Extremes
Seems like we're going around in circles here. I've gone from one extreme to the other.
Remember how my English teacher said my story wasn't complex enough? Well, now I had an idea for another one and she said it's too complex. Funny eh.
And then she's like "I liked your bedroom story... Wait, no I didn't, but it had potential. Write about a time when your bedroom gave you refuge like you said." And then we discussed such times and reached a conclusion that I would write about the time I nearly burned my kitchen down. But then I changed my mind and wrote something else.
Whenever I am walking down the street and hear a dog bark, I often say, “I hate dogs”, while speeding up. But thinking about it, I don’t hate dogs at all. I’m just scared of them, and saying I hate them is the instinctive way I express this fear, this phobia which stemmed from an event that happened ten years ago.
Every time my brother and I walked to our friend’s house, we’d pass only one house with a big black dog chained up to metal post. In Egypt, not many people had dogs because they weren’t trained properly and weren’t very domesticated. This dog would bark and try running at us but could not escape from the chains which restrained him.
One day when we were walking down the familiar roads, we passed the same house and once again the dog gnarled violently and started barking and pulling at his chains. We stopped to look at it grinning because of its failed attempts at coming free. But the smiles were quickly wiped off our faces. Its chain was slowly coming undone and seeing this, we started walking faster and faster down the deserted footpath. We’d broken into a run and turned the corner of the block while the dog’s barks still followed us. When we couldn’t hear it anymore, we stopped running and continued to walk.
“That was close,” I said, looking up at my older brother.
“Yeah,” He breathed. “That owner should’ve tied him up properly. Imagine if it -”
His sentence was cut short by a dreaded bark. I spun around quickly to see the feral dog bounding towards at us. My eyes widened and I turned back around to try and run but fell over.
“Hamza!” my brother yelled, and quickly helped me up. We broke into a sprint and ran as fast as we could, constantly looking behind us. The dog was inching closer and we tried to run even faster, the burst of adrenaline giving us new found energy.
We turned the corner again into a make-shift market place and continued running. The few people that were there screamed and tried shuffling out of the way as not to fall prey of this vicious creature, but the dog kept on chasing us.
By this time, I was starting to get tired and looked at my brother who was behind me. He had slowed down considerably.
“C’mon!” I yelled, beckoning with my hand while running, “hurry up!”
He sped up and was now level with me, and we continued to run, turning another corner. The dog was on our heels by now, and it seemed as though my brother could not run any longer. He staggered, screamed in pain, and slowed down to a limping jog. By this time the dog had caught up to him, and miraculously it sped passed him, and at me. I looked back and my eyes widened when I saw the dog was still chasing me, and further back behind it, my limping brother.
“Run!” he advised, “Don’t worry about me.”
I tried to run faster, but my legs were starting to feel like lead and my thighs were aching beyond belief. My mouth was dry and my lungs felt like they were about to explode. I turned another corner and up ahead I could see a man unloading boxes from a truck into a shop. I tried to scream “help”, but what came out was a raspy noise. I looked down behind me to see the monster’s bared teeth with saliva hanging from them. It gave another bark and I turned around and screamed for help again. This time the man from the truck looked up and saw what was happening. He signalled at me to the shop owner who came running out.
Just then, my feet found uneven earth and this was too much. I stumbled and fell forward on to the ground full of pebbles with my hands forward and they scraped the rough surface, ripping the layer of skin off the palm of my hands. I screamed and looked through my tear filled eyes at the blurry ground. I blinked several times to make my vision clear and the tears slid down my cheeks and dropped onto the ground. It was stained red from the blood pouring out of my palms and the pain was so overwhelming that I didn’t even stop to wonder why the dog had not bitten me yet. Why couldn’t I feel its fangs digging into the flesh of my legs?
I looked up at the two men and noticed they seized large rocks in their hands and were throwing them behind me. Each landed with a thud which caused a bark from the dog. I rolled onto my back and lifted my head up to try and see what was happening. Rock after rock came flying at the beast as they tried to keep him at bay, and finally, he turned around and started running back.
“Are you alright?” The strangers squatted down and tried helping me up into a sitting position. I looked down and turned my now crimson hands around to see loose bits of skin hanging from them. I heard them muttering something to each other and then felt them pulling me up to try and get me to stand.
“Do you know you’re home number?” One of them asked leading me into the shop but I stopped. I tried mumbling something but the words came out as sobs.
“Where’s my brother?” I finally managed to ask.
The men looked at each other then back to me. “I’m sure he’s fine son, but we need to call you’re parents,” said the truck driver.
“And we need to get these hands attended to,” Chipped in the shop owner.
I just nodded weakly and gave them the number.
My parents showed up shortly after with my brother and my mother came over to me and hugged me. She fussed over me while my father thanked the shop owner and truck driver for all their help. I was taken to hospital to get my hands bandaged and my brother’s ankle checked out. Ever since then, I have been eternally afraid of dogs, tame or not.
