Attempt at fanfic

This is my first attempt at writing a fanfic, and after months (maybe even a year?) of procrastination I finally decided to type this up. The first chapter was done about last week, and I'm about 1/3rd of the way for the 2nd chapter. The updates will start slowing down once school starts, 'cause im going to have exams soon. But after that, I should be able to update almost biweekly, depending on the feedback. So, without further ado

Disclaimer: MapleStory and all therein belong to Nexon, I make no profit from this. I do, however, own the concepts of this story.This story belongs to me, and do not wish for this to be posted elsewhere.



[SIZE="5"]SANDS OF EQUILIBRIUM[/SIZE]



. “We oughta’ get going,” Mustafa broke the silence as he leaned off the bent palm tree, and stepped out of the shade. “Mom’ll be home soon.” Abdul shifted, but did not avert his gaze from the rippling waters of the oasis. He stood there under the sun clutching his pendant, thinking. Moments passed, and then tucking his pendant back under his shirt, he sat on one knee, cupped a handful of water, and took a long sip. The water was cool despite the intensity of the desert sun. Abdul closed his eyes for a moment, then turned and walked to Mustafa, stepping over the buckets of water.
“Now I’m going to have to take orders from my baby bro?” Abdul punched Mustafa lightly on his left shoulder.
“Hell yeah,” replied Mustafa, punching him back. Bringing his fists close to his chin, he bounced back and forth like a boxer. Abdul smiled,
“Show me what you got, tough guy.” Abdul brought his lycanthrope sized fists up to his chest, and charged Mustafa. Despite his enormous size, Abdul was able to pounce on to Mustafa before he could side-step out of the way, and placed his forearm on top of his neck, making sure not to hurt him.

They walked towards the sun, until the sand became packed and signs of civilization appeared before them. The brothers moved together in silence, and eventually came up to a row of run down houses. The houses were small, each having but one window, if that. Most looked as though they could collapse any minute. These were some of the most well constructed houses before the fairy queen ruled the sands. Mustafa glanced around uneasily, while Abdul clutched his spear firmly in his right hand. Al Bahah was the longest street in the now small town of Ariant, starting from the Eastern border and extending all the way to the Western. Dividing the city into the North and South sides, this street was free turf. The Queen’s Palace was accessible from Al Bahah only, as well as the decades abandoned Ariant Coliseum.
Squads of palace guards were roaming the streets, looking at the two brothers suspiciously. Abdul walked on quietly with a hard face, balancing the two buckets on his spear. He did not make eye contact with the guards, but he had his spear ready to be stained if any of them tried him. Mustafa, however, was not as cool as his brother in these situations, and returned a look worse than theirs back at the guards.
They walked past many intersections in silence, until a loud raspy laughter caught Mustafa’s attention. He turned to see what the cause of this excitement was, and saw two guards in red, a tall-and-skinny, and a short-and-wide. The taller one looked at them and smiled, while the shorter one was giving a loud belly laugh. Mustafa gave them a dirty look, tilted his head, and spit viciously in their direction. Their joyous behavior immediately vanished, and drew their sabers.
The fat one stepped up to Mustafa and pushed him hard, knocking him back into Abdul. Losing balance, Abdul’s spear dropped off his back, spilling the buckets of water all over the ground. “You got a lot of juice, huh, tough guy?” the fat one said giving Mustafa another push.
“What the fu—,” Abdul stepped in front of Mustafa before he could finish, and looked down at the guards.
“There a problem, bro?” he spoke calmly, but coldly. At this, the guards pointed there sabers towards his neck, and this time, the tall one spoke.
“You wanna’ take his wounds, O.G.?” he scratched his beard with his free hand, and pushed his tongue against his cheek. Abdul gave him a long hard glare, and then leaned in towards the sabers.
“Trust me, this isn’t going to be worth it,” he whispered to the taller one. At that, the guard clenched his teeth, tightened his grip around his saber, and drew it back. Abdul, noticing all these movements, kicked the soldier in the ribs before he could strike, and took two steps back towards his spear, before the fat guard even realized what was going on. Leaning back on his right foot, he lifted the spear in front of his face, parallel to the ground, between him and the guards.
The guard got up, and together began charging towards Abdul, this time the fat one taking the lead. “Mustafa, get home, now,” he said, spinning the spear around, striking the fat one in the gut with the blunt end. He stepped forward and spun around, striking the other guard hard across the face, sure to knock a couple teeth out. ”GO!” he kicked one of the buckets towards Mustafa.
“Naw bro,” he replied, pulling out his 6 inch switchblade, “I ain’t goin’ nowhere.” This time, Abdul charged towards the guards, jumped, and kneed the tall one in the neck, sending him to the ground, coughing up blood.
“pineapple, Mustafa, this isn’t a game!” he yelled without turning around. The fat one slashed at him, but Abdul reacted quickly, and blocked it with his spear. Mustafa hadn’t heard his brother swear in years, so he obeyed, and ran off. Glancing back, he saw guards from across the street jumping in on the action, and his feet stopped.

