many ways

By @Eliaskhosrow

many ways

By @Eliaskhosrow

the entwining of khosrow, the king of jinns, and a boy living through an era of modernity that engulfs the loosely termed middle east.

Chapter 1

many ways

the heat. seeping through the cracks on earth and disorting the images we see. it feels like this would come from the fire inside the earth, the ground that sears the barefoot feet that walk on it. hulking shapes of the desert jinns fleat through the hot air, each a mountain and a monster in his own right. they becon travelers towards them, who approach their images not with fear, but with disbelief. and as the sun goes down

 their shapes and shadows dont dissapear with the heat, they merge with the cold and seep into the bones of the unlucky ones. fire and

 daylight doesnt quelch any fear, it only brings them back in a thousand different forms, none of them definite. 

and sometimes the travelers wish they were definite, the flat emptiness of the sky and the desert makes them desperate to find another

 three dimensional shape. hell! cougars would be welcomed if they would kindly show up and end the suffering of these wanderers. death comes

 at night, and so does loneliness. 

 the nights were you lie on the dry, cold, chapped earth with a fire burning in your chest and

 pouring from your eyes. the solitude of the dessert allowed elias, in a delirous state, to (in his opinion) cross the gates of immortality to the

 closest thing he would ever come to the parallel world of the jinn and the creatures of heat and night. heat starts to play tricks before the

 mind, and although ata knew that, it was hard not to voluntarily decieve himself on those nights. hes been walking for 68 days so far, each day starts fading more and more into a mirage of heat and white sand, so the number is more of a guess, and this hell seems permenant.

hell.. this desert reminds him of that sometimes.. his religion seemed to increase with each burning step his barefoot feet took. maybe it was because of fear, or maybe it was because of hope. fear because this pain felt so extruitenly real, his mind couldnt stop contrasting this with the promised coals and fires of jahanam. he walked east, he walked west, he walked towards the moon and he walked towards the stars. and the only solace he could find was in the image of god, hope, who wrote his ultimite destiny. and if it was meant to be for him to die in this dessert, then so be it. the only thing he would regret while the vultures surrounded him was everything he didnt do. the life he couldve lived would take form when his eyelids close shut for the last time, the angel of death approaching. his heart tried not to balk under the realization that he would die before he even started living. there was so much he wanted to see and do. his body only had two choices, walk or think, and he was forced to walk. this was his salvation, because if he would think then surely the insanity will corrupt him. 

when his head felt heavy on his body he thought of the little prince on his little planet. he was like elias, constantly looking on from his little planet until he decides to leave it, and the dessert was an earthly space. he wished he could find a stranded pilot or a fox to keep him company. come to think of it, the little prince found the pilot in the sahara, the same sahara he was trying to defeat now. 

 ata falterred in his steps and let himself go, his body falling onto the ground. he wanted to sleep, and nothing was making sense anymore, everything jumbled up together in his head. maybe someone will come to rescue him. alibaba and his band of 40 thieves would see his body and pick him up and he would ride with them to an oasis in the middle of red mountains. 

ata recollected himself and sat down and sighed, his body felt like it was nearing death, and the sun was burning up his face. but an uncharecteristic calmness entered him in the silent choas of the desert. he looked up, no vultures, no nothing. so probably no humans and no one coming to save him either, he has to take matters into his own hands. and they were small hands, they could only hold so much. a thought came to him, as if someone was talking to him. loud and clear like a whistle. 

“we cannot depend on fate, because fate depends on us to ease its way, we must create it. we do what we can, but the ends are written for

 us.” it was him, he was preaching to himself. and it didnt make sense now, abstract thoughts didnt help when you were trying to find your

 way through the dessert, concrete information did. but this thought was a push for him to defend his life with his own being, he had to be

 his own savior and warrior. he stood up and tried to remember anything he knew about how to find his way. stars, thats all. the north star, but he didnt know which one that was, and the sky had no stars in it except for the ****** sun. he started rotating in circles to see if he missed anything, and then he saw them, the red hulking mountains. they could be mirages, he had nothing to lose. ata thought of the oasis with the red mountain, the life after death, and he ran towards them. 

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