Lines Were Undecided

The story violated the right of the slogan. The hand that feeds rejects its existence.

I was the quarterback in the most inappropriate setting - the theater stage. The spotlight was striking, the audience were dim, distracting my eyes to the absolute direction. I was wearing a pink uniform with an unknown jersery number. I was holding an eraser and was doing the baseball process of throwing a ball. Nobody caught it, they were staring, mindful of the play that was progressing.

As I finally held the football appropriate to what I was wearing, an obese woman from the blurry audience shouted that it would be more suitable for everyone to attend a faithful companion's farewell party. I received the attention and went off stage, ready to go home. I felt that I wasn't really invited, as if the obese woman was only channeling the motion to the unfamiliar audience.

I discovered that my roommates were a moon-faced youth, an ordinary boy, an Indian woman, and an extremely thin youth. We were in the common room of our common home.

The extremely thin youth checked my pack of vitamins and asked about the vitamin E. It turned out she was also having her party somewhere, which she didn't attend. She explained convincingly that the father of her son already went to it before it even started. We felt special that she chose to be with us.

The Indian woman, on the other hand, did not wait for anything to come back to Saudi Arabia due to its constraints. Both the moon-faced youth and the ordinary boy stayed quiet, absorbed by their trait of frightful belongingness.

We went out to the nightlights, drifting away. We disappeared and the lights went out.