Chapter XIII

He was standing in the balcony of Sultan’s apartment, looking up at the stars. He always looked to the stars in times of uncertainty, and he was questioning whether or not they had all been foolish, in succumbing to the power of the white flower – which is what they had permanently begun to call it. He wanted to discuss these thoughts with Sara, but she was away on holiday with her family, in the city of Alexandria, and her return wasn’t expected for another week.

His thoughts felt, out of focus – he needed more of the flower. It had that absurd effect on people, one always felt, even when considering its abandonment, that they needed more of it, in order to more clearly contemplate the matter. The white flower was full of lies, which most people believed.

Sultan came out and joined him on the balcony.

“Looking at the stars again?” he asked.

Thalam did not reply.

“When is Sara coming back, do you know?”

Both of them knew very well aware of when she was expected to return, and that, Sultan was only trying to start a conversation about her. It was no secret that Sultan was in love with Sara, they all knew this; it was clear in the way that he was protective over her, and Sara herself perhaps felt something for him in return. Nothing was ever admitted or announced, as Sara’s parents would never have approved of Sultan, which, rather than make him want to change his ways, only increased his determination in continuing to be exactly the person that people expected him to be. Sultan was not an uneducated man – he had almost completed a university degree in the sciences, had it not been for his greater ambitions of wealth, no matter at what cost.

For Thalam, Sara was more like a little sister. Although they were both the same age, there was something about the way she talked to him, always looking up to him, respecting him, asking him for advice, whenever she needed it. It made him feel uncomfortable to talk to Sultan about her, because he knew, that if he ever entertained the subject, there would be a train of questions that followed.

He was there at Sultan’s apartment almost every night – and it was always, in the night. He didn’t see much of Ismail these days; the flower, and his friends, demanded too much of his time, and he treated the little room where he lived with Ismail, much like people treated the Windsor hotel – a place where he would have lunch, and sleep, nothing more.

Sultan opened his hand, and revealed a small, green, emerald jewel, with six marks engraved upon it.

“You think she’ll like it?” he asked. “It’s the closest colour I could find to her eyes. Look, I had them put six marks, one for each of us. Always friends. Always a family – Eh, brother?”

It was a Saturday afternoon when they got the news. Once upon a time, he would have spent this peaceful afternoon playing a well-deserved game of football with his friends, after reading the books that Mr. Salama had assigned to him. On this day however, there were no books, or stories, or laughter, or games. There was only, an ending.

When Sara had arrived in Alexandria, and as soon as the day was over, she left her family and went to seek the white flower. It was always easy enough to locate those who knew where to find it - they all had that same, vacant look in their eyes, which they all saw in their own eyes, every time, in the mirror that the flower was placed upon. There, on the beaches of Alexandria, it was her fate to discover, the two young men who knew the flower. She asked them if they knew where to find it, and, delighted at the discovery of a fellow prisoner of its power, they invited her back to the place where they, and the flower, lived in hiding, away from the magnificence and the terror of life.

Sometimes, that which is beautiful is best kept reserved. Those infected with the vile disease of greed know no satisfaction, and they always want to take from the world, a little more. They feel, that they are owed something in return for their life’s suffering. When the two young men had stripped her of all of her wealth, and taken from her, all of her belongings; tempted by her hair that turned to gold in the sunlight, and her special-green eyes, they wanted to take from her, a little more. When she resisted, and she resisted honourably, they took instead, that which was perhaps only just as valuable to her – her life.

The greatest trial of life is to lose a child, a brother, a sister, a friend. Unable to bear the harsh trials of life, Thalam consumed the white flower until he could no longer even remember her name. That was another one of the flower’s lies – it made him believe, that he was consuming it, when in fact, all along, it had been consuming him, and all that he had found to be dear.

He took so much, until he was blue in the face, and he could no longer breathe. He let out a sound that was somewhere between a groan and a sad, painful moan, and collapsed off of his chair. He heard a scream, and the sound of something shattering, and then closed his eyes.

In their own state of delirium, his friends panicked. After the back-and-forth screaming, and arguing, and presuming his death, or at least, his closeness to an inevitable death, Sultan, finally, paid some men that he knew, to dispose of Thalam’s body where it wouldn’t be found.

On that starry night, where the stars covered the sky from one horizon to the other, he regained consciousness, there, in the middle of the Arabian Desert.

He was lost, but not afraid. Confused, and only barely back to life, not knowing who he was, or how he had gotten there, he began following, a star.