Journey Story
Ridwaan Khan Good Day
Story 1
The sun was casting a dying red light over the court yard, as the shadows partly eclipsed the sun. The view from the enclosed cell chamber was tormenting him as it cruelly made him reminisce about that one, painful time he was forced to remember eternally. The walls beyond the prison gates showed stretches of dry barren land with blistering weather all year round. The barren empty earth extended far into the horizon. His head hung dejectedly, he closed his eyes slowly, inhaling the cold, lifeless air with dissatisfaction. The next day, Ralph was summoned to administration to peruse the dashboard, sift through hundreds of names of trapped souls and read his timetable for the following week. Disinterested, Ralph briefly skimmed through the outline, before his attention became focused on a small sparrow in the courtyard, chirping merrily as it hopped along the pavement. A loud clamor from one of the nearby cells awoke him from his stupor and he quickly returned to the schedule. One of the phrases caught his attention. “Therapeutic painting, Tuesday, 2-4:30”, it read. Ralph lead out a muffled groan. It was bad enough that he had many hours of counseling where he’d be compelled to learn ways to forgive and forget his remorseful past. It was all complete rubbish. And now painting? Painting was a venture he never had any experience with, and a concept that he actually found to be repulsive and boring. His admittance to his fear of painting to his counselor was denied by him. His counselor suggested him to expose himself and face the course that was in front of him, as it could possibly lead to something greater. With no further say Ralph unhappily obliged. Later that day, as Ralph was looking for his new paint class, he heard a distinct deplore of an argument taking place at the end of the hall way in which he was walking down. He couldn’t help but hear the accusations a man had been alleged of doing and followed by continuous
Story 1
The sun was casting a dying red light over the court yard, as the shadows partly eclipsed the sun. The view from the enclosed cell chamber was tormenting him as it cruelly made him reminisce about that one, painful time he was forced to remember eternally. The walls beyond the prison gates showed stretches of dry barren land with blistering weather all year round. The barren empty earth extended far into the horizon. His head hung dejectedly, he closed his eyes slowly, inhaling the cold, lifeless air with dissatisfaction. The next day, Ralph was summoned to administration to peruse the dashboard, sift through hundreds of names of trapped souls and read his timetable for the following week. Disinterested, Ralph briefly skimmed through the outline, before his attention became focused on a small sparrow in the courtyard, chirping merrily as it hopped along the pavement. A loud clamor from one of the nearby cells awoke him from his stupor and he quickly returned to the schedule. One of the phrases caught his attention. “Therapeutic painting, Tuesday, 2-4:30”, it read. Ralph lead out a muffled groan. It was bad enough that he had many hours of counseling where he’d be compelled to learn ways to forgive and forget his remorseful past. It was all complete rubbish. And now painting? Painting was a venture he never had any experience with, and a concept that he actually found to be repulsive and boring. His admittance to his fear of painting to his counselor was denied by him. His counselor suggested him to expose himself and face the course that was in front of him, as it could possibly lead to something greater. With no further say Ralph unhappily obliged. Later that day, as Ralph was looking for his new paint class, he heard a distinct deplore of an argument taking place at the end of the hall way in which he was walking down. He couldn’t help but hear the accusations a man had been alleged of doing and followed by continuous