Fatma Al-Zahraa

'ALL IT TAKES IS SLIT WRISTS, THEN THERE'S NO WAY OUT.'

Roseline hates what has become of herself. She was dumped by her boyfriend, her parents are divorced, she is bullied at school, and her siblings overshadow her. Her existence is pointless, translating into an uncertain, gloomy future.

She wants out. And she thinks she gets it once she realizes that the blood running through her veins is all that links her to the cruel world.

She slits her wrists and all that follows makes her realize that this wasn't the out she was looking for. 

She's petrified when she realizes that she isn't really dead (at least not spiritually, as she likes to think) and is watching the consequences of her action unfold in front of her.

Awful secrets are revealed and masks fall as Roseline fights her way through, asking herself the same question 'every day'- Will I find a way out out of my way out? Or will I be trapped here? Forever?

It Ends With Stars

I never thought the concept of a birthday through. 


I mean besides the balloons and the overly enthusiastic smiles- it never really got to me how every birthday celebrated was a year closer to my death-day. It never got to me that all of that happiness and all those presents are very carefully calculated. 


And so I wonder if the sadness we feel when someone dies is equivalent to the happiness we felt when they were born, to the glee we felt watching them blow their candles away. I also wonder if they get as many roses at their funerals as presents on their birthdays. 


Because isn’t that the point of death? To erase what has been created? To take what has been given? Equilibrium? Physics? 


And I wonder if people like Tobias and I are abnormalities, something that terribly disturbs this balance. Because maybe the world wasn’t ready to compensate for our loss. Maybe it hadn’t grown enough roses for our funerals. 


Poets and White Coats