Women's Revenge

he day was harsh on the side street in front of Samar's villa, the sun pouring its wrath on the empty asphalt, as if the entire city had been deserted. The only sound that could be heard was the roar of a dirty black car engine, which suddenly skidded and came to a violent stop in front of the iron gate of the luxurious villa. The back door of the car swung open, and Samar's body was tossed mercilessly to the ground, like a broken doll thrown away after being played with. Her body hit the dirt, her long black hair scattered, covering half of her face, her arms spread out as if seeking help, and her torn clothes revealed parts of her body. The unknown person slammed the door shut, and the car sped away, leaving behind a thick cloud of dust mixed with the smell of gasoline and black smoke, and the sharp sound of a muffler echoing in the void. From the small guard booth, Jamal, the doorman, rushed out with confused steps, his eyes widening with terror as he approached her. He knelt beside her, stretching out his trembling hands towards her, his voice trembling as he muttered, “Oh God… Miss Samar!” He leaned closer, placing his ear to her chest, searching for her breathing. She was weak, barely able to catch her breath. He raised his head in confusion, turned towards the villa’s door, then looked back at her, hesitating like a child drowning in fear. Finally, he caught his breath in one breath and rushed inside, shouting at the top of his lungs, “Someone catch me!” Before he could run, he looked back for a moment. He froze in place, unable to believe what he was seeing, then quickly ran towards the gate, panic chasing him. The street remained empty, silent, as if nothing had happened. The doors of the neighboring villas were tightly closed, and on their walls were slogans of a revolution that had not yet dried, graffiti in loud colors: “Leave”… “Down with military rule.” Remaining signs of an era of insecurity, when fear became the ruler. Ok, now let's turn this scene from the script into a novel with the same literary spirit we started with: a novel text: The long ringing of the villa's doorbell was like a cry for help piercing the walls of silence. Gamal pressed his finger violently, as if he wanted to wake up the whole world, until the maid, Mayar, opened the door for him. Inside, heavy footsteps descended from the top of the stairs; Omar, Samar's father, was quickly descending, his features tense and worried, while Suhair sat in the living room on the chair, clinging to its arms as if she were hanging on to a safety thread, her face wet with worry, and her eyes widening as she turned towards the open door. Gamal's breath preceded his words, his voice trembling as he shouted: “Help me, Mr. Omar! A car stopped in front of the villa... someone got out... threw Miss Samar on the ground and ran! Her clothes are torn... her condition is terrible!” The air trembled at the impact of the words. Omar didn't hesitate for a moment; He rushed towards the door, his face grim and panicked, his voice hoarse as he panted, “Samar!” Gamal bent down to make way for him, and Suhair suddenly stood up from her seat, letting the chair swing behind her, and hurried away with confused steps, her face covered with fear or panic. Mayar backed away in turn, abandoning the door which remained open like a silent mouth witnessing the disaster. Outside, the distaةnt echo of the revolution’s slogans was still engraved in the walls, as if the security absence was watching the scene and smiling with bitter sarcasm. Would you like to continue in this style, so that every scene transforms directly into a novel with the inner feelings of the characters?