AN ANTHOLOGY FEATURING THE WINNERS OF OUR WRITING CONTESTS
American Language Center Rabat
American Language Center Rabat - Anthology Copyright by the ALC and respective contributors.
Editor: Rihane Zoubairi
For more information email:
alcwritingchallenge@gmail.com
American Language Center Rabat 4, Rue Tanger Rabat, Morocco, 10000 www.alcrabat.com Facebook/alcrabat IG: alcrabatofficial
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
The completion of this undertaking could not have been possible without the assistance of many people whose names may not all be enumerated. Every contribution is sincerely appreciated. However, we would like to acknowledge and give our warmest
thanks
to
Michael
McMillan
(Director,
ALC
Rabat), and Hannah Graves (Social Media & Activities Coordinator)
who
made
this
work
possible
thanks
to
their constant support of this project, and every ALC Writing Contest. To all our contest judges: Ayesha Louise Barber, Leonard A.
Wallstein,
Stephen
Kosner,
Haytham
Chhilif,
Anes
Ahmed, and Mohammadreza Fassadi Chimeh for their time and invaluable contribution.
This collection contains short stories and poems written by
the
winners
organized
by
of
the
different
Writers’
writing
Club
of
competitions the
American
Language Center of Rabat.
The Writers’ Club is one of many clubs that the American Language Center of Rabat offers to its students, and now to the public. Our newly formed partnership with the
Olive
Writers
will
help
us
achieve
our
goal
of
creating a stable group of people interested in writing and providing them with an environment where they are supported
to
learn
and
discuss
different
writing
techniques and work on their pieces. The curriculum of the club is tailored to assist the members in the process of workshopping and revising their creative pieces by taking advantage of each member and involving them in the process of helping each other through feedback, insight, and constructive criticism which aims to improve editing and analytical skills.
Join
us
at
the
Writers’
Club,
and
participate
in
our
writing contests to be part of this catalogue.
All stories have been reformatted and edited slightly for grammatical mistakes.
POETRY CONTEST
Summer 2021 WITHIN THE POEMS: AN ANIMAL, A COLOR, AND A SOUND
A horse walks into a bar by Wissal Zoubairi
1st Place A horse walks into a bar, by Wissal Zoubairi A horse walks into a bar, Orders a gin and tonic; The typical alcoholic’s attempt to drown Each day’s sorrows in a little something. He sits on the barstool, impatient, on edge. Awaiting his drink and the dreaded question He never ordered but is bound to come along with it. “Why the long face?” the bartender asked. Well, he’s a horse, alone, in a bar. That could be a clue. Or maybe it’s the kind of existence he chose, Bound by the shackles of city life, Bright neon lights, dark alleyways, Away from the meadows and grasslands Where he could trot, race, and live The way he was supposed to. Perhaps it’s all the abuse From his bosses at the law firm where he works, Or the absence of appreciation From absent parents, Things he internalized in his youth The horse paced his mind for a specific reason To pin the long face on, Only then he realized,
He never stopped to wonder Why he was blue. Confused and infuriated, he tried to fill the air with words, Trying to exit his mind. “Why the long face?”; A personal attack Or it could have been just a question, An attempt to make small talk, Establish a connection. The horse got off the stool He snorted, he neighed, he jumped from one side to the other And out the way he came, He left.
Ego by Khalid Ngadi
2nd Place Ego, by Khalid Ngadi I am the mountain, Since my head is always between the clouds, Sometimes they are beautifully pink, Sometimes they are grey, crying in pain, And their wailing voices are freezing the hearts of the flying birds around, Also causing ripples in my core, I am the black night sky, The curtain to many people’s daily scenes, And the canvas of many others’ sins, The best moment for an astrophile, And the ringlorn idea in some dreamer’s files, I am the warm orange dunes, Where the silent ripples of snakes get noticed, But never forgotten, Where the gadabout nomads are the remotest, Yet the closest to the hearts, Where there are no ends or starts, Neither spring nor autumn, I am the neon lighted dance floor, I clearly hear the pukes and joyful cries of youth by the door,
The knocking happy steps from all the ladies feeling kairosclerosis, Meeting the patterned dances of scabulous street lads in chaotic kinesis, Here I am, what I really am, The lacuna in your unfinished beginnings, And the guardian shoulder, I am the unnoticed soldier, And the seeker of the unknown meanings, My illness is my wanderlust, And my cure is your stories, Here I am, your mirror, The reflection of what you are, Don’t put the blame on me if you dislike the view, But take it as a sign, To see the mirror in you.
