The Monster Snake

A Quiet Beginning, with Danger Lurking Beneath

Hannash asked, as the sun’s glare reflected across his face:

Hannash:

“How much is the fare, driver?”

The young driver replied, taking the money before leaving.

Driver:

“Forty pounds.”

Hannash:

“Then how much does a taxi charge?”

Hannash pulled the money from his pocket, handed it to the driver, stepped out of the tuk-tuk, and lifted the bag onto his shoulder.

His steps were steady. His eyes scanned the place with precision. Every movement around him told him this wasn’t just a passing trip—it was the beginning of a new scene. A scene full of transformation. A scene that would leave its mark on everything that followed.

He took out his phone and called his employer.

Hannash:

“Yes, Mr. Hamad, I’ve arrived.”

Hamad:

“Alright, Hannash. Go to Al-Sa‘ayda Café—keep it behind you—and walk straight down the street in front of you.”

Hannash ended the call, slipped the phone into his pocket, and kept walking.

The sun was still high, but its rays had begun to soften, casting a long shadow on the ground—as if the city itself was trying to guide him toward what lay ahead, or perhaps warn him of something yet unseen.

Hannash reached Al-Sa‘ayda Café and walked a little past it. He took out his phone again and called Hamad.

Hannash (Al-Ghoul):

“Yes, Mr. Hamad, I’m at the café.”

Hannash turned, glancing back at the café as he continued walking forward.

Hamad appeared at the window of a residential building.

Hamad:

“Yes, Hannash, I can see you—you’re the one carrying a blue bag.”

Hannash:

“Where? I can’t see you.”

Hamad:

“Why are you looking behind you? Look ahead.”

He turned forward and saw Hamad at the window, waving at him.

Hannash:

“Yes, I see you.”

Hannash smiled and gestured to him with his hand, ended the call, and slipped the phone into his pocket. Then he continued walking with steady steps toward the building entrance, where Hamad appeared once more from the balcony.

Hamad:

“Come up, Hannash.”

Hannash replied confidently as he prepared to enter the building:

Hannash:

“I’m coming up.”

Hannash Al-Ghoul stepped into the building entrance, his steps heavy under the weight of the bag, his face glistening with sweat from the heat of the day and the long journey he had taken.

His breathing grew louder with each step as he climbed the stairs to the second floor, moving slowly, checking every corner, making sure the path was clear of any intruders.

When he reached the top of the stairs, he found Hamad waiting for him, a faint smile forming on his lips.

Beside him, the apartment door stood open.

Hamad:

“Thank God you made it safely… come in.”

Hamad stepped inside, and Hannash Al-Ghoul followed, his eyes scanning the place as sunlight streamed through the open window, casting its sharp glow across the floor and walls.

The living room was empty except for a plastic table and a chair where Hamad sat, facing Hannash, who placed his bag beside him before taking a seat opposite.

Hamad asked, his eyes fixed on the papers inside Hannash’s bag:

Hamad:

“Where are your papers, Hannash?”

Hannash carefully took out the documents and handed them over. Hamad began reviewing them closely, staring at every detail as if it were the key to understanding something bigger.

Hamad:

“Where’s your criminal record clearance, Hannash?

You got cases? Sentences? On the run from prison or what?”

Hannash replied, his voice calm but carrying a hidden tension:

Hannash:

“No… nothing like that. No charges. I just didn’t get the chance to do it.”

Hamad paused for a moment, watching him with stern eyes, then said:

Hamad:

“So what now, Hannash? You need that clearance.”

Hannash sighed, pulled his wallet from his bag, and held his phone for a moment before speaking:

Hannash:

“To get it, I’d have to travel back to my hometown… I’ve been on the road for ten hours. I can’t go back again.”

Hamad shrugged casually.

Hamad:

“Alright then… fine, Hannash. Start work, and you can get it done later at the police station nearby.”

Hannash raised an eyebrow and simply nodded in agreement.

Then he said, wiping the sweat from his face:

Hannash:

“A glass of water.”

Hamad stood up, walked into a small hallway, then returned with a bottle of water. He opened it, poured some into a plastic cup, and handed it to him.

Hannash drank slowly, setting the bag aside for a moment, feeling its weight ease slightly with every sip.

Suddenly, Hamad said:

Hamad:

“Let me see your ID, Hannash.”

Hannash took out his ID card from his small wallet and handed it over.

Hamad examined it carefully, then lit a cigarette and passed one to Hannash, who lit his in silence.

The two sat for a moment in shared silence, the sounds of the street drifting in through the open windows, and the hot air brushing against their faces.

Suddenly, Hamad stood up and picked up his keys from the table.

Hamad:

“Come on, Hannash.”

Hannash got to his feet quickly, leaving his bag on the floor—then picked it up after Hamad gestured to him.

Hamad:

“Bring your bag with you… I’ll set you up with a place.”

Hannash grabbed the bag, lifted it onto his shoulder, and followed Hamad, who opened the door, his eyes scanning every corner of the apartment entrance as if searching for something—or someone.

Their footsteps echoed against the tiled floor, the sound blending with the rapid beating of Hannash’s heart. He no longer felt the weight of the bag, but the weight of responsibility pressed on his shoulders more than ever.

They moved through the narrow hallway in silence. Hannash followed cautiously behind Hamad, while sunlight filtered through the windows, casting shifting shadows along the walls and reflecting across their faces.