Vision in Red by Sajjad Rasool - HTML preview

Children of Olive

The sludge hated the iron. It recoiled from the metal leg.

Amal pulled herself forward, hand over hand, gripping the metal frame of the shelving unit. She dragged her body out of the ink swamp, panting, her clothes stained black.

She rolled out into the next aisle. Row 1948.

"Yasmin!"

Yasmin was standing on a step-ladder, wrestling with a heavy, black box on the top shelf.

"It's stuck!" Yasmin cried. "It's heavy!"

"Drop it!"

Yasmin shoved the box. It fell.

CRASH.

The box hit the concrete floor and burst open.

Files spilled out.

But one book didn't spill. It landed with a heavy, wet thud.

It was a ledger. Bound in black leather, with red stitching. It looked like a tombstone.

Amal ran to it. She picked it up.

It was warm.

And it was wet.

The leather was sweating. A dark, viscous liquid that looked like oil, or old blood.

Amal opened it.

The pages weren't paper. They felt like skin. Vellum.

And the writing...

It wasn't typed. It was handwritten in elegant, flowing Arabic calligraphy. Black ink.

Bayt al-Rih. 1948.

Family: Al-Masri.

Status: ABANDONED.

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