Vision in Red by Sajjad Rasool - HTML preview

Vision in Red

She exhaled. She stepped into the metal teeth of the turnstile and pushed.

It moved. CLACK...

And then, it stopped.

The bars locked around her waist. The mechanism seized with a grinding sound of metal on metal.

Above her, the red LED counter flickered.

It didn't show a number. It showed a word.

VOID.

The light on the turnstile turned from green to red. A buzzer sounded —loud and harsh, cutting through the murmur of the crowd.

"Check!" the loudspeaker blared. "Lane 3. Blockage."

Amal pushed against the bars. They were immovable. She was trapped in the mechanism.

"Amal!" Yasmin called out. "Push it!"

"It's stuck!"

Behind her, the crowd began to groan. "Ya Allah, move! We are late!"

Amal looked up at the booth. The soldier looked down. He wasn't bored anymore. He was staring right at her.

No. Not at her.

At her bag.

He picked up a phone receiver.

Amal felt the key get hotter. It was burning through the fabric. It knew it was being targeted.

They see the iron, Amal thought. They see the history.

She closed her eyes. She remembered Huda's voice. Survival is not collaboration. Make noise.

She didn't scream. She didn't beg.

She gripped the cold steel of the turnstile. And she pushed with her mind. She pushed with the weight of the key. She pushed with the song of the wedding drums she had heard in her dream.

I am not a number. I am not a void.

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