He ran as fast as he could. He took a new jogging route. Instead of the usual coastal front, he decided to head towards the village center. The sun poured down its light like melted gold, silhouetting the vehicles, lampposts, trees and structures. The air was still–there was no humidity nor breeze. He made a trail of dust on the unpaved roadside as his cross trainers struck ground. The village was smaller than he had originally anticipated.

Layal took small steps. She looked across a field of rubble, befallen houses and distressed foliage. “In that house, in that house,” she said, pointing with her arm outstretched at what remained of Uncle Sharif’s two storey mansion, “in that house my uncle, my three cousins, his wife and mother stayed. “The enemy jets flew past, not missing a single house in their onslaught. The roof caved in in the attack, crushing them as they scrambled for safety…by daybreak the rescue teams retrieved the bodies…and I…I saw…” she almost collapsed if not for Hassan, an aid worker, by her side.

There once was a boy who was constantly told how to be, how to do and how to grow up. On television, MTV told him to wear lose parachute pants, spike up his hair and lyricise suggestive words. In the theater, movies told him to act suave and to accept everything and anything as the truth. In bookshops, supermarket bestsellers told him to acknowledge the absurd. On the street, drivers rushed passed him, showing him that life had no time for quiet solitude.

Emily died. Suddenly. Unexpectedly. In a rather terrifying manner involving a slippery staircase, a glass pane and high heeled Jimmy Choos. At first, Steve wanted her back. If that wasn’t possible, then he was going to join her. Still, he never felt death reach out with its claws to grapple that soul of his. Which made him wonder whether his soul fled, never to be caught, or whether he was yet to see what was to become of him.

_The following vignette is fiction, including the quotation. _ I looked out the window on this cool spring day, thinking of how mother used to enjoy days like this. I remembered Fridays at our villa. Mother would take the opportunity of unusually good weather to walk in the garden. “Our villa’s garden,” she would say, “go out there and enjoy it people, go enjoy the garden that’s right there waiting for you.