Writings by She

-By Muqaddas Fatima https://muqadasfatima315.wixsite.com/website-1/post/character-sketch-non-fiction   The sound of the drum beating pounded in his ears. His blurry vision could hardly make out the source of the commotion but soon realized that it was the shaman casting out the evil spirits. Suddenly a stinging smell of blood and raw meat burned the insides of his nostrils. As soon as he turned his face, what he saw was beyond his imagination. It was Genghis khan, the ruthless and vicious emperor and founder of the Mongolian Empire. Who would have known to be blood thirsty and tyrannical ruler for centuries? Tyranny reflected in his eyes. Even his eyes seemed like reptilian slits. His face was cold as ice as if the warmth of the sun had never reached it. While he stared into his soul, Genghis tore raw meat with his abnormally large canines. Blood oozing from it and eventually smeared all over his face. It became obvious, how ruthless the entire empire was. They had no regard for the l

-By Haniah Fazal  https://haniahfazal66.wixsite.com/my-site/post/the-fascist   The door swung open accompanied with the sound of the squeaking hinges. Modi’s facial muscle contorted in a way that displayed displeasure. He raised his head to look at his secretary, only to give him a death stare that would prove his dominance. Narendra Modi was indeed dictator disguised as a democrat. He moved his way up the ladder through fascist policies and religious fanaticism. Modi talked with a tone of dominance in his voice. He absolutely resented anyone opposing his policies. He made sure to crush any and all forms of opposition. A staunch believer of One-man army, his methods worked liked this only. “Sir, the media is going on about the Gujrat massacre!” said his secretary in a hushed voice. A wide grin came across his face. A grin so wide that it touched the side of his eyes. “My child, they deserved it. The Hindus are the superior race.” Said Modi followered by an evil snicker. Something was

-By Hania Alvi https://alvihania.wixsite.com/website/post/character-sketch-by-action-non-fiction On a cloudy evening in London, England; Mr. Nawaz Shareef, our former prime minister, or should I say ‘a convicted criminal’ gets up from bed. He peeks out from his apartment window; the apartment bought from corruption money of course. His belly sticks out like a pregnant woman because he only knows two things, cheating and eating. He goes inside the bathroom to freshen up bit only to scare himself by looking in the mirror. ‘Is that an ogre!? he exclaimed. 'Oh wait, that’s me.’ he sighs. Well, a little disappointed but stubborn Nawaz washes his face and leaves. He then picks up his phone and calls his dear brother, (another criminal I must mention) Shahbaz. They discuss Pakistani politics and ways to sabotage the country’s newly formed government. Since Nawaz shareef got exposed in a number of corruption cases, he got disqualified from the position of Prime minister. His ego and pride

  Credits: Sara Zin When Sarah looked at Robert his face had turned pale and his eyes were red with dark bags under them. It seemed as if he hadn’t had even a minute worth of sleep. With hair pointing in every direction, he was in the same clothes that he had worn the last time she saw him, 3 days ago. Those Khaki shorts and the white shirt were now covered in crinkles and and the white was now a mixture of white and dust brown with the collars and sleeves rimmed yellow in what seemed to be sweat lines. He almost seemed unrecognizable to her. She tried to talk to him and ask what had happened but he would choke on his words and sound as if dust had dried his throat out. He brought is hand up to his throat as if that would relieve the discomfort, she saw that his hands were roughed up as well and there was black lining his nails.

  -By Rafiya https://localities.design.blog/2021/04/26/character-sketch-of-an-old-lady/ وہی پرانا لان کا جوڑا پہنے جس کا رنگ رنگ دُھل دُھل کے تقریباً اُڑ چکا ہے اور اب تو بس بس کپڑے کے کچا ہو جانے کا انتظار ہے کہ آخر پیوند لگانے کی بھی گنجائش باقی نہ رہے۔ بیٹھی ہے وہی اپنی ہتّی والی مشین لیے صحن کے پاس دروازے کی چوکھٹ پر جھریوں سے سجے ہاتھوں سے مشین چلانے میں شاید کسی چھوٹے بچے کا کُرتا ہے جو محلّے کی ایک عورت اسے سِلنے کے لیے دے کے گئی ہے. ایک دم اُجلا چاندی کی مانند کپڑا سورج کی روشنی سے چمکتا بالکل اس کے بالوں کی طرح ۔ چشمہ لگائے معمول کے مطابق مصروف ہے پھر جائے گی بازار سِلائ کے آئے پیسوں سے رات کے کے بننے والے کھانے کا سودا لینے اپنی بیٹی کو گھر کا حافظ بنا کرخاص طور پر جوان مگر دیوانے اپنے بھائی کا جو مگر اس کی بیٹی سے تو چھوٹا ہے۔ سمجھ نہیں آتا کہ آخر نظر آنکھوں میں آنے والے آنسوؤں سے خراب ہوئی ہے کہ ماتھے پر پڑنے والی شکن اتنی گہری ہو گئی ہے کے آنکھوں کے سامنے آگئی ہے۔ پھر وہی جائے نماز پر بیٹھے کبھی قسمت کے ہونے پر روتی ہے تو کبھی بدل جانے پر روتی ہے کبھی ایک بیٹی کے شادی شدہ

  -By Adeena Khan https://adeenak.wixsite.com/justmythoughtsandi/post/fair-life There used to be a young boy who was very lazy and did not do anything. Everything was done for him by his parents. As he was the only child, he was loved and cared for to the extent that he was unable to do everything on his own. One day, his parents face an accident and they pass away, leaving the boy all alone. As he cannot do anything on his own he struggles with everything. He gradually learns how to cook, clean, and perform homely chores with the help of the internet as none of his relatives were there to help him. He keeps learning every day, his motivation never-ending. To the point that after some years, he was able to cook and take care of the house on his own with no issues. He then steps out of the house alone for the first time, looking for work as he had little to no money left that his parent saved up for him. After getting scammed, treated harshly, and facing a lot of issues, he finally earn