Abdul stood against a wall, surrounded by six guards. Most of them were bleeding, especially the tall one with the beard. Abdul was cut on his left arm, the blood consistently dripping on the sand below. His sleeve was almost covered in blood, yet barely out of breath. Mustafa froze, not knowing what to do. If I don’t do nothin’, they goin’ pineapplein’ kill him, he thought to himself. He shook it off, and began running towards his brother, blade in hand.

The guards hesitated, no one daring to go first. They had seen how Abu Harith, the tall one, got beaten almost senseless, and knew Abdul was no joke. He would kill them if it came down to it. Finally, Harith gave a loud yell remembering his lost pride, and charged towards Abdul. Using his spear to disarm Harith, Abdul spun around and smacked the guard in the face, and followed with a spin kick, sending him to the ground once more. The rest of the guards charged at him, in no particular order. The darkest of them in the lead, he dragged a large Viking sword across the ground. Keeping his breathing steady, Abdul watched their movements carefully, and considered the outcome.
Before the guards got close to Abdul, Mustafa tackled the dark one to the ground, and stomped between his legs. The four guards aimed for the closer target, and Jafar, the fat one lunged his saber at Mustafa. Overtaken by rage, Abdul’s roar could be heard around the block as he slashed his spear in an upward motion, knocking the guard off balance. He stuck the spear inside the ground as he grabbed the guard’s collar, and gave him a hard hook in the face, shattering his eye socket and sending him to the ground. The other guards stopped in their tracks.
Abdul waited for them, barehanded, and controlled his breathing. His hair was falling over his eyes, and he was losing blood quickly. Harith and Jafar were still on the ground, passed out. Mustafa took the spear out of the ground, and returned it to its owner, and twirled his blade so that the point extended under his palm.
The guards, regretting ever jumping into this mess, looked at each other uneasily. Everyone on the street gathered around the two brothers and their adversaries. The crowd was waiting anxiously for the next wound. They all remained quiet, but were nearly tipping over with excitement. All, except one. His face was barely visible under his large poorly strung together bamboo hat. He unsheathed his sword, the sun reflecting off its crimson blade. He slashed it between the two groups, creating a large curtain of sand. Mustafa felt himself being lifted off the ground, and carried at inhuman speed.
“What the hell?!” he gasped. The man leaped, and dropped Mustafa on the ground. Mustafa quickly got up, and put his blade up to protect himself.
“You’re really anxious to die, aren’t you?” he sheathed his katana. He wore a large blue robe, and had a ponytail that reached his lower back. With that, he hopped back over the wall, and ran to the scene of the fight. There was a large graphic stitched to the back of his robe. The recognized Sand of Equilibrium. The wall was easily six feet above the ground, but the man in blue jumped over it with ease. Mustafa climbed the wall by stepping on the bricks, and saw about twenty guards where he was standing with his brother about two seconds ago. Abdul wasn’t there, and neither was the guy in the ponytail. The guards were looking around, and attending to Harith and Jaffar. The leader, recognizable by the feather on his turban, was speaking to the darker man, who got stomped between the legs. Mustafa snickered, and jumped off the wall.

