#InstagramStories Week 3 Winners

Week 3 Winner #English #InstagramStories

1st Place: Qatayaf ~ By 

"We have to stop! We need some for Ramadan!" Baba pointed abruptly, jerking the steering wheel and nearly crashing into the location in question: a dilapidated tent chaotically adorned with Ramadan decorations. Mama inhaled sharply. Her throat, caught on a syllable, was all that occupied the air. A memory flashes—“It’s Alzheimer’s,” the doctor says. From that searing moment, the years of Baba’s slow demise piled on her. Sadness, frustration; finally, anger. “We already have decorations!” she snapped. The creases in Baba’s face gave way. He slowly turned the wheel and drifted back onto the road. Once home, we gathered at the dining room table, nervously awaiting a return to normalcy. The maid emerged from the kitchen a few moments later, gripping a platter overflowing with Qatayaf.

She placed them in front of Dad, whose eyebrows almost lifted off his forehead. “Wow! What’s this?!” It had happened again. Mama’s throat burned. As she got up from the chair Baba popped a whole sweet into his mouth; syrupy fingers sought another lump as a smile radiated across his face. As she looked at him fresh tears dashed down her cheeks, but halted at the tight corners of crescent lips. For all the frustrations she had endured, his joy brought her her own. She walked over and hugged him from behind, “Qatayaf,” she whispered. Baba turned back to look at her, shining lips puckered in gratitude. The rest of the night was quiet…but we were happy. Who knew if Baba would forget the Qatayaf again next year. None of us wanted him to—but I think all of us were waiting for another moment like that.”

2nd Place: Fleuvial ~ By @spacerockmusic

Thirteen lifetimes ago we spoke – you said you were fluvial, and threw yourself in the river. In this cycle we’ve only met once, and that was sufficient: once was recognition. In a world where our life-force is preserved, duplicated, and injected into new bodies after our organic death; it was only immersion in water that put a stop to the cloning. Your life-force dissipated in that river along with your body. Through my fourteenth cycle you’ll be duplicated again, and perhaps then I’ll call to your attention the foliage unfolding around your riverbank.”

Azhan ~ By @lkassicieh

"As the azhan echoes off the silent hills, its people collectively breaking their fast, there’s a particular magic that settles in the air. A mix of heat collected between the buildings, dust and jasmine."

'Just a Housewife' ~ By @jawahir_alfaiz

"Just a housewife. Women who stay at home are always seen as lesser beings for not going out to work. If only you saw the work we did at home you wouldn’t say that. We work harder than anyone and get the least credit for it. We are the quiet laborers who toll away and never complain. Our work is out of love. Motherhood and wife hood are the the ultimate forms of love and we are proud to be women who stay home. Keep your offices and high heels, we love being housewives and will always hold our scarves heads up high."

Dark Forest ~ By @aliabuali7

His trembling knees dragged but one step deeper in the dark forest before they fell to the ground. His eyes turned to their maker as he watched the silver light of the full moon reflect upon the arms of steel of the old oak. Turned straight above to shed earths last pure tear. His heart is weary. He can go on. This is it. All his fights have led him to the this moment. All his choices maybe wrong. Well, it doesn’t matter now.

His exhausted, severely wounded body is letting go of his soul. Darkness, he can’t see the white light they claimed to show the way “home”. But yet again his fight in which he died was for his home, and now its gone, everything is gone. Before he fell into despair a voice surrounded him, it came from no where, it came from everywhere! “You’ve done good. You’ve done right. But this is yet to be the end. Its not over yet. You can’t pass without seeing the echo of your actions. You stood in the face of the beast unleashed upon you and your people by the world. You did not cave, you would not surrender. You stood along side your brothers and you didn’t give in, you stood alone above your brothers and still wouldn’t give in.

As the seas unleash their deep, as the skies fall hard, as the earth explodes from under their feet, as the trees join their shards with the arms of steel, they all shall fall, they all shall plead. See your Palestine break free before your passing see your actions and to what they shall lead. This is far from being your end.”


مسابقة #قصص_إنستغرام - الفائزون في الأسبوع الثالث

يسرّنا في مشروع قلم الإعلان عن الفائزين بمسابقة #قصص_إنستغرام لهذا الأسبوع.

