This week, I completed chapters three and four of Mission: Yemen, Xavier Sear Thriller Book 2. Both chapters have been posted to the two online writing sites I use. A further thirty-one reviews, bringing the total to fifty-one. As always, plenty of recommendations for me to consider.
Here's another snippet. Please keep in mind that since these are first-draft chapters, things will likely be changed once I get to the editing phase. In the meantime, if you have any suggestions, please let me know.
Shatara scurried forward as a chunk of bread and an apple dropped through a slot. Moments later, the door inched open, and a fresh bucket of water was shoved inside before the door slammed shut.
She studied the stale bread. Larger than normal. Makes up for the bruised apple. Oh well. She broke off several small pieces of the crust and put them in the corner. Here, Bushra, you may eat when you are ready.
Shatara scooped dead flies from the top of the new water bucket. Stomach rumbling, she broke off pieces of the bread and dunked them in the tepid water before shoving them into her mouth. After finishing the bread, she bit into the apple. She shook her head at the bitter flavors while she savored the juice trickling down her parched throat.
After finishing her meager meal, Shatara leaned against the wall opposite the window. She could make out a few stars appearing, as well as a sliver of a new moon. They were soon blotted out. The sounds of the wind picking up whistled through the bars as sand splattered the outside of the building, as noisy as if it were a tropical storm.
She crept back to the water bucket and dipped her hand into the tepid liquid, cupping her fingers as she brought a small handful towards her mouth. After wetting her lips, she spat it out and returned to her blanket.
With the cooler breezes because of the approaching storm, she spread the chador across the blanket to give greater warmth. Before long, she fell asleep.
***
Shatara tossed and turned for hours. At one point, she reflected on her family. Tears formed as she thought of her parents and her brother, Zahid. I miss them so much. Will I ever see them again?
At long last, she drifted into a troubled sleep, the blanket and chador tight around her body.
***
The morning call to prayer woke her from a restless night. Body aching, she stretched to work out some of the kinks. What will today bring? Will Baba find me and take me home? She began her preparations for the Fajr, or the first prayer of the day.
"Aaaaaaaah!"
An ear-piecing screech filled the air, which was abruptly cut off.
What is happening? She dashed to the blanket and tugged on her chador.
Rather than the clip-clop sounds of the jailer, the measured footsteps of someone else echoed in the corridor.
Shatara hurried to don the chador.
The key turned in the lock, squealing as normal.
The door opened, and a man dressed in a white full-length loose-fitting garment with long sleeves known as a thobe and a red and white checkered kaffiyeh stepped inside. "Well? Are you ready? I demand your answer—now. Speak with great care, or it could be your undoing."
More next time.
This brings us to an end for another week. I hope you found something of interest. If you have any suggestions for a topic you'd like to read about, please let me know. Until the next time, thank you for reading and hope you drop in again.
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