Mustafa began walking home, his sandals getting caught in the sand with every step. The air began to smell heavily of fuel as Mustafa approached the Lithium processing factory. Mustafa reached into his pocket, and withdrew a white bandana to cover his mouth and nose. He thought he heard yelling over all the hissing and steaming, so turned and entered his street. The smell here was much worse than it was before, and his little bandana provided him little protection. He tied the bandana in place, and found the source of yelling.
The two men he heard yelling had now broken out into a fist fight. They stood behind the large conveyer belt, which held huge pieces of rock and a few lithium crystals here and there. Both men were rather short, only a couple inches taller than Mustafa. If it weren’t for their difference in width, it would be hard to tell them apart, as they wore the same clothes, from their vests to their turbans. Normally, he would stop and watch, but he had more important things to do.

The loud rhythmic steaming and drumming sound soon subsided as Mustafa reached his front door. His house, like all the other Arians was run down, and had a single window out front. The wall to the side was missing a few bricks, forming a second window.
He pushed the door, which was nothing more than several planks fixed together, open and stepped in. Mustafa’s house was just as run down inside as it was outside. His house consisted of two floors, a living room, which had but two chairs, one bed, a table, and a fire place. The top floor wasn’t much bigger, consisting of a small bedroom, with enough space for two beds, Mu’ti’s little cage, and several boxes. As he stepped towards the chair closest to the missing bricks, where the sunlight poured in, Maryam came rushing through the door.
“Mustafa, where have you been? I was going crazy worrying about you!” his mother gestured frantically. A single bead of sweat raced down the side of her face, and Mustafa knew she had been looking around.
“This ain’t the first time, mom,” Mustafa shook his head, “I’m old enough to take care of myself, you gotta’ stop your worryin’.”
“You’re only 14, Mustafa, and you know what goes around this neighbourhood,” she reasoned with him. The sun began to set, as the blinding yellow light turned to a sharp orange. “Where’s Abdul?”
“He went to go hang out with Adin, tol’ me to tell you he’d be home a lil’ late,” answered Mustafa casually, as he took off his torn shirt, climbed the stairs and jumped on his bed. Maryam lowered her head. She had always disapproved Abdul’s hanging about after dark, but nobody could convince Abdul of what was right or wrong. She pushed her glasses back into place and proceeded back to the wooden stairs.
“I wonder if Mohammed is still at the factory, we’re running out of food around here…” she muttered to herself as she began putting things away. Mustafa looked out his window, and he could see the sun setting beyond the sand hills. Mustafa had never seen the world beyond the desert.
“Yo,” he yelled, “I’ can get ‘em.” The rattling downstairs immediately stopped.
“I don’t approve of Abdul staying out this late, and you expect me to let you go out there, alone?” she yelled back at him. Mustafa jumped out of bed, threw his shirt back on and bolted down the stairs.
“C’mon mom, I know my way around,” Mustafa reasoned. His mother was organizing the plates and cups beneath the staircase.
“I know you know your way around, son, but that’s not why I don’t let you go out,” she stopped putting the dishes away, “you know what it’s like in these areas. Even that little boy, what’s his name…”
“Jiyure, mom,” Mustafa reminded her.
“Jiyure,” continued Maryam, “he said he saw sand dwarfs around the area at night. You’re still a little boy Mustafa, and I can’t let you wander the streets at night alone.” Mustafa rolled his eyes, this wasn’t the first time they had gone through this.
“The sun hasn’t even set, man. What you think, some Scorpion’d come jack me up?” smiled Mustafa. His mother eyed him, thinking about it. Mustafa wasn’t ready to take no for an answer, and Maryam knew. With a sigh, Maryam gave in. She finished putting the dishes away, and climbed the stairs as Mustafa followed.
Maryam reached the box closest to Abdul’s bed, and went through it. Several minutes passed before she finally took her hands out of the box again. She handed Mustafa a roll of cash. Mustafa’s eyes widened at the sight of the mesos. Maryam paused to look at Mustafa, before going down the stairs again. She grabbed a small piece of paper off the table and gave it to Mustafa.
“Now you listen to me, Mustafa. Go down the road until you reach the Palace, and turn towards the market. Give the list to Sagati, and give him the mesos only after he gives you everything on the list. Don’t take any of the smaller streets, and don’t stop anywhere. Try and get home before Mohammed does, and please, take care of yourself,” Maryam finished, with tear-filled eyes, but Mustafa didn’t seem to notice. He smiled, and ran out.

