Raven and Matthew meet each other for the first time...

This is an excerpt from my novel, "No Ravens Fly In Heaven". This is the part where Raven - the main character in the novel who is both; the protagonist and the antagonist - meets Matthew, the third main character in the novel, for the first time.

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Lost within mental aloofness that he has never been in before, Raven walks back to his apartment in irregular steps with a head stuffed with puzzling notions. He stops in the middle of his way back, drops his eyelids down for brief, stolen seconds then raises them up like curtains unveiling a fresh dramatic scene. The wind has subsided, but the aching mind of his hasn't. The displaced birds have returned to their disorderly nests, but his soul has just commenced seeping through that tepid corpus of his and might never return. The trees have stopped shaking and they're no longer hemorrhaging leaves, but the trembling of his heart has not abated and it's still bleeding harmony.

He moves on, reaches the spot where he usually parks his car and that's when he freezes to stare into the complete void that is occupying the spot. He realizes that he didn't drive back in his car last night and that it should be still parked in front of the nightclub.

"Miraculous...this is just miraculous!" 

Raven tells himself in a subtle, sarcastic voice before he checks his left pocket of his pants to make sure the car keys are still there. He stops the first taxicab he sees and heads to the nightclub. The perimeter of the place is deceivingly calm, but Raven has ultimate readiness for a probable storm. He reaches his car, unlocks the door and then hears a rough voice coming from the back in a tone that doesn't sound friendly enough: "Good morning, sir."

Raven turns around and replies: "I guess it is." with a genuinely artificial grin and an upbeat voice.

"Is this your car?" An African American man in his late forties wearing a grey suit asks. He's tall, with a short, black and white hair and red eyes surrounded by blackness and swollenness due to lack of sleep.

"Yes, it is. Why are you asking?"

"I'm detective Edwards…Matthew Edwards from NYPD and I'm investigating in a homicide". Matthew says and shows his ID to Raven.

"It's an exalted delectation to meet you, detective. I have a compulsive feeling that I didn't do it!" Raven says and giggles while his arms are folded.

"Did you?" Matthew asks in a serious tone of voice.

"I've undeniably committed multifarious irremissible sins throughout the seemingly interminable lifetime of mine, but an extirpation of a pneuma from an earthling is an act I have never effectuated before." Raven responds articulately with a face that shifts into that typical coldness of his.

"….........." Matthew looks at Raven silently, but quite resentfully.

"No, I didn't kill anyone." Raven says, unfolds his arms, puts his hands in his pants pockets, loosely leans backwards against his car and slightly tilts his head to the right, letting a thin wisp of his fringe fall down in front of his left eye.

"Wasn't that a lot easier to say?" Matthew asks.

"Verbally, yes it was, but not intellectually. It made me feel too generic." Raven replies.

"Can you please explain to me, in layman's terms, why your car has been parked here since last night?" Matthew asks, cutting to the chase.

"Because I don't have an affinity for violating the law."

"Would you please elaborate?"

"Last night, I had too many drinks and wasn't in a condition that would allow me to drive. Therefore, I decided to leave my car here and take a cab to get back home."

"Drunken people usually fail to make such wise decisions."

"I don't recall that I said I was drunk. I did consume more alcohol than the usual, but not enough to be inebriated."

"Well, I'm glad you did the right thing. I still have some more questions if you don't mind."

"It would be my ultimate pleasure to help in any possible way, detective."

"Excellent...have you ever seen this guy before?" Matthew asks, showing a picture of Harry Hazle.

Raven looks at the picture maintaining the exact, same, cold look without showing any suspicious alteration in his facial expressions that would expose him, in spite of the sordid, resonating voice of Harry's that rings thunderously in Raven's ears: "NEWSFLASH, MOTHERFUCKER!!!", and then immediately answers with a dully unexciting voice: "Yes, I have."

"You sure?"

"Positive."

"When and where?"

