I’m at a point in my life where I’m living out a fantasy story.
I’m not talking about the cindrella story thing, one because I’m not a girl, two because I’m not gay, and three because this isn’t the fantasy I had in mind.
Fantasy like Lord of the Rings, or like… The foundation, if any reader out there has a clue about what the latter is, it doesn’t matter.
Why, do you ask?
My life has many mythical characters, it’s got new geographical plains in which peoples of different powers live, it’s got great Kings, Guardians, Good guys, Princesses, and of course the inevitable bad guys.
Starting from the beginning, We have the main tribe, a great and old and widespread tribe, with the respected name Al Khateeb, The preacher, a name built from centuries (or decades) of history, disputes, and blood.
The story starts from a wise old man –Muhi Aldeen who moved down from the land Diyar Bakr, and settled in amongst the peoples of shee’aa, a fierce and dangerous peoples who posses a certain respect for Muhi Aldeen for the apparent air of respect and gravity which precedes him. He establishes the first of The Alkhateebs and moves up to the historic ageless city of Baghdad.
His progeny grows and multiplies into many variations of good and bad, and from their progeny comes this our story of love, war, and death.
There is the hero of the story, which right now happens to be me, my story starts not from my birth, but from the momentous date of September 11th, when my destiny is forever merged with the fair and beautiful Asmaa, also a descendant of the Al Khateebs.
The significance of this union is that other than the wonderful nature of this union –having satisfied all the requirements of the Order of Islam- but also to the fact that this is a union of the last two powerful kings of Al Khateeb, this already promises to be the beginning of the rebirth of the glory of this great tribe.
Namuk, the first king, lives in the land of Oz, he has lived many years and fought many battles, bringing him out a battle-scarred and revered old King, one not to be meddled with. Honored with pilgrims visiting from the east and the west. The last sign of the eminence of the olde days.
Louay, the younger King, is King of The olde days, with a formidable history of nomadic attainments and with just as many scars and just as much veneration. He now lives in the land of the Mwatneen and is at this time waging a silent battle with the ‘bad guys’ of this story, known here as the cousins.
There are also the guardians of the princes, they have many names and their stories are varied in wisdom and sacrifice, the people know them now as the mothers.
Having made their place next to their companions- the kings, they also endued just as many scars and wounds from enemies and battles as well as their Kings, they now guard the princes and guide them in their unions, protecting them from themselves, and from the fearsome cousins.
The Cousins, a group of miscreants also hailing from the progeny of Al Khateeb, only more hateful and scornful due so to living under the poisonous fumes of the land of Baghdad, then a hive of wickedness and sin. Most of its inhabitants were caught in its poisons, thus came out the new breed of the Dibesh, the cousins thus came out looking for blood, tears and destructive toil.
Thus far Alhumdulillah nothing will stand in the way of this celebrated almost holy marriage, the cousins will plot and will never tire of attempting to destroy what we are and what we stand for, but the light of love and goodness shall never be extinguished.
The kings will bring back the ages of supremacy and wisdom, the mothers will sacrifice with their time and their hearts and their very souls to serve the princes, the beginners of the new age.
Such a story is called a fantasy, I might have added in some things and bent some truths and adorned it with hyperboles, but really, who doesn’t ? that’s what makes it a good story.
PEACE ! ! !