There was a Sick Man, and a Healthy Man waiting for him to die. The Healthy Man had his eyes on the lands and dwellings of the Sick Man. With victorious eyes, the Healthy Man buried the Sick Man, and turned his gaze towards the inheritance. His smile quickly faded as he saw scores of children peaking out of the dwellings and from between the trees. Yes, the Sick Man was dead, and the Healthy Man inherited him, but he inherited the Sick Man’s children as well!
The children were confused without their Father. They whispered amongst each other, knowing that the Healthy Man was but a distant relative with eyes on their inheritance. Like mischievous rascals, they’d greet their new master with the appropriate etiquette, only to change their tone once he gave them his back. With torn jallabiyyas, dirty feet and unwashed faces, they had a fire in them; the furnace of youth. They started to understand that their father was no longer there to tell them not to do this or that, and they cursed their new master with his cold smile and iron fist. Yes, their father used to beat them at times, but the beating of a parent is unlike that of a stranger. The children whispered to each other tales about who they were; their lineage, where they came from and where they ought to go. They started to plot and the Healthy Man became ever-worried.
From GZM. In preparation.