"Last night. Here, in this nightclub."

"What was he doing?"

"Drinking, making phone calls every ten minutes, laughing and sometimes yelling...he was just having classic fun, I presume."

"Well, at least he had some fun before he got killed."

"So, he's the victim."

"Yes. It seems that this nightclub was the last place where he was seen alive. He was found dead in his car a few blocks away from here. Do you remember whether he was alone or accompanied by anyone?"

"I don't remember seeing him sitting with or talking to anyone other than those he talked to on the phone, but of course I could be wrong. I wasn't paying attention to the guy the whole night. I'm sorry if I'm not being very useful to you."

"No, you're actually being helpful and cooperative enough. The fact that you managed to remember his face in a heartbeat was quite impressive as well."

"I never forget a face I laid my eyes on."

"That can come in handy."

"It has its pros and cons."

"Sure...well, what about you? Were you alone, too?"

"Yeah."

"What were you doing?"

"I was having Sex on the Beach."

"Excuse me?!"

"Sex on the Beach; it's a cocktail. You should try it one day. It's my fourth favorite cocktail of all time."

"Oh...I've never heard of that. What's it made of?" Matthew asks with a bit of a smile on his face.

"There are several variations but my personal favorite consists of extra chilled Stolichnaya vodka, peach schnapps, orange juice and cranberry juice, and with six rocks. Garnish with a lemon wedge. Make sure to fill at least third of the glass with the vodka."

"Aint that too strong?"

"Maybe, but that's how I prefer my vodka cocktails--powerful and memorable."

"I'll consider it tonight if I ever manage to get the privilege of having a few minutes to spare in the bar, but that seems highly unlikely considering this case I'm working on."

"Well, I hope you'll be rewarded with that privilege."

"Thank you, Mr..."

"Ameer...Raven Ameer."

"That's an interesting name, Mr. Raven Ameer."

"Yeah, I get that a lot."

"Raven…now I see why you don't forget the faces you see."

"Wow, you know about the stupefying memory of ravens--I'm impressed!"

"Yeah, I watch Discovery Channel when the news is too depressing."

"Keep edifying yourself; you never know when your knowledge could be a more potent substitute for the lethality of your gun whose bullets are crazily craving to be discharged."  Raven says, sounding drugged on righteousness.    

"Okay, Mr. Raven Ameer, thanks a lot for your time. Here's my card just in case you remember anything and feel that it might help me in solving this case."

"Sure." Raven replies, then takes the business card and puts it in his wallet.

"Have a nice day, sir."

"You, too."

Matthew turns around and heads to the main street and Raven gets in his car and drives back home, with both of his hands shaking on the wheel like those of a hyperactive percussionist on Ceptagon.

The Chronicles of a Martyr

Some were born to embrace the unreached horizons of the limitless sky. I know someone who had been predestined to be carried on restless clouds and winnowed by wings of aspiration before he was even born. He's no longer with us in the flesh; as he had devoted it along with every bone in his mundane body for his homeland, but the thunderous echo of his heartbeats and the vivid presence of his spirit shall last till hell freezes over.

He's a kid…yet he can feel it.

He can feel the pride that is instilled within innately. It's a historical privilege given exclusively to those who are born and raised in Karak; the land of unforgettable triumphs. Heroism, intrepidity and honor are traits he's endowed with by default.

He's a schoolboy…yet he can see his bright future.

He's the prime example of brilliance, politeness and kindness. In the classroom, he's on a quest to excel and impress, to design his own life and to consummately set the track that would lead him to ineluctable success.

He's a young man…yet he feels as if the weight of his whole homeland lies on his shoulders.

It's a crossroad and he must make a momentous decision. He applied to the Air Force and also to a university in Moscow to study medicine. He has just been accepted in both and it's time to choose. He's torn between pursuing a career in which he would save people's lives and another one in which he would dwell in the sky, protecting and safeguarding the homeland he adores to the core. It's all written; so he has to go with the latter.

