Vision in Red by Sajjad Rasool - HTML preview

Children of Olive

The name boomed through the soil. It wasn't a sound. It was an earthquake.

IBRAHIM... DIS I YOU?

The voice was old. Broken. Confused.

"No," Amal shouted, holding up the key. "I am his granddaughter."

The Giant paused. The red eye narrowed.

THE KEY...

A massive hand, made of bedrock and roots, began to move. It reached up toward her. Slow. Heavy. Inevitable.

GIVE ME... THE SILENCE...

"No!"

Amal turned to swim upward, toward the surface. But the roots were moving now. They were lashing out, wrapping around her ankles, her wrists.

They dragged her down. Toward the red eye. Toward the open mouth.

She tried to scream, but the soil filled her mouth. She tried to kick, but the roots held her fast.

She was going to be eaten. She was going to be harvested.

Then, the Key burned.

It didn't just glow. It flared. A blast of pure, white noise exploded from the iron.

It was the sound of the wedding drums. It was the sound of the zagrouta. It was the sound of Huda's village before the silence.

The sound wave hit the Giant.

The Giant flinched. It roared —a sound of pain. The roots recoiled, dropping Amal.

She shot upward. Up through the rock. Up through the pipes. Up through the floorboards.

She woke up gasping, her lungs burning as if she had just surfaced from deep water.

She was sitting up in bed. The room was gray with dawn light.

Her hand was clutching the key so hard her knuckles were white.

She looked at it. The red thread was black. It had burned away.

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