Chapter 1
Will you forgive me?
Will you absolve me?
Will you cleanse me of my sins?
If your answer is no, then so be it.
I truly don’t care.
All I hear is the sound of my heavy breaths against the shattered marble floor,
my blood slowly escaping my body,
and my eyes resisting sleep—
that eternal sleep…
the kind my eyes will never open from again.
And just like that…
the story ends.
A theory of my own:
Behind every window lies a story,
and every window through which you see life holds a completely different one.
Some windows draw their curtains shut.
I envy those who have lost their sight—
they were granted a great blessing:
they will never have to witness how ugly this world can be.
Perhaps, after a long life, you will understand what I mean.
What are the true motives?
Is it envy? hatred? resentment?
Or pure evil?
I don’t know.
No one is born evil,
and no one wakes up one day wishing to destroy the world.
All these feelings…
are merely hidden behind windows—
windows that are shining, crying, and fragile.
There was a child—
his clothes filthy,
his face covered in dust and shoe polish,
his wide smile revealing missing teeth,
as if he were seven… or maybe ten.
He carried a kind of energy that nothing could surpass.
Just a homeless boy shining shoes in the streets,
looking up at people from below
as if he could see towering dreams above them—
as if escaping his reality
was nothing more than a fleeting illusion.
He polished shoes until they gleamed like crystal,
earned a few coins,
then wandered off to earn a few more.
He always believed that behind every pair of eyes
were untold stories—
stories that revealed themselves
through the glassy shine of pupils.
He never dreamed of anything grand.
Only bread…
and sleep.
He would return “home,”
hand over all his coins
to that fat, foul-smelling monster—
except for one…
a coin he hid beneath his tongue.
He couldn’t remember the man’s face.
Only the beatings…
and the touches while he slept.
He slept in a cramped room
filled with children like him—
so many of them,
like grains of rice in their abundance.
Yet they all shared one dream:
to feel full.
They slept piled on top of each other,
trying to survive the biting winter cold,
their stomachs empty.
They were like a family—
despite their orphanhood.
What bound them together
was that they were all children
of the “Orphanage of Life.”
A funny name… wasn’t it?
Once every month came “Inspection Day.”
The inspector would arrive.
Ten children—only ten—
would be selected,
cleaned, dressed in the finest clothes,
while the rest were driven out
until late into the night
until the inspector left the next day.
That boy’s dream
was to be one of those ten—
to sleep on a bed,
to eat like them.
But his appearance
never helped him.
He was always overlooked,
as if he didn’t exist.
Until one day—
the worst day of his life—
He returned to the orphanage
barely able to walk,
his body covered in bruises and fractures,
his clothes torn and soaked in blood…
and something inside his eyes
had died.
What happened that night—
he would never forget.
…Or perhaps,
he would.
He returned to hell,
told his older brother everything.
The boy—no older than sixteen—
held him close,
told him he had gone through the same,
that he wasn’t alone.
He stroked his hair,
kissed his forehead,
took what little money he had
to get him medicine,
to wash him.
And yet…
the monster beat him again
for failing to bring enough money.
That night,
he slept in his brother’s arms.
And for once—
he felt safe.
Pure, absolute safety.
And so the cycle began again:
Morning—shoe polishing.
Evening—starving hunger.
Still, he hid a coin in his mouth every day.
He laughed.
He played.
Despite the pain.
Because he knew—
he wasn’t the only one suffering.
He hadn’t been born there.
He was born somewhere dark,
hidden from the world—
an illegitimate child
of a forbidden affair.
His mother tried to end his life
before he ever saw the light.
It was as if the world itself
rejected him before he arrived.
Yet somehow—
he survived.
Only to be thrown away like trash.
A kind-hearted maid found him,
raised him until he turned five.
She was the first thing he saw
when he opened his eyes.
Then she was killed before him—
silenced to keep a secret.
He stayed beside her body,
not understanding death…
nor life.
Days passed.
Fate led him
to the Orphanage of Life—
where life itself was absent.
There, the older boy taught them
how to read and write.
And he…
would stand watching the sun,
the leaves,
the clouds,
the colors.
Until one day—
He saw a television
through a glass shop window,
filled with bright colors.
He pressed his hands against the glass,
his eyes unable to look away—
Until a harsh blow
from the shop owner’s cane
dragged him back,
shouting at him to leave
and not scare customers
with his miserable appearance.
Glass…
Fragile. Transparent.
Yet it reminds you
of who you are.
That night,
he drew what he saw
using a piece of charcoal.
The children were amazed.
For the first time—
he felt special.
He dreamed:
To eat a whole chicken by himself… and bring a lamb for his brothers.
To build a home where they could all live together.
To gather enough money to treat his brother’s leg.
And for a moment—
they laughed,
they played,
they forgot hunger…
forgot pain.
But the countdown to the end…
had already begun.
Written by: Rahma Ahmed Mohamed