He's a newlywed…yet his fate will unfold an even more blissful event.

Five months of marriage is all what he and his wife will get. Their hopes and wishes of building their love nest and expanding it with their offspring will have to be aborted prematurely for a grander cause. He's been called for duty, and his beloved homeland always comes first.

He's a captive…yet it feels as if his captors are the ones in captivity.

He's living his last seconds in this earthly world. Nevertheless, he's standing on his firm feet with nothing but mightiness emanating from his glowing eyes. The fire might have burned his body, but his soul ascended to lodge in its haven; that aerial abode above an alluring azure.

He's dead…yet, he's alive in every sense of the word…We shall never forget the martyr, Mu'ath Safi Al-Kasasbeh.

The Addictive Art of Creating Monsters

Drawn by Fernando Travis

If you rummage through literature, you’ll be quite amazed by the striking similarities existing in both realms; that expansive fictional world and our vapid real one. A remarkable example would be Frankenstein’s monster; the eternally memorable character portrayed in Mary Shelly’s masterpiece, “Frankenstein; or, The Modern Prometheus”, which now has an ideal counterpart in this decaying world of ours; namely, ISIL.

Politics can sometimes mimic literary prose astonishingly, yet many seem to let such occurrences go by unnoticed, but not me; I don’t, especially when the same, exact, abominable occurrence is repeated twice.

In the novel, for those who are not that fond of reading literature, Victor Frankenstein is an excessively dreamy scientist who is determined to create live matter out of lifelessness by exploiting his outstanding scientific knowledge and sheer aspirations. He accomplishes his objective but not very successfully; as the final “product” turns out to be a monster, or a “fiend” as the brilliant author herself refers to it later in the novel. The miscreation, which is uncontrollable and disobedient, would eventually be the cause of all the misfortune that befalls upon the people in Victor’s life, who would then expectedly blame himself.

America has already imitated Victor’s ambitious attempt of creating life, but Uncle Sam’s intentions were less virtuous and more ungodly. It all started during the Soviet war in Afghanistan, which lasted from 1979 until 1989, when America decided to vivify the “Mujahedeen”; the name that was given to the multinational rebel groups. It was a simple – but quite misjudged– implementation of the basic principle: my enemy’s enemy is a friend of mine. That once barely noticeable entity led by a reckless young man called “Osama”, who was driven by a purely religious ideology – regardless whether it was flawed or not – became the cynosure; thanks to the massive logistic and tactical support Osama received from his sudden friend. The final result was the creation of a monster that wasn't less hideous than Frankenstein’s – Al-Qaeda.

The U.S. simply saw a man who was willing to fight one of their most hated adversaries – The Soviet Union, but they had failed to have a future view through which they would have prophesied the tragedy they fed themselves twenty years later. That monstrous entity; Al-Qaeda, has sabotaged the world order and is still doing so, despite the demise of its leader by the hands of his own creator.

As if one wasn't enough, America idiotically did it again. In a malicious attempt to, first; sustain the deadly conflict taking place in Syria as part of America’s covert endeavors to help Assad stay in power safeguarding the Israeli borders, and second; distort the true peaceful image of Islam, America gave life to an even more unsightly, barbaric, dreadful monster called “ISIL”. However, history (and maybe literature) always repeats itself; as the U.S. will most likely lose control of its repulsive demon quite soon, and I’m afraid they’ll pay an exceedingly high price that would surpass that of 9/11.

I believe the only major difference between Uncle Sam and Victor is that the latter eventually held himself ethically responsible and showed bona fide remorse for his unwise action; unlike the former, whose haughtiness is way too grand to let him admit his fatal mistake.

I wish I had never seen that lighthouse, and just remained lost in the sea...

