Mhad Ahmed Fayyaz (from class O' Levels-I) rocks here with a wonderful response to a question given in this month’s Monthly My Performance Test. The question was: ‘Write about an occasion when you felt depressed’, and see he’s done justice with the topic by coming up with brilliant description of a situation he visualized. Well done, Mhad!

My heart skipped a beat as I noticed a furious-looking man staring at me. A primitive weapon was tightly held in his right hand – a rough hand with lumpy, ugly fingers. His extra-large, black eyes had sparks of obvious detest for my poor soul. Such was the awe and the horror that for those few moments I felt I was a helpless man driven far away from a shore where – at an unmanageable distance – he had quit struggling with all his energy exhausted. I felt as if I was drowning, getting closer to my end. The ominous silence was broken as the man, with a quick jerk, rushed at me, muttering cries of revenge. I had made a terrible mistake!

On that fateful day, apparently I saw no signs of any would-be untoward. It looked all safe and sound. The weather was pleasant as usual. The sky was an expanse of sapphire blue, dotted with feathery white clouds. Radiant rays of the sun shone brightly across the azure, wide canopy. But then a time came when sweat trickled down my brow, as I lifted my head high in a hope to see over the commotion and on to the source of the problem causing the traffic jam. I was in a hurry, but had unluckily got stuck on a main road in northern part of the city.

In utter despair, I decided to get out of my car and walk over to the source of turmoil, which would eventually prove to be a drastic mistake.

I adjusted my newly tailored bespoke suit as I dismounted from my Crystal Black Pearl Vezel. As I got nearer, I saw banners claiming western culture as the sole cause of all problems in Pakistan. As I headed on, a full scale sight of an angry crowd came in view. It was a protest.

That is when I saw a man dressed in tribal attire, staring at me with a devilish grin. As I stared back at him, he grew enraged. Next, to my utter shock, pointing his pitchfork to my chest, he hurled abuse at me. And the very next moment, he leapt at me. Flabbergasted, I rushed back.

He was soon chasing me with his obnoxiously heavy body. And that was the moment for my well-shaped and smart body to exhibit its athletic skills. I was soon at a safe distance. As I turned back, to my surprise, I saw a police man on top of him. I had been saved, though I felt extremely depressed.

I continued feeling depressed for another three long days. Later, I read a police report. I could not fathom the thought that that errant man had pounced on me for the mere reason of my appearance in western getup. It all sounded weirdest of the things I had ever encountered.

Mahd Ahmed Fayyaz
O' Levels-I
PakTurk School, Islamabad

Expressing thoughts and feelings in versified form is one of the most difficult jobs in the world of creative writing. Poets compose their feelings and thoughts to entertain, persuade, inform, or to influence their readers with certain cause in mind. Writing an effective poem, that too which feels unique and true to yourself, asks for a bit of mastery in playing with sound, rhythm, and tone in the poem and apply literary devices to make your poetry truly sound to be a piece of literature. Let’s enjoy an award-winning piece of poetry by Hassan Bukhari, a PakTurk alumni, a brilliant student. He composed this poem for an inter-colleges competition arranged by Shifa Students Society (Islamabad). Hassan was awarded 2nd prize. Heartiest congrats Hassan, and thanks for sharing! Continue making us feel proud of you non-stop by making difference with the might of your pen, and by exhibiting strongest of the characters. Go on contributing in the world most positively. We wish you hundreds of more accomplishments. :)

Future Awaits: What’s next?

Fragile, weak and replete with hunger,

Wrinkles on young faces, dismal their smiles,

Sticks for arms, wretched their cries,

Their roof, the sky, glaring with thunder,

“What have I done?” They say. “What is my blunder?”

I’m chased in streets, “Is beggar my name?”

“Pacifists, Criminals and Culprits!” they claim,

And People believe, give poor the blame,

Who cares if they shatter?

