‘The House By The River-Shore’ by Ahmed Nader Gretly

I flapped my white feathered wings,

Floating across a moonlit sky,

With crystal-dusted stars sparkling in the darkness.

The town, asleep after a busy day,

Nothing but the sound of trees rustling against the midnight breeze.

 The house by the river-shore,

Illuminated with light as a car parked halfway

Between the driveway and the street.

A man staggered to the front door kicking

It with all his might.

Violet ran to her hiding place, under the table,

For she knew what was about to happen.

Daddy gambled, daddy lost.

Daddy doesn’t like to lose.

The drunken monster came crashing in,

Grabbing mother by the hair,

Slapping her, throwing her into glass shelves.

Dear Violet sobbed in silence,

With both hands pressed on her lips.

Dear mother bled, dear mother fell,

Dear mother never got up again.

The gambling fool grinned saying:

Where are you, you little cunt?

Daddy would like a word with you.

Young Violet couldn’t keep her cries,

A squeak slipped out and Daddy was on the move.

He grabbed her by her long brown hair;

Dragging her across the floor.

He punched and punched and punched her face,

as she helplessly screamed.

I flapped my white feathered wings,

The world froze,

The beast, in a drunken frenzy,

With his fist inches away from his daughter’s face.

Young Violet, wearing a mask of gore,

Who was thought to be the happiest amongst her friends,

But no one ever cared to ask,

Because it is true,

That the saddest, and most depressed of us,

Wear the most beautiful of smiles.

I carried her in my arms, away from this place.

I flapped my wings once more and the beast shattered his

Fist on the floor.

Young Violet lived,

Young Violet grew.

Young Violet swore

She’s not afraid anymore.

But what about the other Violets?

What about the ones who are still afraid?

Because there’s alway a helpless child,

At the house by the river-shore.


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.
This entry was posted in Fiction, Poetry, Thoughts and tagged , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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