Mustafa walked happily down his street, he wasn’t expecting his mother to give in so easily. He put the list in his back pocket, and looked at the wad of cash in his hand. There was easily a couple hundred mesos in here, and he knew there was no way Mohammed could have provided this. He placed the mesos in his pocket along with the list, and walked quietly towards Al Bahah playing with his blade.
He tripped over a large rock on the road, but regained balance before he hit the ground. There was a small intersection right before him, and he realized how much time, and distance, he would save if he cut through here instead of walking all the way to the Palace. Of course, he might even spot some of the new friends he made today. His mother’s words rang into his head, but he ignored it.
The street was darker, as the clustered buildings blocked the sunlight from pouring in. The sun was almost down as it is. Mustafa thought he heard something around the corner, and stopped in his tracks. He bent his arms slightly, ready to strike at anyone who would try to mug him. He was small, he knew, but he’d definitely give the mugger something to think about. He saw a small dark figure, about three feet in height dash towards him. As the figure ran closer, Mustafa lowered his arms, and chuckled at himself. A small cactus brushed his leg as it ran by. Its thorns were still round and blunt, and its legs were the size of Mustafa’s hand. Probably the sand dwarf Jiyure saw, he snickered.
He felt the money in his pocket as he walked again towards the Market. He thought about all the stuff he could buy with this. There wasn’t enough there to buy a good sword, but there was definitely enough to buy a dagger. He could even get some new clothes; the ones he wore now were torn up in different places. It might even be enough for a gun, he thought.

He felt a hard blow on the right side of his face before he even made it around the corner. His jaw cracked and Mustafa could feel blood beginning to flow through his mouth. The blow knocked Mustafa off balance, and sent him a couple feet back. Three figures jumped out of the darkness and charged towards Mustafa. He flipped open the blade, and slashed at the closest figure.
“God damn!” he leapt backwards. A second figure approached Mustafa, and he managed to duck under the blow and uppercut him in the chin. He turned around, and got hit between his chest and his stomach. The wind knocked out of him, he fell on his back clutching his diaphragm.
The breathing became easier as he tried to get back up. Mustafa screamed as he felt a strong kick on his ribs, and landed a few feet back. He covered his side as he lay on the ground, and he could feel something sharp poking outwards under his skin. Mustafa struggled to get back up, using only his right hand, but got knocked down by another kick to the head. He could feel a warm liquid trickling down the side of his head. The three figures quickly surrounded him. Mustafa felt himself getting trampled on from his head to his legs. Mustafa yelled as many curse words as he could remember while someone reached down his pocket. Mustafa rolled over, and landing on his side screamed in pain again.
The tallest of the three grabbed Mustafa’s shirt and pulled him up on his feet. For the first time, Mustafa saw the mugger’s face. His face was completely sunken in, making his lips look almost inhumanly large. A small beard crept down from under his red-with-golden-lining turban, and met at his chin. A small red scorpion was tattooed by his left eye. He wore no shirt, but he carried a large crescent-shaped dagger. Mustafa’s heart began to hammer against his chest as the mugger grasped the handle of the blade with his free hand.
“pineapplein’ platypus,” spat Mustafa. His eyes popped out as the sharp steel pierced through his skin and organs. The only thing keeping him from falling was the mugger’s grip on his collar, and blood poured out of his stomach by the gallon. The blood bubbling in his throat made it hard for him to breathe, and soon he began choking on his blood. His legs, no longer able to support his weight gave way and his face met the ground.
The dirt turned red all around him as his skin began to drop in temperature. The ground became warmer as Mustafa’s face got colder. He could hear a screech as the darkness quickly closed in.



