To Capture a Ring

The last thing Yasmin reminisced was waking up in hospital phasing in and out of consciousness every now and then. Despite the fact that she had no idea how she ended up there, she remembered being struck by this horrendous feeling of terror, and a sharp pain across her chest every time she regained consciousness. Her blurry vision would spot the doctors and nurses rushing around in sheer panic then relief after resuscitating her. One time she overhead the doctor confiding in one of the nurses, telling her her case was hopeless and how she was not going to make it. Yasmin’s heart sank when she heard those dreadful words that she bitterly wept when everyone left. On the days that followed, the young woman started drowning in sadness and she was slowly sinking to the bottom of an ocean of desolation that  she started to believe she was going to perish along with her forgotten dreams,  but deep within her was a flame, a flicker of hope that sought to triumph over her despair,

Yasmin followed up on the address to thank the man but almost turned back when she arrived at the gate. The unfathomable site before her had made her too ashamed that she almost gave up on her endeavour. She felt inadequate as she stood before neatly dressed guards carrying rifles. Standing behind a gigantic metal gate, in the distance; about two hundred meters stood a set of three large villas, one was painted in white, one in cream and yellow and the other one seemed like a glassy building. A pond with a fountain stood in the middle of the gate and villas about one hundred meters from the gate and the gravelled road split into three after the fountain. In the front of the first two story villa there were six cars parked, one a pink porch, two Toyotas one black, one white, the kind that sheiks rode in the desert, one a red Ferrari, one a Mitsubishi, and the last a silver-ish- black- ish Lamborghini. Not that she knew the names of these cars, all she saw was a bunch of expensive car

Yasmin had mastered the house rules clearly in less than 48 hours at the villa.  She had learned Ali's father was addressed as the master of the house; his mother was addressed as young masters by all servants. Then his only cruel daughter from her,  Amy as miss. Ali's mother was addressed as the mistress of the house while his maternal grandmother who visited from the next villa like to be addressed as Umi by all. She believed herself to be the caretaker of all due her giving everyone advice on certain aspects in their lives.  Now this boy Amir was notorious for luring maids into his certain areas of the large house he called his hub then he would assault them. Rumour had it he had impregnated at least six maids who were all forced into abortions. Now his parents looked upon him with disgrace, he was arrogant. But Jasmine could see no wrong in anyone, she just thought he must have been through something that made him this way, in fact, he felt sorry for him. Mr Al Ma

Yasmin had been working for the Almasi family for only a year    when she received a   letter from home that shattered her to tiny little pieces. The letter disclosed that her mother had a cancer of the blood the doctors called leukaemia. She never thought something like this  could happen to her mother, she was everything to her. The woman who taught her to pursue her dreams, to  love, her  idol that taught her to be herself, the  woman who taught her to persue  all the pleasures she desired in life because nothing in this life was permanent  one has to utilise the timespan one  has  to reach one's self actualization. Now the letter stated money  was needed to pay for her chemo therapy. Yasmin knew no way of acquiring this large amount until one evening  while at servants quotas, her master Amir showed up  all smiling and happy. Yasmin was siting with one of the maids on the floor crying her eyes out. The room wa

of tall green mountains that appeared to be coated in white at the top, white as ice, overlapping in the distance. Her pale  frail, withered hands worked with skill, hands that disclosed years of poverty, hands toughened from  hard work in the fields all day in the scorching heat during farming seasons  from the tender age of six to executing the heftiest hardest  house chores simultaneously daily  exploited by her parents handed to her cruel husband  who exploited her as well and as she had mastered this art she exploited herself,  her skill to an essential volume to   bring out the uniqueness of her painting  with realistic  features and traces, chucking in a few green shades here and there, then smoothing them out with a grey shade using charcoal ashes and white dried root powder blistering her fingers  on the rough surface of the rock in the process. She did not seem to care because the zeal within her drove her that one cou