| Author: | Ahmed Ibrahem | ISBN: | 9781370945818 |
| Publisher: | Samah Soliman | Publication: | February 23, 2018 |
| Imprint: | Smashwords Edition | Language: | English |
| Author: | Ahmed Ibrahem |
| ISBN: | 9781370945818 |
| Publisher: | Samah Soliman |
| Publication: | February 23, 2018 |
| Imprint: | Smashwords Edition |
| Language: | English |
He wanted me to call him Ibrahim. Such a weird name! Not a citizen in the city has ever been called anything but a number. Citizen 2000, however, decided that day that his name was Ibrahim, a name he told me to have liked. The original holder of the name seemed to be a stranger, just like him. Ibrahim told me that the stranger came to the city when he'd been the last citizen still, before I was born. The stranger was only accompanied by two friends who left him at the gate and wrote some stuff, like all the visitors of our city do. Ibrahim said that he heard the one writing the words reading them aloud, saying things like: "I didn't have the time to leave in a way that'd make them miss me. Actually, I had no desire to.", along with words like: Home, "Her", There, The Ban, The Triumphant and The Wall. He heard all that absurdity during their talk about the stranger and kept repeating most of it to me later on. I didn't really understand it, but I loved hearing it nonetheless. He was unique in his narration, in his cursing, in his anger and in his desire to abandon them time after time after time. I've missed my fellow citizen Ibrahim. I've missed his uniqueness. Me, who had never missed anyone… his story made it inevitable. Though he never wanted to be missed.
"Who? Who are we? Who exactly are we, Ibrahim?" I asked him that last night, after his will got us there. I asked him, and he turned silent for a little while, then? All hell broke loose…
He wanted me to call him Ibrahim. Such a weird name! Not a citizen in the city has ever been called anything but a number. Citizen 2000, however, decided that day that his name was Ibrahim, a name he told me to have liked. The original holder of the name seemed to be a stranger, just like him. Ibrahim told me that the stranger came to the city when he'd been the last citizen still, before I was born. The stranger was only accompanied by two friends who left him at the gate and wrote some stuff, like all the visitors of our city do. Ibrahim said that he heard the one writing the words reading them aloud, saying things like: "I didn't have the time to leave in a way that'd make them miss me. Actually, I had no desire to.", along with words like: Home, "Her", There, The Ban, The Triumphant and The Wall. He heard all that absurdity during their talk about the stranger and kept repeating most of it to me later on. I didn't really understand it, but I loved hearing it nonetheless. He was unique in his narration, in his cursing, in his anger and in his desire to abandon them time after time after time. I've missed my fellow citizen Ibrahim. I've missed his uniqueness. Me, who had never missed anyone… his story made it inevitable. Though he never wanted to be missed.
"Who? Who are we? Who exactly are we, Ibrahim?" I asked him that last night, after his will got us there. I asked him, and he turned silent for a little while, then? All hell broke loose…
