Saudis under the Mask

I get off late from work in the precinct, and I always go back home and fall on the bed in exhaustion. Honestly, if anybody thinks work in forensics has the glamour and suspense of TV, they should quit the dream while they can. Because nothing happens, and everyday is the same. Bad coffee, black eyes, dried pens, dried blood, horrible bosses, disrespectful coworkers, and one good friend in the workplace that you only talk to in the walk back home; if you can muster up the energy to have a conversation. Until he came around. Him, with his dark and messy hair. Him, with his tall and heavy coat that perfectly matches his height. Him, with the speedy way he speaks. A way that I seem to keep up with in some odd and distant way. Him, with his solidarity. A solidarity that is prominent in the dark, under the flickering streetlight. Coming off from work was boring, hell going to that god damn precinct was torture before his royal peculiarity showed up. Before he stood everyday , at ...

A scream A piercing cry you hear from the strong And from the weak You,  The coward And the brave; fear doesn’t distinguish between those things, for it comes at different degrees. Thus, fearless doesn’t exist but less fear does. Less fear  To the point of not feeling, or fearing it I guess you can call that fearless but the coward still stands next to the brave in the single entity we call a soul an oxymoron a paradox of this very world. so, scream. And let the world know you are afraid But not conquered by fear.