Portrait by Firdaous Naim
3rd Place Portrait, by Firdaous Naim Put me up there, and don’t try to reach me Bend down instead, let me beg for attention Offer me help, but don’t you ever mean it Simple rule, some decent arithmetic using cliché words only When I need you, break your legs and run Take out your eyes for me Prevent them from bleeding Build me an almighty set of stairs With some crippled shaped throne And let me destroy it, For whatever you gift me, I dread And whatever poetry you bleed, I fear Then, absorb. Candles burnt down by hearing weird ricochet noises, Constant bickering, crying, Muffled crawling giant ant’s screams, Leaving behind traces of “the map of an animated carnival” Living inside of us all. Pick me up if I stumble, but don’t get up after Never straighten your back while with me, Arched, always arched.
Watch me slither in and out, do not complain Follow me blindly, for I love you and that’s all I can do for you. You do what I say, but you don’t mean what I feel All the broken pieces I cut myself with are nothing but your loathing for me And I mourn, towered in a lone chasm Longing for a beam among fins and tails, Bruises, puffy frogs, and frozen moths’ clicks and flicks. Alas, I cannot oblige my offender! This place reeks of butchered hopes, and defeated wings It smells of rotten, decaying cores, and blackened window’s mirroring Where one’s smile remains glued Never wishing to jump back to its owner’s face. When the door closes with a thud, And the walls start to tickle me with their cold feet, I pause, and murmur an enchanted spell the times had taught me: “I am a pure seashell amongst microscopic sand grains, I live with them, yet I do not belong. I see all they see, yet my sight goes beyond anything they are capable of seeing. I breathe the same air they breathe, But I can differentiate between wind, blast, tempest, and sea breeze. I don’t have a single hair on my head, But I have a lock inside out, A hammered beating heart, and some soggy blue veins ready to run and scream,
With their popped eyeballs, and nosy prickling feet. I am a confetti vessel, dragging my weightless arms and legs Like a piece of unwanted junk, Of stinking fish’s kidney. I am a dying thing, Hanging from teeth to vein, Saluting the blind, for we are one of the simplest kind.” What am I then? Tell me, what am I? Am I a rusty chest? A home for singed, swarming sea-secrets? Am I you, me, I, they, them? I do not wish to know! I do not wish to be saved from the ocean’s chaste poetry! I do not! Without a single glimpse at the past, I smile, Knowing how close I am to perfection.
Hypochondriac hymn I hum at the whims of my thoughts by Amalou Ouassou
3rd Place Hypochondriac hymn I hum at the whims of my thoughts, by Amalou Ouassou Whether a real tear Of the cells, a real crack Or a trick of the mind, The pain is still there. On the left part of the chest Where the heart is caged, It pumps to my arm and shoulder Stiffens them like rock boulders. I make a cross, sideways; Arm on the ribs, hand on the waist, Laughable lifeguard Ridiculous seatbelt. It’s been a week, I have felt The birth of the ache, Its declarative squeak, Infant scream:” I am here!” That compiled into a roar. It’s been years, I have sensed Every minor change, Harmless growth, centimeter gained, Lowering of the tone. Or discoloration of the mole, Blurring of the scene,
It could be a thousand things: My aunt kept a book of disease Thicker than a brick And jutting with the ants, Crawling smallest print. I need glasses, I need a scan, I need the blue-gloved hand To touch the bump under the skin, To check the pumping of the heart. It could be under attack, It could cease, Fall to a siege. What if I visit the room? Walk in to walk out. I have been wrong More than I’ve been right. What if it is a trick of the mind? I distrust my body. It robs me of my sleep. What if it is a traitor, Captain who sinks his ship At the first of my blinks? So I breathe. I count it and keep the air in I jump, I dance I bump my feet and hands On the bin, the bed frame. My knee On the window sill. I diverge To the small cuts, bruises That erase the bigger concern. That murmur: ”You are here!”
