Fes Writes: Fes Regional Workshop Anthology

Mohammed Adil Bennis Ache Torn from a hollow night sky of never-ending beams reflecting on concrete glass, the darkness veiling in the shadows I witness, linger to steal my innocence.

Sudden clicks between the unconscious child and the hurt adult; as are most of us by the anguish of heartbreak.

A first love that made me feel then pulled the rug from under my feet. One made me weak, the other, renewed.

I still remember the first few dates at 15; running from school to see each other for an hour at most. The little rush of adrenaline from seeing her there, standing in the sun, waiting. The first ice cream, the first crying laugh and the first adventure, at 2 am, on a car headed west. Then coming back, giggling, at 6am, not to miss school, and certainly not to raise suspicion.

Collecting first times was, however, her specialty. She was the bite through the apple and down fell the angel. The nostalgia makes me nauseous.

Sudden clicks between the unconscious child and the hurt adult. Perhaps not hurt as much, but awakened; the hard, disgusting, unforgiving awakening.