built the tower of faith,

Perished, felt weak in the time of need,

Discontiuned his certainty to long,

Left me destituted in search for the answers,

For everything which felt like a strong promise,

Abandoned me with a reclusive fever,

I was withdrawn into the darkness,

Rejected by the world, accepted by murk..'

She pressed her heart in a flow. And I could feel my heart beating out of my chest. Her words were defying my aching. Sarah was alleviating her fears but it was making me powerless.

My temerity advanced me to ask her the final question lingering in my mind.

'Who is he, you are referring to?' 

She grovelled forward and looked straight into my eyes. Her eyes had a strong penetrating force. My body could feel hurt, my psyche impaired and my soul disfigured. When she crawled furthering me I realised Sarah was a beauty in dirt. 

She scouted tenderly and still unreal enough to remember who I was.

'His lap was a toy I played with,

And now I rejoice the memories,

I wanted him to keep me veiled forever,

He questioned my credence instead,

How could he ignore what I had seen?

The sufferings from suffering of human beings,

How could he forget who I was?

An origin who spoke of Papa a lot,

His speech has always meant stocks to me,

Doesn't he have faith to bring a change in me?

Always feared the unknown gibberish,

Struggling his losses in practicality,

How could he not know me?

Creating a mother wit in every single thing,

Dragged down the impracticality in me,

Weren't tears too big for juvenile?

If he ever cares I wouldn't want to know,

My heart is too dark to care, fixed with stones,

This impeccable depth is my new home,

Never entering my father's mundane dome'.

I was blown! Injured! A stroke crashed down my ribs. Whites turned into red. It was the sign of something I never imagined. A trauma, confusion I never wanted to go through, but it was for real.

My mistakes were finally released. An object I attacked, broken down, and never gave consideration to, was now a result of a deranged, disordered and disturbed life.

Her memories hadn't forgotten me. But her visualisation had. 

Her flashback contained severe reminiscence but her recollection was impaired in recapturing me physically.

And now she was living in 'a new home'.

© 2014 Ayesha Atif

Author's Note

Ayesha Atif
Bless me with the healthy criticism.

My Review

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Very creative !!! A lovely write ayesha !!!
You have great talent
Keep it up !!!
100% rating from me
You are awesome

Posted 4 Years Ago

Amazing write!

Posted 5 Years Ago

Here we go...

- " I functioned myself into her room wriggling so that I may be left unnoticed."

This sentence is highly irregular, especially the use of the word 'functioned.' There may be a special nuance that you were trying to communicate. Such as that of entering a room, something that is a cultural custom (as in removing the shoes before entering a Japanese home) or perhaps idiomatic or localized way of thinking about this action. If the desire was to convey someone entering a room casually and without drawing attention to oneself then this needs to be rewritten with that in mind - especially as it would be interpreted by your target audience.

- "...'Ever since he left, Has lived within me, There is no ever possibility, Or a cure to my anxiety'"

It is difficult to determine if this is to be interpreted as Poetry or merely lines of dialog that are just poorly formatted. Either way, as poetry, the line, "There is no ever possibility" stands out because of the "is no ever" - grammatically it is poorly constructed as a thought for an English speaker. There are similar issues with the other, similar, lines. Such as:

- "And now I rejoice the memories,..." (e.g., 'I rejoice the' ... might be better written as, "And now I rejoice in the memories..."

- "His speech has always meant stocks to me,..." (The 'mean stocks to me' makes no sense but is probably best interpreted as 'meant the world' or 'meant a great deal to me' or 'meant much to me'

- "I wanted him to keep me veiled forever..." (This is the best translation for what I suspect is a cultural idiom or custom. It does not translate well for a non-Islamic reader of English. However, if your target audience is one that has that cultural background then it may indeed be appropriate. The same comment may apply to this one too, "Never entering my father's mundane dome'." Unless we are speaking of her father's head or mind. In contemporary, colloquial English someone's 'dome' can be a reference to their head or mind.

On a more positive note, I do like the idea of having Sarah speak in verse or quatrains. It stands in opposition to the querying of the interrogator - that seems to remain unknown and without gender; more like a doctor or psychologist rather than a close friend. The last two paragraphs show great promise in resolving the story. Although, as a reader, we have few clues as to the plot of the story other than as perhaps a concerned person visiting a friend that has problems. The title of the story offers no clues either but perhaps that is intentional.

I think it's a good start but I would ask that you consider exactly what it is that the story is trying to tell and to whom. Focus on the reader, their context and experiences that you, as writer, expect for them to possess - things that are essential to understand the story and interpreting the message that it is trying to convey.

Good work. Please continue your efforts and study.

Posted 6 Years Ago

one day you will become a best writer INSHALLAH ................................................

Posted 6 Years Ago

Ayesha Atif

6 Years Ago

Thank you! :)

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4 Reviews
Added on April 16, 2014
Last Updated on April 16, 2014


Ayesha Atif
Ayesha Atif

Karachi, Pakistan

Half the lies they tell about me aren't true. Advanced Global Personality Test Results Extraversion||||||30%Stability||||||||||||43%Orderliness||||16%Accommodation||||||||||||||||63% Intell.. more..

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A Poem by Ayesha Atif