by Christine Aziz

A room spillfull of twilight.
I study Arabic.
Verbs, roots, conjugations.
Yeraf. Ye’eesh. Yesadda’
To know. To live. To believe.
You replay  yesterday. Alexandria.
Sound of bullets. Women screaming.
Ye’tel. Yekhon. Yesakkat.
To kill. To betray. To oppress.
Silence returns. I drink tea.
You bury your head.
Yeheb. Yemshi. Yeazzi.
To love. To leave. To mourn.
Eleven floors above the  city.
The dead float past the window.
Flocks of birds. Migrating.
Yehlam. Yetmanna. Yeteer.
To dream. To hope. To fly. 

“What do you mean? I don’t care about anything else! Is he okay?”
“You don’t know..?”
“I've only known I was a witch for a few years, and even then I didn't know what it meant. Please explain.”
“You were dead. If you die before your familiar does.. they’re returned to human form and forced to live the remainder of what life you would have had.”
“It’s not just that, the bond between familiar and witch is stronger than any human bond. To him, the world is nothing now. He thinks he’ll spend the rest of his life, without you.”
“I’m- I’m sorry. Thank you for saving my life, but I need to go find him.”
“Of course. I hope you do. Learn from this. You need to learn to control your powers, or you will end up hurting everyone you love.”


Zombies, oh my! It’s a flooded market, but there are certain gems I’m more fond of than others (p.s. Return of the Living Dead just barely missed the list since it’s on a different one!). 

Its still ridiculous to me that the first words I hear upon returning home, after returning from the dead, is “You don’t live here anymore. Get out.“

I always thought this is where I stood but a tiny bit of me hoped otherwise.

I’m probably going to be in Wisconsin by the end of the month but I literally have no reason to stay anywhere out of obligation anymore.

I guess this begins an era of nomadic wandering. Should be interesting times.