It is been almost two months since I’ve written anything regarding this story and I’m not really sure if anyone out there is looking forward to the next chapters, except one lovely girl called “Abrar” she is one of my reasons for me to keep writing I haven’t actually thanked her that much thank you girl you are an inspiration by yourself I love you even though I never met you, thanks for believing in me.
For those who stopped in just now and by some coincidence know that such a blog exists I will give you a brief explanation of this story I’m writing. This story is true, it happened to me and for some reason or another I’m writing it here to read previous chapters it is in this page I really advice you to go read those chapters first before you read this, don’t spoil it for you chapters are there for a reason .
Now to why I didn’t write anything since two months well, I’ve been procrastinating because for some reason or another I know it is hard to dig up all those memories and once I do my heart aches and my brain keeps shutting and telling me to do something else. But here I am again into writing this sorry if it is short but this is the transition chapter please bare with me… So here you go with Chapter Seven “The Downfall”
People need hard times and oppression to develop psychic muscles.
The moment when you come to life you have expectations, first a drink of milk to keep you full but then they develop like never before. You expect everything the good and the bad along the way. You look for signs to what to expect, if the day is doing you good you expect good and if you don’t get a smiling day you expect bad. No matter how things go we all expect. No matter how many times we tell ourselves to not expect it will only hurt us for the most probably we cannot help ourselves but expect.
I expected. I expected a good life. I expected to be better but what I did not expect was this. Me in the hospital while I thought I would not have to visit it again. Me being told that I was not well that I needed an immediate surgery to fix the ripped parts inside in me. But I was too tired to argue. So much in pain to consider what is going on. I had enough pain to want it to be over with. I rolled over in the bed waiting and hearing my mother and the doctor talking trying to ease the pain inside me. This will be over soon.
My doctor is a military doctor or something he was telling my mom that after the surgery he could move me to the hospital he is working in, since we were in a private hospital, and I could be under his direct supervision. I replied with I do not really care and that they should decide not me. He proceeded saying that he will try to maintain the same wounds and not create new ones but he might cut my stomach all the way if it was complicated and that I might lose some blood which means I need a donor even though my blood type was hard to find for I was lucky to have my brother with the same blood type (O-).
Nodding our heads we surrender not having power to change it, leaving it to the hands of the Almighty Allah.
I wake up to a certain Déjà vu I’m again in the hospital and it is night where I just got out of the operation room. Except this time the ache is much bigger to make it a repeated scene. It was not a Déjà vu it was living the same things again. And when the feeling was more than I anticipated I knew I just had to ask to confirm “Did they cut all the way in my stomach.”
“Um.. Yes but you will be alright.”
And I drift into sleep hoping that when I wake up everything will be over even though I knew that I needed time but still there is Hope Right?