‘Round and Round and Round’ by Ahmed Nader Gretly

Beneath a canopy of refracted neon lights of a million colors cutting through thick white clouds of dreary mist intermixed with smoke, a black Chevy screeched forward into the night, leaving dark marks tattooed upon the asphalt. Thousands of people wandered the streets here and there, murmuring their eternal songs of trivia while the hands of the clocks turned round and round and round with no holding back. One lean chick in a man’s long sleeve shirt unbuttoned to the navel laughed throwing her head backwards, holding that pose for a second too long as if having her picture taken by an invisible photographer for a cheap fashion magazine. She and her boys walked past an old man dressed in leftover threads, who sat on the ground slouching against a cracked brick wall. His ancient eyes turning from left to right, droopingly contemplating the vibrant world around him, breathing heavily with hole-filled lungs.

“Gahd bless yeeh!” The old man barked at a sharp dressed youngster who dropped a coin into his cup.

Tall and slim, the youngster was, with pearls of hot sweat rolling down his skeletal face as he hurried through the infinite crowd. He clutched his somewhat heavy leather bag to his chest, rubbing his fingertips against its bottom every now and then just to make sure it’s not leaking. He bumped into a middle-aged lady who did not even bother looking at him. She kept peering at her golden wrist watch, and tapping one heeled foot on the dirty pavement. She dragged on her cigarette with shaky hands, looking around, searching for someone lost, forgotten. She dropped her cigarette to the ground with sigh, and walked away, reminding herself to buy some extra sleeping pills on her way to her empty flat.

They all buzzed about, the spoiled brat, the air-head, the invisible, the serial murderer, and the desolate. They swirled into the nothingness of it all, day in and day out, barely touching each other, barely acknowledging each other. They zoomed, and laughed, and coughed, and moaned, and slashed, and sobbed all through their weary little lives like a million others, like a billion more, all cooped up into this world going round and round and round. What sad lives they must lead…


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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