They are not made to matter,

And the neglected only know better,

Than to keep hope, from the latter,

When asked what I see in the future ahead,

I pick up a pencil and draw a picture instead,

I have a Prediction, such is its depiction;

“It will not remain as same!

The misery, pain and the shame,

All shall dissolve in merciful rain,

Once it pours to reach every grain,

The light combined will bring the green,

A scene, never before seen!

And justice will prevail to those who shatter,

For in God’s Store, there’s nothing better”

An opening paragraph was handed to the boys of O’ Levels Final Year (here at Chak Shahzad Campus of PakTurk) as a prompt for story writing. Written in 523 words it’s one of the stories produced responding to the prompt (a Cambridge style question for which could be): ‘Write a story which includes the sentence: ‘He was determined to give his life-time benefactor an ‘easy’ death – as a token of his gratitude.’ Mubeen Ahmed Fayyaz came up with one of the most remarkable responses. Following the requirement, having opened his story with mid-action scene, Mubeen successfully applied flashback technique in which part he exhibited his mastery by wrapping up the entire situation in just 270 words, leaving no logical gap there. In the remaining 183 words, he then satiated the reader's curiosity by effectively showing ‘what happened next’. Look, the story also has a small surprise/shock in the end when Mubashir, instead of becoming an easy victim, reacts to what Thakur is going to do with him. A big kudos for Mubeen for contributing such a story with high appeal. Very engaging stuff, indeed!

An abandoned house

Thakur pulled his car out of the porcelain porch and quickly headed for the airport where he was to receive someone he called his mentor, lifetime benefactor and someone he truly adored. At hearts of his heart, he was determined to taking Mubashir to an abandoned house in the northern outskirts of the city to give him an “easy” death as a token of his gratitude.

Mubashir felt utter sympathy and droplets of sweat caressed his brow as he knelt down on hard concrete to pick up a lump: a young boy. He took the boy to a nearby hospital where he paid for the expenses and when he could find no guardian for the boy, he decided to adopt him.

The young boy grew up in an unfamiliarly posh environment but soon got the hang of it. His days were spent in getting quality education, developing a good taste in music and art and studying Henry David Thoreau’s “resistance to civil government” and similar books.

He grew up to be a teenager not willing to resign his conscience to the legislator. He believed and obeyed laws that were in line with his moral conscience and strived hard to denounce any that contradicted it. He had grown up to believe in utter freedom of mankind and absence of governing bodies as the only solution to mankind’s problems.

Mubashir had succeeded in creating a Mr-No-Government who had potential to be a part of a movement aimed at resistance towards civil government and so the boy became a part of the evil movement.

The boy who was now a man strived hard day and night to make the movement stronger but after the conservative party came to power and decided to take radical measures against the movement, everything changed.

He was caught, tried, imprisoned and tortured atrociously. He ratted out every bit of info on whoever he knew in the movement – in exchange for his freedom, something he had come to admire since his childhood – except that he succeeded in keeping Mubashir.

Today that boy, Thakur, was standing on the threshold of a colossal airport waiting for Mubashir. His eyes drifted upwards to the infinite blue sky dotted with gray clouds. When he looked back down, he was awestruck as he laid eyes on a pale figure with creased forehead and narrow lips smiling pleasantly at him. It was Mubashir.

He managed to take Mubashir to an abandoned house, his conscience failing him but he was not to deter from a decision he had taken with deliberation and lack of emotions – a decision for the better. He pulled out a pistol and aimed it at Mubashir as memories of torture filled his mind. He decided to squeeze the trigger not wanting Mubashir to face such horrendous torture who unlike him would not be able to strike a deal for freedom but before he could, Mubashir ran! Mubashir bolted on the rocky mountainous terrain. Thakur jerked his rifle on his shoulder. His shooting skills overcame Mubashir’s escaping skills as Thakur drove three bullets through Mubashir who soon lay still. Thakur then lived happy for Mubashir ceaselessly.

Mubeen Ahmed Fayyaz
O' Levels Final Year
PakTurk School, Islamabad