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| Trembles; Malik Flashback | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Jan 30 2011, 07:21 PM (146 Views) | |
| Ammy | Jan 30 2011, 07:21 PM Post #1 |
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[align=center]![]() 34. Tremble Summer 12, Year 06[/align] Malik tapped the end of his chewed-up pen against his temple, frowning at the math problems before him. The numbers on the page took on a new meaning as 3.14 suddenly meant pi and r was no longer a letter but meant radius. It was all a puzzle, with a logical conclusion that couldn’t change for the world. That was the awesome thing about math, there was a key to the lock, and there was only one. There were no tricks or alternate interpretations. All it took was a little thought and the problem was solved. His lips lifted into a half-smile, he jotted down a messy 26.25 metres next to the crude drawing of a tree he was supposedly measuring the shadow of. He glanced up at Darla, who was sprawled out across the sitting room floor, calculator in hand. Her brow was knit with determination, her hair bunched into her signature pigtails. “You got number eight yet, Darla?” he asked, stretching out across the settee. Her head whipped up, expression falling into one of distress. “W-what? I’m still on number seven!” Malik threw his head back, laughing, before he grinned triumphantly. Determined to milk this while he could, he waved the paper in the air. “Want the answers?” She nodded desperately, crawling forward on her knees. “Yes pleeeeeease~” She grasped his knees, head bowed in mock worship. “Oh, Malik~ Great, noble, wise leader of all that is ma-aatth!” Her grip tightened as suddenly the whole room seemed to lurch. The two met eyes, panicked and wide and thoroughly confused, but Malik was just glad he wasn’t alone. Darla’s mom had been vacuuming earlier, and he could have sworn that she had left to do groceries, though. He fell back against the couch, whatever it was it was gone, and things were calm again. But what had began as a tremble erupted into a roar. The whole house shook beneath their feet. He rolled off the settee and made for the nearest table. Shelter. They needed shelter. That was what you did, right? He pulled on Darla’s arm and moved to the thick oaken table against a wall. “What’s going on?!” she cried, joining him beneath the table. Malik shook his head, trying to keep it from rolling off his shoulders. “I think there’s an earthquake!” What else could it be? He braced himself against Darla, arms tucked beneath his chest. They had had drill after drill in school, but he couldn’t for the life of him remember what else to do. An image of him crouched in the Mother of Pearl schoolhouse flashed in his mind. He took his hands and clamped them over the back of his neck and skull. “Protect your head!” he yelled, and she mimicked his actions. Malik tried to distract himself, to think of something—anything—but all he could think was how this could be his last thought before he died. And then... Oh, Allah, he was too young to die. If He would just grant Malik one more day, one more hour. To do say everything he wanted to say, to do everything he ever dreamed. And then, just as suddenly as it had arrived, the shaking stopped. He buried his face in his hands, afraid to move, lest it started all over again. It was only when Darla shifted and crawled backwards from the table that he lifted his head. Bits of rubble fell from his hair. “Are you okay?” he asked, coughing to expel the dust from his lungs. “Fine~” came the chipper response. Malik squeezed out from beneath the table, coming shakily to his feet. “... Crap.” He fell against the wall, supporting it with his back. Everything was... gone. The walls of the King household were completely bare, bookshelves had fallen and portraits shaken from their shelves. Darla was standing beside the window, he had to clamber over fallen lampposts and shattered glass to even get to her. Outside seemed very much the same. It was like someone had taken the world and jiggled it some. Leaves scattered across the street, trees fallen in yards. People were just beginning to leave their houses, looking shaken but unscathed. They were safe. He was safe. Malik snorted, lowering his gaze to hide his grin. His efforts were in vain, however, as Darla caught it and looked at him, thoroughly confused. “What’re you laughing at?” Still grinning, he looked to her. “We’re still alive! Oh, Allah in heaven, we’re still alive!” He laughed happily, throwing his arms around her waist and lifting her in the air. It was all he could do to stop himself from throwing himself to the ground in fervent prayer. One more day? He had been given a whole lifetime. Allah always receives his humble servants, he thought, setting Darla down, Allah always— The grin fell, and he glanced out the window. Mom, Dad, all his siblings. They were still back at the apartment. “I—I need to go check on my family,” Malik said, stumbling back and shoving his sneakers onto his feet, “I’ll catch you later, Darla!” He waved, maintaining what was left of his thankfulness to be alive before he ran out the door. Allah always receives he told himself as he ran from what remained of Turquoise Avenue, dodging out of the path of fallen debris. Allah always receives. From a distance he could see Bluebird Gateway. The building still stood, a small flicker of hope sparked within him. As he drew nearer he saw the residents gathered outside, the landlord and his assistants taking roll. His sprint slowed to a job, Malik cupped his hands around his mouth. “Mom?! Dad?! It’s Malik!” he shouted. He was greeted by two shrieks, as three small bodies threw themselves at him. “Malik!” Karim sobbed into his shoulder, Jalila quickly following her older sister’s example. Farrah’s eyes were shut, her jaw clenched tight. Barely keeping his voice level, he smoothed their hair, squeezing them tightly. Just to make sure they were actually there. “I’m here,” he muttered lowly. “I’m here.” When he looked up he saw his mother. Hiba was in one arm, wrapped in a blanket, Habib clutched to her dress. Malik breathed, laughing. They were safe. He kissed the top of Farrah’s head. A moment passed before he looked up again. “Where’s Dad?” he asked, glancing around. It was when he received no answer he looked at his mother’s face. “... Where’s Dad?” She bowed her head, and Karim sobbed harder into his shoulder. Allah always receives. |
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12:13 AM Jul 11