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I just wrote this. It is fiction.
"Gulalai"
I was sound asleep unaware of the storm outside until Gulalai woke up screaming. I rushed to her room and saw her sitting there on her bed with tears in her eyes looking terrified. She trembled each time it thundered and I embraced her in my arms and told her everything would be all right. She apologized for screaming and waking me. I didn't mind and I told her that many times. I just wanted her to be okay. She insisted I go back to my room and sleep. I looked at her clock and noticed it was 2 a.m. I told her I loved her and that if she needed anything to please come get me. Then I said good night and went back to my room.
Gulalai was my dear cousin. A beautiful girl whose eyes used to be so full of hope and life. Seeing her like this broke my heart. She never smiled anymore. Deep sadness was all I could see in her eyes now. I tried to get her to talk about it but when I did that she would just start crying. I feel so guilty for that now. I feel so guilty for many things. Sometimes I wonder why this happened to her and not me. Maybe I could have handled the pain a little better. So many maybes and what ifs haunt me now.
It was about six months ago on her birthday that Gulalai, her parents and little brother went out shopping to the bazaar . Since it was her birthday she asked if she could buy some ice-cream and ran ahead with delight when she was told yes. Then it happened. The loud boom that sounded like a thunderclap but wasn't. Gulalai was scared and in pain. She turned around, oblivious to her wounds, hoping to see her family walking right behind her but instead she saw dozens of bodies laying on the street. Some crying in agony others silenced by death. She ran to the cries hoping desperately to find them but it was no use. They were all dead.
My father got a phone call. The look on his face told me something awful had happened. He rushed out of the house. Mor jaan and I soon heard about the suicide bomb and we became so worried. For hours my father was gone. When he returned he brought Gulalai. Her clothes were stained with blood. Her hands and face covered with small cuts. She was sobbing and saying things we couldn't make any sense of. Mor jaan got her some fresh clothes and tried to clean her up while my father went to get her some medication for her pain and to help her sleep.
That night I stayed in the same room with her. I tried to sleep but I could not. I kept trying to imagine how Gulalai must be feeling. It was hard to picture losing my family like she did and just trying to do that upset me and made me cry and upset. I looked over at Gulalai on her bed. Even with her little cuts, she was beautiful and looked so peaceful. I closed my eyes and soon I too was sound asleep.
The next day Gulalai and dozens of others in Peshawar woke up to the realization that it wasn't just a bad dream.....that their loved ones really were gone. Murdered because they were at the wrong place at the wrong time. Life would never be the same for any of them but especially for Gulalali. She was devastated by what had happened. Everyone tried their best to help her with her deep depression. Mor jaan had her wear a special taweez and prayed for her constantly. My Father took her to one doctor after another but nothing they did seemed to make her feel better. I had no idea what to do for her but I tried to make her feel less alone.
For awhile sleep was Gulalai's only comfort. Then the nightmares started. Her waking hours were full of haunting memories and now she had started to fear sleep. There was no escape from the pain. That stormy night as I left her room at 2 a.m. I am so glad I told her I loved her. In the morning when she didn't get up I went into her room. She was laying their lifeless with an empty pill bottle by her bed. After a very long time she again looked peaceful. I hope and pray God had mercy on Gulalai and her wounded soul.
Gulalai was my dear cousin. A beautiful girl whose eyes used to be so full of hope and life. Seeing her like this broke my heart. She never smiled anymore. Deep sadness was all I could see in her eyes now. I tried to get her to talk about it but when I did that she would just start crying. I feel so guilty for that now. I feel so guilty for many things. Sometimes I wonder why this happened to her and not me. Maybe I could have handled the pain a little better. So many maybes and what ifs haunt me now.
It was about six months ago on her birthday that Gulalai, her parents and little brother went out shopping to the bazaar . Since it was her birthday she asked if she could buy some ice-cream and ran ahead with delight when she was told yes. Then it happened. The loud boom that sounded like a thunderclap but wasn't. Gulalai was scared and in pain. She turned around, oblivious to her wounds, hoping to see her family walking right behind her but instead she saw dozens of bodies laying on the street. Some crying in agony others silenced by death. She ran to the cries hoping desperately to find them but it was no use. They were all dead.
My father got a phone call. The look on his face told me something awful had happened. He rushed out of the house. Mor jaan and I soon heard about the suicide bomb and we became so worried. For hours my father was gone. When he returned he brought Gulalai. Her clothes were stained with blood. Her hands and face covered with small cuts. She was sobbing and saying things we couldn't make any sense of. Mor jaan got her some fresh clothes and tried to clean her up while my father went to get her some medication for her pain and to help her sleep.
That night I stayed in the same room with her. I tried to sleep but I could not. I kept trying to imagine how Gulalai must be feeling. It was hard to picture losing my family like she did and just trying to do that upset me and made me cry and upset. I looked over at Gulalai on her bed. Even with her little cuts, she was beautiful and looked so peaceful. I closed my eyes and soon I too was sound asleep.
The next day Gulalai and dozens of others in Peshawar woke up to the realization that it wasn't just a bad dream.....that their loved ones really were gone. Murdered because they were at the wrong place at the wrong time. Life would never be the same for any of them but especially for Gulalali. She was devastated by what had happened. Everyone tried their best to help her with her deep depression. Mor jaan had her wear a special taweez and prayed for her constantly. My Father took her to one doctor after another but nothing they did seemed to make her feel better. I had no idea what to do for her but I tried to make her feel less alone.
For awhile sleep was Gulalai's only comfort. Then the nightmares started. Her waking hours were full of haunting memories and now she had started to fear sleep. There was no escape from the pain. That stormy night as I left her room at 2 a.m. I am so glad I told her I loved her. In the morning when she didn't get up I went into her room. She was laying their lifeless with an empty pill bottle by her bed. After a very long time she again looked peaceful. I hope and pray God had mercy on Gulalai and her wounded soul.
This is only my 2nd attempt at a short story. 
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