Remember how my English teacher said my story wasn't complex enough? Well, now I had an idea for another one and she said it's too complex. Funny eh.
And then she's like "I liked your bedroom story... Wait, no I didn't, but it had potential. Write about a time when your bedroom gave you refuge like you said." And then we discussed such times and reached a conclusion that I would write about the time I nearly burned my kitchen down. But then I changed my mind and wrote something else.
Whenever I am walking down the street and hear a dog bark, I often say, “I hate dogs”, while speeding up. But thinking about it, I don’t hate dogs at all. I’m just scared of them, and saying I hate them is the instinctive way I express this fear, this phobia which stemmed from an event that happened ten years ago.
Every time my brother and I walked to our friend’s house, we’d pass only one house with a big black dog chained up to metal post. In Egypt, not many people had dogs because they weren’t trained properly and weren’t very domesticated. This dog would bark and try running at us but could not escape from the chains which restrained him.
One day when we were walking down the familiar roads, we passed the same house and once again the dog gnarled violently and started barking and pulling at his chains. We stopped to look at it grinning because of its failed attempts at coming free. But the smiles were quickly wiped off our faces. Its chain was slowly coming undone and seeing this, we started walking faster and faster down the deserted footpath. We’d broken into a run and turned the corner of the block while the dog’s barks still followed us. When we couldn’t hear it anymore, we stopped running and continued to walk.
“That was close,” I said, looking up at my older brother.
“Yeah,” He breathed. “That owner should’ve tied him up properly. Imagine if it -”
His sentence was cut short by a dreaded bark. I spun around quickly to see the feral dog bounding towards at us. My eyes widened and I turned back around to try and run but fell over.
“Hamza!” my brother yelled, and quickly helped me up. We broke into a sprint and ran as fast as we could, constantly looking behind us. The dog was inching closer and we tried to run even faster, the burst of adrenaline giving us new found energy.
We turned the corner again into a make-shift market place and continued running. The few people that were there screamed and tried shuffling out of the way as not to fall prey of this vicious creature, but the dog kept on chasing us.
By this time, I was starting to get tired and looked at my brother who was behind me. He had slowed down considerably.
“C’mon!” I yelled, beckoning with my hand while running, “hurry up!”
He sped up and was now level with me, and we continued to run, turning another corner. The dog was on our heels by now, and it seemed as though my brother could not run any longer. He staggered, screamed in pain, and slowed down to a limping jog. By this time the dog had caught up to him, and miraculously it sped passed him, and at me. I looked back and my eyes widened when I saw the dog was still chasing me, and further back behind it, my limping brother.
“Run!” he advised, “Don’t worry about me.”
I tried to run faster, but my legs were starting to feel like lead and my thighs were aching beyond belief. My mouth was dry and my lungs felt like they were about to explode. I turned another corner and up ahead I could see a man unloading boxes from a truck into a shop. I tried to scream “help”, but what came out was a raspy noise. I looked down behind me to see the monster’s bared teeth with saliva hanging from them. It gave another bark and I turned around and screamed for help again. This time the man from the truck looked up and saw what was happening. He signalled at me to the shop owner who came running out.
Just then, my feet found uneven earth and this was too much. I stumbled and fell forward on to the ground full of pebbles with my hands forward and they scraped the rough surface, ripping the layer of skin off the palm of my hands. I screamed and looked through my tear filled eyes at the blurry ground. I blinked several times to make my vision clear and the tears slid down my cheeks and dropped onto the ground. It was stained red from the blood pouring out of my palms and the pain was so overwhelming that I didn’t even stop to wonder why the dog had not bitten me yet. Why couldn’t I feel its fangs digging into the flesh of my legs?
I looked up at the two men and noticed they seized large rocks in their hands and were throwing them behind me. Each landed with a thud which caused a bark from the dog. I rolled onto my back and lifted my head up to try and see what was happening. Rock after rock came flying at the beast as they tried to keep him at bay, and finally, he turned around and started running back.
“Are you alright?” The strangers squatted down and tried helping me up into a sitting position. I looked down and turned my now crimson hands around to see loose bits of skin hanging from them. I heard them muttering something to each other and then felt them pulling me up to try and get me to stand.
“Do you know you’re home number?” One of them asked leading me into the shop but I stopped. I tried mumbling something but the words came out as sobs.
“Where’s my brother?” I finally managed to ask.
The men looked at each other then back to me. “I’m sure he’s fine son, but we need to call you’re parents,” said the truck driver.
“And we need to get these hands attended to,” Chipped in the shop owner.
I just nodded weakly and gave them the number.
My parents showed up shortly after with my brother and my mother came over to me and hugged me. She fussed over me while my father thanked the shop owner and truck driver for all their help. I was taken to hospital to get my hands bandaged and my brother’s ankle checked out. Ever since then, I have been eternally afraid of dogs, tame or not.