Whispers surrounding him, Mustafa’s eyes suddenly widened. Light pierced his eyes, and he caught a glimpse of three figures across from him. He tried to scream, but his throat was tremendously dry, and it pained him to try and make a sound. His scream came out as a slow grunt, and the figures stopped moving. His eyes began to adjust to the light, and he could make out the faces. His pulse relaxed as he recognized the largest figure. He came close to Mustafa and immediately sat himself beside him, grabbing his hand.
“They’ll pay,” Abdul said coldly. Mustafa looked into his light brown eyes, and he could see nothing but fury. Abdul’s hair came over his face, and his eyes had dark marks beneath them. No other sign of weariness was visible. Mustafa had never seen his brother like this. Though Abdul spoke low, the fire inside him could be felt by all of them.
Tears filled Mustafa’s eyes, and he opened his mouth to speak, yet no sound came out. The other two figures silently sat themselves across from Abdul. One was a little boy, not older than 6 or 7 years of age. His big blue eyes observed Mustafa carefully, but shyly. Tied around his disheveled hair was a sand coloured turban. It was wrapped around rather poorly, and more hair could be seen than cloth. The other was a beautiful woman, almost as old as Abdul. Even though he was unable to move, Mustafa couldn’t help but stare. Her eyes were the same shade of brown as Abdul, and her skin was of a caramel colour, smooth as satin. A golden tiara embedded with a refined garnet and a blue harp feather rested atop her silky brown hair, which extended to her back. Large circular golden earrings could be seen through her hair.
“Jiyure and Sherry,” explained Abdul. He immediately recognized the little boy, but this was the first time he had seen Sherry, short for Schegerazade, Jiyure’s older sister. She spends her days and nights at the Queen’s Palace, and sends someone to take care of her younger sibling. Looking at her jewelry, she obviously worked for the queen, which explained all the posters of her and Queen Areda.
On the other side of the room, a large golden-feathered eagle perched on a chair, looking at Mustafa. “Mu’ti found you, and led us to you.” Abdul looked at Mu’ti, and then back at Mustafa. “I gotta’ go talk to Sirin,” he practically whispered, “I’ll check in later.” He ruffled Mustafa’s hair softly, before pushing his hair away from his face.
“Where are mom and dad?” Mustafa struggled to speak.
“They’re either here or at work, they haven’t slept in their own bed the last two days.” With that, Abdul got up, and excused himself from the small room.
Mustafa closed his eyes, his whole body ached, and he couldn’t move a limb. Every time he tried to speak, he felt as if he was trying to swallow a whole walnut. “Where am I?” he croaked. He felt as if he just got tore something inside his throat.
The small boy replied to him in a small voice. “You’re in my room,” he smiled. Sherry placed her delicate cold hand on his forehead.
“Sleep well, Mustafa,” spoke Schegerazade in an almost melodic voice. Just then, he realized fighting for consciousness was weakening him further. He looked at Schegerazade once more, before he drifted into a familiar darkness.


He looked around nervously, not knowing which path would save him from those pursuing him. If he knew what they wanted, he’d give it to them, but they wanted nothing but his blood; and he knew. Every house looked exactly the same, brick walls, one window, one door, one floor. He looked forward, then left, then right, then back. Each street seemed to extend until it met the horizon. They were quickly gaining on him, and he could hear their rapid footsteps, he even thought he could hear them panting. Their breaths quickened with their footsteps. .
He turned back around, and dashed. He ran until his feet began to bleed, and he kept running. He glanced backwards as he ran, knowing it was a bad idea. He saw two shadows chasing him, each with two daggers at hand. Before he could stop, he ran into something hard, and fell flat on his back. A topless man stood before him, and grinned. His lips curved and reached the red scorpion tattooed by his eye. The man reached to his side. Mustafa felt a lump in his throat and he could not swallow. The two shadows caught up to him, and he found himself surrounded on the floor.
He tried to get up, but he was tied to the ground as the pursuers stepped on each of his arms. The man with the scorpion flipped his crescent shaped dagger, so the blade extended below his hand. He sat on one knee beside Mustafa, and leaned forward. His eyes almost glowed in the dark night, and he raised the dagger over his head-

“Mustafa!”

