The Last Beat: Pt.1

I climbed on top of my car —which was parked in the sand a few meters away from the main road, and sat down on its roof top. The sweat on my back evaporated with each faint puff of air that came and went every few minutes. I lay back, resting my head on the palms of my hands, face to face with a mighty clear sky of black, shimmering with millions of diamonds. The salty aroma that came from the sea crept its way into my nostrils, filling my lungs with its alkalinity, I sighed. A gibbous moon glowed with a yellowish hue in the distance, surrounded by thousands of crazy shapes and patters my mind had created from those twinkling stars light-years away.

I tried to run away from all the madness of the big city, but I seemed to have disregarded that my own mind was the source of it all. At that moment, under this massive veil of desolation, the thought of her was the only thing that kept me from going insane.


I began to feel claustrophobic inside my own body about twenty-four hours before I parked my car by the sea shore. I stood by my bedroom’s window smoking a cigarette; the light reflected off the moon and into my face with the smoke swirling abstractly upwards, I suddenly felt this urge to jump. I didn’t even know why I felt like that, I didn’t feel depressed but this sudden emotion shot all over my body. Sheer panic.

Jazz, Jazz! Where are you Jazz? I kept thinking to myself, I kept thinking of her.

I flicked my cigarette out the window, went to my closet and put some rags on. I didn’t have a destination in mind, but I knew I couldn’t stay home all by myself. It was about eleven-thirty; the streets were moist because it’d been raining for two days; the weather wasn’t that cold when I got into my car, but I put on the heater nonetheless. I reached into the glove compartment and fetched my flask, took a few sips of bourbon then lit up a smoke. I stepped on the accelerator with great force pushing the car forward on the high-way, its opposition force punching me back into my seat. The trees, the cars, and the people, all mixed up in one big blurred out palette. Thump! Thump! My heart went as I smoked and sipped the booze from my silver flask. I knew I went mad again, like I’ve gone mad so many times before, but here’s the thing; she was there back when I went mad all these years ago, she always knew what to do when my demons woke up from their slumber. She was like this mythical creature that came into my life with her dark eyes, dark short hair, long eyelashes and long painted nails. Jazz’d hold me and whisper sweet melodies in my ear, with her musical voice that was sometimes so sad it made me cry, and other times so tender it gave me goose-bumps.

Jasmine, Jasmine, Jazz, my savior…

Marlboro by Layla Rouge


About Ahmed Gretly

Ahmed Nader Gretly. Construction/Site Engineer, fiction writer, poet, psychopath, researcher, a book addict, and a daydreamer from Cairo, Egypt. Currently doing Construction Project Management, MSc, at Heriot-Watt University, Edinburgh.
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