الجائزة عبارة عن كتّاب مقدم من مكتبة وايد سكرين.

القصة الفائزة بالمرتبة الأولى لهذا الأسبوع



‏صوتك وطن، أتراقص في شوارعه كطفلة حرة من قيود الحياة. عيناك جوريتان، تعيد الواحدة منهم ذاكرتي لدماء الشهداء في بلادي اﻷولى. معك، يا صديقي، أواجه الموت بجرأة فسرعان ما أبدأ بتحليله إلى صيغته اﻷولية.. أضعه تحت المجهر وأتفحصه.. أشم من خلال ذراته رائحة الدماء والمطر الذي يتساقط بغزارة من عيون أمهات فقدن كل شئ يستحق تحمل فواجع الحياة.. معك، أشعر بأن الظلام هو ثالثنا لا الشيطان! الجلوس بجانبك في حديقة عامة يعني أن أخاف من رصاصة طائشة تخترق قلبي لا قبلة.. أستطيع أن أحلل كل ما تحتوي الحياة من كلمات وحروف إلى ذرات، أتذوقها، أحبها، أبغضها، أفسح لها المجال للجلوس في قلبي أو أقذفها في المدى البعيد لأشتتها في كوكب آخر.. كل الكلمات قابلة للتحليل والتغيير، يا صديقي، إلا كلمة واحدة.. أقف أمامها مرتعشة ومذهولة، أنتظر الخيبة التي أدمنتها، أنتظر الرصاصة؛ هي الوطن

القصة الفائزة بالمركز الثاني



*صوت ضغط على لوحة المفاتيح وكأنه ينبئ عن حرب قريبة !* “يال مخيلتي الحمقاء ما ظننت بأنها سوف تتجاوزني دون أن تحدثني بشيء”….*تبادرها زميلتها الرد* “ألم أقل لك بأنها لم تتغير ؟” *فتجيبها مستنكرة* “وما هذا الكلام المعسول الذي تغرقني به على حائطي في الفيسبوك !…وحتى أن حسابي في التويتر و الانستقرام لم يسلم من ملاحقتها ومن ثم تمشي بجانبي وكأنها لا تعرفني قط !” *صوت قرع أقدام يقترب* تتنبه له زميلتها فتقول هامسة: ” انه المدير كفانا ثرثرة ولنعد للعمل !

القصص المرشحّة الأخرى



جاءته بقلبٍ لاهث ونَفَسٍ شبه معدوم.. بروحٍ ملؤها الوجع وعينان بلا بريق.. بصوتٍ خائب ويدين مُرتعشتين.. جاءته حافية برأسً مُنحني ونَْفسٍ ممزقه.. مشيت كل الطُرق الموحشه وكل الدروب الشائكه كي تصل له.. تتشبث بها عزة نفسها وتجُرُها الكرامة من ثوبها فتدهسها كما تدهس التراب وتمضي.. جاءته قاطعه كل اميال الحنين وكل مسافات الشوق ليس كي تستعيده..وليس كي تعود له انما هو سؤال واحد عالق في ذهنها..تحاول حلّه كما تُحَلّ الأُحجيه.. تبحث عن اجابته منذ ليالٍ عده.. “لما فعلت بي هذا



كانت تنتظره بلهفه كي يضمها كطفلته المدللة وفي قمة شوقها اليه كانت تآن بصوت مكسور من قلب موجوع بهواه تحدث نفسها اني اشتقاك اليه سقطت عليها صخره قسوته لتوجعها اكثر من بعاده ..وتفتح عيناها علي بقايا وروده وقلبها!  



نحن والقمر جيران

هي جميلة .. بضحكتها .. بعبوسها .. بغضبها .. بغيرتها .. هي جميلة بعينيه يراها قمرا منيرا حتى في نهاره !!… يلاحقها في اغاني فيروز .. لم يعرف معنى العشق الا في عينيها … غرق في بحر الهيام من ضحتها .. ولطمته امواج صوتها العذب حتى القت به بعيدا الى هناك … لكنها قمر .. تبقى قمر لا تطاله يداه تركته غارقا يحلم بجناحان يوصلانه لها وما زال يحلم !! لا يريد ان يستيقظ


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