“Mustafa!” yelled a high pitch voice. Mustafa felt himself being shaken by his shirt. Mustafa immediately woke up, but found himself unable to breathe. His eyes widened as he gasped for oxygen. Jiyure reached down beside his bed, and poured a cyan coloured liquid into his mouth. Mustafa swallowed, and kept swallowing. His breathing became easier, and he could feel some energy returning to him.
Jiyure placed the bottle into his hand, and ran towards the window. He stood on his toes so he could see over the windowsill. After staring for a few minutes, he ran back towards Mustafa’s bed.
“Palace guards,” Jiyure whispered. “They’re gone now, though,” he smiled at Mustafa, and gestured for him to finish drinking the liquid. The liquid was light, but it eliminated his hunger.
“Desert mist,” the young boy replied reading Mustafa’s facial expressions, “Api said it’d make you feel better fast.” He watched Mustafa gulp the two litre bottle like it was a cupful of water. Mustafa wiped his mouth with his arm, which was wrapped in bandages. He wondered how he broke his arm, but only remembered how he was kicked in the ribs. He touched his rib cage, and clenched his teeth in pain. Taking several long breaths, he pulled himself up to a sitting position, feeling pains in every major muscle in his body. Jiyure grabbed the bottle from Mustafa’s hand and ran out the room.
Mustafa looked out the window and saw two palace guards down the street. The spherical garnet holding their turbans in place was glistening under the moonlight, symbolizing their loyalty to the queen. He could hear the guards outside, but couldn’t make out what they were saying. Several minutes passed before he gave up trying to listen to them. He didn’t make out a single word, so Mustafa assumed they were speaking another language. Jiyure ran back into the room, holding another bottle filled with desert mist.
“In case you get thirsty,” smiled the little boy placing the bottle by Mustafa’s bed. Mustafa replied with a nod. Mustafa picked up the bottle, and looked at his reflection. Several small scars could be seen on his brow, and on his cheeks. His forehead was also wrapped in bandages, and there was a large patch covered in blood. He took a sip, before placing it back down. Grabbing his torn white T-shirt, he pulled it off. Jiyure gasped sharply, and sat down on the floor, looking away. A bandage was wrapped around his chest, going over his ribs left shoulder. His body was more black and blue then his regular copper. His rib cage was level again, but wrapped tightly in place. Across his stomach was a line of stitches, about 15 cm in length. The skin only managed to heal around the sides, and Mustafa felt queasy just looking at the huge gash in his stomach.
Tears filled his eyes again, and his jaw tightened. Abdul’s right, they will pay. He glanced towards where Jiyure was sitting, but he was no longer in the room. He looked towards the window at his left; there was no sound other than the wind howling through the drapes. Getting up and looking for him wasn’t an option. Even sitting motionless was painful. A loud clattering came from the other room, startling Mustafa. With a yelp, Jiyure jumped back and could be seen through the door. Glancing at Mustafa, he gave him a shy smile, and picked up the clay pots.
Mustafa lay back down, arms around his stomach. It hurt him more, now that he had seen his condition. Accidentally spilling some desert mist on his pillow as he poured it into his mouth, he turned over to the side facing away from the window, arms around his stomach, and he tried to sleep.

After what seemed like hours, Mustafa lay in the same position, eyes wide open. The weariness of his body should have put him to sleep hours ago, but the mix of feelings and thoughts prevented his mind from shutting down. Looking at his injuries, feelings of hatred, revenge, and anger filled his heart. He would not like to admit it; however, feelings of fear easily overwhelmed the rest. He had gotten into fights before, lost as many as he won, but none of them involved weapons. If by chance his adversary did carry a pocket knife, he knew they wouldn’t use it. That feeling of assurance was now gone. Sunlight poured in through the window, and Mustafa’s eyes finally began to shut. They’ll pay, the voice of Abdul echoed in his mind as his brain shut off.