Love isn't poetic by Tahiri Houda
Honorable Mention Love isn't poetic, by Tahiri Houda Vulnerable in love. Vulnerable in love. Vulnerable, I love. When sorrow perishes at length, And our ravenous souls no longer look for each other in the fading darkness, Whither would we go? I spend my nights watching over rosebuds that never bloom. Tormented by the hushed singularities I own. Pristine and unholy. Consumed by the incandescent love, I don’t hold for me. What is in you, that I don’t see? What is in you, that I haven’t yet seen? I’m ready to bargain my soul to the gods, Just to get a last sight of you. More lapses where your heart is tender to me. Immortalize me and I would love you forever. The screeches of my brittle ribs, Have never ceased oathing the mightiest deities, That he and I must be bounded in sacred scrolls.
Cursed with the essence of remembrance. His name, synonymous with remorse. Hiding behind defiled veils, That have been touched, With crimson-stained hands, Tarnishing each promise made. “For the sake of my love,” He said. In thrall to love, I gave my whole heart away. Agony seems more palpable than ever. Annihilating my faith, Unhurried. Withered tendrils curled up on my flawed body, As the crow flies. Leaving doleful trails all over it. You're gone but you're still with me. Dwelling in the striking wounds you have caused. Your whispers stretch across my peace of mind, like a chapel bell. Ringing violently, to agitate the exquisite picture I've been trying to keep of you. And as I heaved a sigh of anguish, And the thorny roses I fondled. My frostbitten hands bled a deluge of goodbyes, And glimpses of happiness I haven't felt in a while. Melancholic symphonies stuttering in gloomy movements. Burying my essence under the name of love. Unkind fate to broken hearts. Decreeing us to get close just to grow apart.
CREATIVITY WITHIN CONFINES
Winter 2021 FICTION SHORT STORIES
That’s Karma for you! by Mohammed Ali Bounacer
1st Place That’s Karma for you! by Mohammed Ali Bounacer I open my mailbox to collect the bills. God, why are these so expensive? I go back inside and throw them on my ever-increasing pile of junk, then lay down on the mattress. I sigh as I pick up my phone and start scrolling through YouTube since I have nothing to do, except complete those 27 unfinished websites that I was paid to make: you would not BELIEVE how easy it is to scam people
who
understand.
hire You
you just
to
have
do to
something pretend
they
that
the
don’t work
takes way longer than it actually does, get them to pay in advance, and bam! Money acquired. Just gotta make sure you do some quick last-minute work on it so that your business doesn’t become illegal. But, while stumbling into a horrible, horrible rabbit hole, I find a video titled something like “DON’T CALL YOUR OWN NUMBER AT 3 AM (ALMOST DIED!!!)”. Now, you gotta understand that at this moment right here, I am extremely tired and bored, so DO NOT judge me when I say to myself: “You know what? I’m gonna try that and see what happens!” So, I do exactly that, and wait a bit, expecting that same, cold voice telling me that
this
number
was
“unavailable”,
but…
something
weird happened. That voice did respond, but…: “Code accepted, prepare for extraction”
Everything around me suddenly disappeared, leaving me
to
fall
dreaming,
in or
a
dark
void,
accidentally
unsure
of
ingested
an
whether entire
I
was
bag
of
LSD. After a dozen or so seconds of flailing around and screaming,
I
felt
as
if
I
was
slowing
down,
and
harmlessly hit the ground. I looked around and found myself in what seemed to be a queue that was lining up in front of a… well, I’d call it an office desk, but I don’t think those are supposed to have a weird ritual circle thing
in
front
of
them.
Anyways,
in
the
confusion,
I
decided to ask the person in front of me what the hell was going on: “Excuse me!” I said as I tapped their shoulder “Do you happen to know whe- OH GOD!” The ‘person’ in front of me had turned around, revealing the disgusting mass of tentacles that formed its face. Instinctively, I started screaming, before the thing put its squishy, green tentacle to its mouth and whispered: “Shush!
