“~Fire in Her Eyes~”
551 Words
The morning after the storm wasn’t quiet like always. It was tense, like the walls were holding their breath.
Maryam watched from the corner of the room as Farah swept the floor. Not just dust — but pieces of broken plastic from a plate their father had thrown the night before. The same plate that had slipped from Amma’s hands when Baba had tried to hit her — again.
But like always, Farah had stepped in.
Like a shield.
“Do not hit her” she had said, standing tall between them.
“You raise your hand at Amma, you go through me.”
He had paused. Not out of guilt — but rage. The kind of rage that builds when a man feels his power slipping.
And that’s why he hated her.
Not for being disrespectful.
But for not being afraid.
He stormed out of the house, muttering curses under his breath, lighting another cigarette.
Amma started making the breakfast,
“No need to go to college today,” she said to Farah gently.
“Stay in. Submit your assignment tomorrow.”
Farah didn’t argue. She nodded and stayed by Amma’s side.
Maryam, sitting quietly on a stool, watched as Tayyba helped bring plates to the mat. She was soft and the most emotional one, but there she saw something was growing in her. A little louder. A little braver.
July was about to end, It was the middle of summer vacation. No school for Maryam, who was the youngest but somehow both of them had grown older in their own eyes.
That evening, Baba returned from work with his son — Shahid, the boy with distant eyes. Not their real brother, but Amma had raised him like one.
But that night, something was different.
Baba didn’t eat.
He didn’t shout.
He just sat in silence, smoking.
The air in the house was strange — not loud like usual, but heavier. Like something was sitting on everyone’s chest. Except for baba and shahid.
Amma noticed.
But she didn’t say anything.
She was too tired. Tired of the tension, the noise, the guessing.
Let them behave how they wanted, she thought.
She didn’t have the energy to care anymore.
But Farah couldn’t ignore it.
That night, sleep didn’t come easy to her. And when it finally did, it came with snakes. In her dream, she stood alone in the middle of the courtyard, and from the shadows slithered two massive anacondas, circling her silently, slowly — like they were waiting. Watching. Ready to strike.
It wasn’t the first time she’d dreamed of snakes.
They always came when something was about to go wrong.
A warning. A sign.
She woke up in a cold sweat just before Fajr, her heart pounding. The next morning, as they rolled out the mats for breakfast, she whispered to Amma:
“I saw them again last night. Two snakes. Big ones.”
Amma stirred the tea without looking up.
“It was just a dream,” she said softly. “Have your tea.”
Neither of them said more.
Neither of them had the strength.
But the dream had meant something. There were two anacondas in their life.
Already in their home.
Wrapped around everything — and no one had noticed.
Not yet.
- Writer