He awoke much before the sunrise, and was unable to return to sleep. The dreams were only getting worse, and his pain was renewed each time. His arm felt like it was placed under a boulder, and his ribs felt clearly out of place. Thoughts came to him one after the other, like one of the queen’s caravans, and he could not keep track of any of them. The little boy, Jiyure, lay asleep on the cold floor near a wall by the door, practically hugging himself. A howling breeze came in through the barred window, but Mustafa didn’t notice. He was having a war of thoughts in his own mind while he lay practically petrified.
Some time later, the black stillness of the night turned into the blue liveliness of twilight, and one by one, people started walking the streets, headed towards the lidium factory. There was one that looked into the house as he passed that caught Mustafa’s attention. His white beard reached halfway down his chest, and he wore a large white coloured turban. The man disappeared from view, and then entered the house. He took a step into the small room, his sandals covered in sand, and his body looking like a shriveled up through his vest. The only thing setting him apart from the other Arians was the long black cane he carried with him, encrusted with a large black and purple lustrous metal; a refined lidium crystal.
He stood hunched over Mustafa, placed a rough hand on his forehead, and spoke, “How are you feeling, son?” Mustafa did not answer to his father; instead he continued to stare blankly at the ceiling. Tears filled Muhammad’s eyes but never made it down his cheeks. Soon he turned his back on his son, and walked past the lightly snoring Jiyure. Abdul met him with Mu’ti on his shoulder before he could make his way out, and they looked at each other.
Is he alright? He was about to ask, but knew as he saw his father’s eyes twinkling with tears, for perhaps the first time. Muhammad left to work, hanging his head with sorrow and disappointment, and Abdul grabbed the chair as he walked up beside Mustafa. Sitting down, he grabbed Mustafa’s hand, but he showed him no reaction. “We’re going to find him,” Abdul assured him. Mustafa turned his head slightly towards his brother, and looked at him. Shortly the tears began rolling down his cheeks, and he sobbed painfully.


For more than a week, Mustafa lay in bed speaking to no one. He was lost in his own thoughts, and though he wasn’t dead, he wasn’t alive. Everyday his parents and Abdul would come and see him, and try to speak with him, but he would not even respond. His wounds had remarkable healed, at least the smaller ones. He had some large cuts and bruises, as well as the fractures that were still just as painful. It wasn’t until the eleventh day that Mustafa looked at Abdul and spoke, “He had a scorpion tattered on his face.”
Abdul looked at him with mixed emotions and got up from his chair, Mu’ti practically falling off his shoulders. Even Jiyure’s face suddenly lighted up, and ran outside, almost breaking the door open as he went through.




Two days later, a familiar figure walked into Mustafa’s room. She walked up to him quickly, and smiled at him. Maryam and Abdul were not much further behind.
Schegerazade stood over him, and slowly removed the bandage wrapped around his head. A circular mark was revealed when the cloth was removed, but the skin itself had healed quite well. Every other small bandaging was removed, including his right shoulder, his upper arm, and on his back. The large bandage wrapped around his ribs and his left fore-arm remained. “The bones haven’t fully healed yet. I wouldn’t suggest you go running around for at least another 2 weeks, until your ribs heal,” advised Sherry. Maryam wrapped her arms around her son softly, and Sherry retreated.
She walked to Abdul, who was leaning against the doorway, his spear extending past his head behind him. “Oh Goddess…” muttered Maryam through a shaky voice.
“I’m good, mom,” lied Mustafa. Speaking would still ache, and his ribs were still fractured. Even laying there motionless hurt his side. Maryam let go eventually, and Mustafa attempted to get up. He nearly fell forward as his knees could not carry his weight. Two hands quickly extended and grabbed him before he could hit the ground. Maryam helped him back into a standing position, and looked at Abdul with tearful eyes. Abdul brushed past Sherry after leaning off the wall, and grabbed Mustafa’s right arm and put it around his shoulders. Wiping the tears off her face, Maryam ran out.
Abdul walked him out the door, and said, “His name was Fahad.”
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All constructive criticism is appreciated, I don't care if you straight up tell me it sucks, as long as you got a reason.

EDIT: The pomegranate and pineapple in the story was unintentional. I'll put stars instead later on.