What
do
you
think
you’re
doing?
Be
quiet,
there’s other people here!” “W-Wait, just- where am I, what are you, and why is everyone” – I
looked
at
a
weird
horned
rabbit
behind
me-”and
everything here queuing?” “Oh!
Is
this
your
first
time
at
a
Reincarnation
Checkpoint?” he asked, his expression getting kinder. I nod, and he continues: “You should’ve led with that! Well then, let me drop some exposition on you.
“Every creature, on every planet, in every universe, has a certain code they can input at any time in their normal life to start the Karmic Project, which allows them to, instead of just dying normally, go to a Reincarnation Checkpoint, where they choose a creature to be reborn as, depending on the quality of their Karma. “It’s also worth mentioning that, whenever you do that, you can never choose that same species ever again. And, when you go through every single possible species that has and will ever exist, you can choose to ascend to
a
higher
plain
of
being,
and
basically
become
a
god.” Whoa. This… this is a bit too much for me to handle. This
literally
started
just
because
I
called
my
own
number- I don’t even know if any of this is real, I just… I just wanna go back home. “Hey, um….” I stuttered. “Is there any way to, like… undo this whole thing, and go back home?” “Oh, well… death isn’t really reversible, is it?” “What do you mean, ‘death’? Am I-” A
cold,
monotone,
female
voice
spoke
up
and
said,
“Thaumiel, please proceed to the ritual circle.” “Wup! Gotta go!” Thaumiel spoke up. ” Oh, and don’t forget, you have all the time in the world to choose what to become in your next life, which you will need because of how many choices you have!” Aaaaand he’s gone. Welp, better follow his advice! Around
5
minutes
later,
the
voice
called
me.
“Elizabeth Norse, please proceed to the ritual circle” it ordered.
And I did. I had some time to think, and I’ve decided to become… a hippo. I mean, think about it. They are very sturdy, have very relaxing lives, and are just real chill in general. So, I’m going for them! I step into the circle and wait for some kind of prompt when a light started emerging
from
my
chest,
and
a
weird
symbol
with
intertwined lines appeared on it. The voice then stated: “Measuring Karma…. Your Karma level is 40-” “Oh, that’s… not that bad-” “Of 5000.” That’s when I realized… I might not be able to have an unlimited
supply
of
relaxing
mud
baths
after
all.
Suddenly, a computer appeared from thin air on the desk, with a huge list of… is that bacteria? At the top of the list, a little message said ‘Choose your poke- ahem, species.’ “Hey, um… can I choose… literally anything but a single cell organism?” “Searching
for
nonsingle
cell
organisms…
2
results
found.” “Which are…?” “Ephemeroptera, also known as Mayfly, and Felis Catus, the house cat.” “Oh! Well, then… I’ll take the kitty!” “Do you really wish to-?” “Yes! Goodness gracious me, those annoying warnings are everywhere!” And with that, a blinding light enveloped me, and I felt as if I didn’t have a body anymore, as I was traveling upwards to my new body….
“Yep, this is my life now.” I meowed as I licked my fur while resting in my bed. I am now apparently named ‘Princess’, and my owners, a family of three, are actually very rich, so thank RNGesus for that! Right now, I’m just chilling, when the father, Sam, decides to turn on the news.
Come
on,
I
was
enjoying
the-
wait…
‘Young
woman found dead in her home. The cause of death is still unknown.’ Is that… is that me? I… I really can’t go back? So, I’m stuck like this? Well then… looks like I’m gonna have to farm a whole lot of Karma!
Dumber than Dumb by Rayan Lahnaoui
2nd Place Dumber than Dumb, by Rayan Lahnaoui I live in a one-horse city where everyone knows each other to the point that discussions can be held every time, everywhere. Even birds sound to be continuously involved in a kind of enchanting conversation. I love my city! And I love it so much that I am waiting impatiently for the day I will escape from it. But where can I go? I can move to London, I have heard there are a lot of job opportunities there, but I’m afraid no company will hire me because I don’t even have a degree. I’ll just be hunting
subway
Thoughtfulness,
I’ll
rails stay
and
home,
scaring
stuck
in
this
people... miserable
train station where I work. Officially, I am the head of the Immaculate Maintenance Department or to make it simple, let's just say I’m a cleaning lady who can give orders to a few subordinates, and I hate this. In fact, I hate
my
job
the
way
children
hate
Snow-White's
mother-in-law. But I like her though, at least she's a Queen ...and beautiful, not like me. However, everything is not dark in my life: there are also some less intense shades of black. There is him. I love him so much and he's literally what keeps me alive during winter: my red Scarf,
of
course!
forget to feed.
