Sciamachy by Batool Hasan

Sci·am·a·chy noun [sahy-amuh-kee]an act or instance of fighting a shadow or an imaginary enemy.

I wish I could walk on the veil between sunrise and dawn. I wonder what it would feel like if space was a hollow sphere trapping Earth inside it. If only I could hang myself upside down from the top of the inside, staring at Earth from above with tendrils of my inky hair merging with the clear blue of oceans.  Continue reading

Waves by Batool Hasan

“See you on Thursday,” I had promised him.

I hastily open the pink bag, which was hidden at the back of my closet, to reveal the pearly white bra and matching knickers I had carefully picked out. After undressing and putting on the lingerie, I open another bag. Mesmerized by the velvety material, I spend a few minutes losing myself in the void of black fabric. I slowly pull the dress on, careful not to ruin the black roses and delicate lace that line the short sleeves.  Continue reading

Collaboration by Fatma AlSumaiti and Batool Hasan


Fangirl: So, umm, I kinda like this boy…I want to lick his eyeballs.

Normal person: Ooookay. That escalated quickly.

Fangirl: Dude, I want to drown in his beautiful blue eyes. I mean, his eyes are the color of shattered crystals swimming in lake water… I just want to keep them in a jar!  Continue reading

Noah by Batool Hasan

In order to understand this, you must first learn who Noah really is.

Noah Shaw has a foot fetish.

Noah loves big feet, small feet, tattooed feet and especially high-arched feet. The main reason he agreed to work as a emcee in a strip club is that he gets to admire them all.

Red toenails, toe rings, colorful tattoos, sometimes it’s hard for Noah to remember why he shouldn’t kidnap one of the strippers and keep her in his closet.  Continue reading

“But Daddy I Love Him” by Batool Hasan

I play with the blond tendrils of my Barbie doll’s hair.  They look like silver silk in the shallow moonlight. It’s past my bedtime and I should be asleep in bed, but sleep won’t come and I don’t want to make daddy angry.

I hear shouts and doors banging as I drop my Barbie doll. I quickly slip into bed and drape my blanket over me.

Don’t come in. Oh please, don’t come in.  Continue reading

Glass by Batool Hasan

Streams of hazy sunshine flow into the room through the cracks in the shutters of the windows. My eyes flutter, causing me to swim in a state between consciousness and fuzzy dreams. I catch a glimpse of my room, the contents of my closet were thrown madly on the floor, and my clothes were sprawled all across, almost covering every inch of it. I open my eyes again; a little more steady this time. The outlines of my clothes merge with the furniture hiding under it, giving my room the feel of a creepy dump. A wave of nausea crashes over me, but it’s not from dizziness; it’s from the stench that’s leaking into my lungs.  Continue reading

Secret by Batool Hasan

You see, I’ve been standing on this bridge for quite a while now. The molded planks are rough with age, tiny wooden needles digging into my bare feet. The pain is sweet, momentarily at least, comforting my nerves. An endless black abyss stretches below me, surrounded by a dense dark forest. The smell of rot is rich in the air as my lungs burn, consuming it. The traffic of venomous voices shuffling around in my head collides with a tornado of my own grim thoughts, unbalancing me.  Continue reading