The Partsh Motel, by Amr Saleh
Another attempt. Day 43. Each day, I stand in the same spot. The Partsh Motel’s lobby.
The wind blows through the gaps in the motel’s walls and fills its dark lobby with the sea’s briny aroma. The breeze rises from beside my brown leather shoes and tickles my nose with the lumber’s odor.
I smell those scents each day.
The drab lobby’s distinct buzz whispers in my ear. Children play with their smartphones. Parents argue. The staff greets. Their locations marked.
I hear those noises each day.
A young couple stands opposite to the receptionist. They laugh, their bodies inseparable. The flames of their love forever lasting. A romantic getaway perhaps? Could be their honeymoon.
I see their grim future each day.
A table rests trembles me. Its ashen edges trace the brilliant red lines that slither on its charred black surface.
I wonder about those colors each day.
My left hand lifts the notepad before my face. I scan the lobby one last time before my hesitant right hand forces the tip of my pen to the black line at the top of its page.
I look at the empty yellow page each day.
The pen maneuvers and rubs against the paper. The friction releases the ink and writes my conclusion. Five simple words.
Bomb. Terrorist attack. Case closed.
The last attempt. Day 43. Last day I stand in the same spot. The Partsh Motel’s lobby.
Amr Saleh is a German writer based in Munich and is currently pursuing a law degree.
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