There's
also
my
cat
which
I
often
But most of all, there is my extreme curiosity, which is the sugar that sweetens my bitter life. Oh, it's 7:00 PM and he's not here yet. No, I'm obviously not talking about the Scarf, but rather, about that man. You
don't
know
him!
Well,
that's
weird
because
he
always sits there on the corner bench. I often wonder what he is doing; he just waits there for hours and then, all of a sudden, leaves. The director keeps telling me to bother him, because he looks homeless. Yet he has the same phone as me, does that make me a vagabond? Well, I think so... He is here, finally. He wears his usual coat
and
smokes
his
cheap
cigarettes.
Oh,
sweet
smoke! Watching him enjoying it always awakens my addiction. But at least, I'm not drinking anymore. He walked
slowly
towards
his
place
and
sat
quietly.
He
beamed at me and so did I. I really want to talk to him... It’s been two years that we silently know each other. But still, I prefer to keep some distance. He scares me, to be honest. His eyes speak of an ailing soul but his face tells another
story.
You
could
see
in
it
a
person
that
mastered the look of confidence as a survival skill. He also has a vulture eye which makes my blood run cold. He stands up. I’m sure he’s not leaving, because it’s too early, but what does he want? He stares at me for a while and then he says: "Young woman! Can we have a talk?” I was shocked and terrified, and I think I was trembling too. Nevertheless, I nodded in agreement. The weather was cold and both of us were wearing our Scarves. I told him that we had the same brand, in order to break the ice. He laughed so loud and this scared me even more.
I tried to use the self-confidence tips my Yoga teacher taught me. They are useless. He told me I was beautiful and smart, and he praised every single part of my body till I thought he was harassing me, now I feel I’m stupid. He spoke about everything: about how I remind him of his
youth,
how
I
look
like
him
(I
know
he
has
vision
trouble). He talked about every single topic in life. I learned he was a cleaning worker, just like me, and that he was so persevering that he forgot his own family. He got divorced at the age of forty and had a monotonous existence until he retired two years ago. “You remind me of someone …” said I. “I know, and, trust me, woman, this person is you. “I was actually thinking about my aunt who is a pharmacist, but I relate to this more. I don’t think
my
mind
is
working
properly.
I
looked
at
him
curiously waiting for some clarifications. “Your life is yours. You have to know this. You are the only one responsible for whatever happens to you. Don’t ever think that one day; a handsome knight will save you from this desolate place: Only you make your future.” He was getting weirder. This whole speech seemed like a quote
in
a
coming-of-age
movie.
But
I
was
already
thirty and I hate quotes. I didn’t say anything though, and the discussion sunk in silence. He was looking at me as if he wanted to say: “There is absolutely no hope in changing
your
pathetic
life.
“But
then,
suddenly,
he
carried out giving more life advice. As he was talking, I noticed empathy.
that
people
were
all
looking
at
me
with
“What’s wrong with the world?” Two hours had already passed and, just when I was really getting interested in the conversation, the man wanted to leave. I begged him to stay, but it seemed he was in a rush. “Always remember, daughter, that life is like a rose. Its thorns make it hard to gather, yet once the work is done, you can enjoy its delicious scent.” He was already leaving when he asked what I was going to do. “I will rock the boat and rise from the ashes,” I answered. He smiled. “Now my work is done,” he said before disappearing into the crowd. Three years after, and THANKS to this lovely man, not only did I quit my job but I’m also sleeping in the streets now. I’m bankrupted, my cat is starving, and I became a drug addict! I’ve been told that we had never seen the old man again; rumors say that he died from a serious illness, but I don’t agree with them. I’m the only one who knows the mystery of his death.