It's been exactly eighty days since she ended our story before it even started. She is almost a forgotten memory already, which is something that may not sound convincing at all; as I've been counting days since her departure, but those who know me well would deem it as a justifiable act according to my intricately odd persona. I always count the days that pass after a tragic event I go through in my life to make sure that I will be fully recovered from its aftermath by the hundredth day. So, frankly speaking, I'm glad that I only need to go through twenty more days and then she'll completely vanish.

Some might ask why one hundred days and not more or fewer? Well, let's just say that I've been through enough personal disasters in my life, and according to those several experiences, one hundred days should be quite enough to overcome the pain and examine the losses.

The reason why I'm writing this entry on this specific day is because it's Valentine's Day. So, it was quite expected that I would think of her today, especially that the image of her pearl-inlaid ivory cheek hasn't crossed my mind for the whole last week, probably because I was on a vacation.

The recovery process started approximately a week after the closure. I unfriended her on Facebook, simply because her posts wouldn't make it really easy for me to let her go, not that I hated her, hell no, that was not and will never be an option. Her response was a childish one – she blocked me! She did it to get even! Well, she's an eastern girl, after all. I guess we definitely wouldn't have been a good match. She just assumed that it would be quite fine with me to remain a friend after all what I told her and all the feelings I exposed to her without any conservation, which was certainly a naive assumption. But I excuse her; as I'm almost doubtless that she has never ever fallen in love before, so it's not possible for her to understand what I felt at that moment when I decided to unfriend her.

Among the numerous things I'm glad for about this whole unfulfilled love story is the fact that I didn't end up with an exceedingly pragmatic person, considering that I am driven by emotions, impulse and passion; so we are the complete opposite. There's absolutely no shame in being pragmatic, it's just not a persona that would complement me; it would rather demolish me and every lively detail about my character. I'm dreamy, ambitious, unpredictable and rebellious while she's realistic, mainstream, predictable and too subtle. We really are two opposing characters; I can’t believe that I actually proposed to her. Love can truly dominate someone's senses. Another reason why I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her was because she was an inexhaustible source of inspiration to me. When I told her that she was my muse, I wasn't lying. As a matter of fact, a couple of weeks ago I imagined an alternative scenario, in which I wouldn't tell her anything about my feelings and would just keep her close to me as a friend, just to get inspired by her. At the beginning, I thought it would have been actually a possibility, but upon a more thorough contemplation, I realized it was impossible…I loved her…I would eventually have to confront her with my feelings.

It's indeed such a great relief that my feelings for her are almost gone. I'm writing these words with incredible ease, unlike the words I wrote three weeks after she broke my heart, which I will make sure that no soul will ever come across them! I was devoured by hurt and distress over her cruelty, well-fabricated lies and apathy. She manipulated me the whole time and didn't have the courtesy to apologize, so naturally, I had to be in a fucked up condition.

I'm only regretful for one thing about this whole unfortunate attempt of seeking eternal bliss that turned out to be an utter tragedy, and I'm sure she'll never know what it is. I don't have any regrets for the tens of flowers I gifted her after looking for them in more than twenty shops; as it wasn't the red roses season at the time. I don't have any regrets that I told my best friends about the relationship I had with her, and that soon they'd have to forgive me for abandoning bachelorship; they certainly lent me their shoulders to cry on and alleviated my pain. I don't have any regrets for being too hasty that I told the elderly men in our family to prepare themselves for the betrothal. I don't have any regrets about staying up all night on every fucking day waiting for her to respond to my messages that I sent in the early morning. I don’t have any regrets for always replying to her messages instantly and not playing the "hard-to-get" or "too-busy-having-a-life" cards, because I'm never fake; my outside is a reflection of my inside. I don't have any regrets for any of the honest things I told to her father, even if she was lying to me the whole time; because I am as true with people as I am with myself. I'm only regretful for the words I wrote for her…the poems, love words, hearty lines and every letter I wasted on her. I wish I could unwrite them.

Twenty more days and she shall be a relic…I'm looking forward to an upcoming future teeming with endless possibilities.