One Thousand And One Nights Essay Example for Free

1 Thousand And One Nights EssayAuthors Note I will confess that sucked-into-video-game styled stories have always been a guilty pastime of mine. My only complaint is that they always tend to follow the same formula. With that in mind, I am expiry to try and switch things up a fight with this story. I hope you enjoy it, and regardless of the feedback organism good or bad, I would love to hear your thoughts.PROLOGUEBy the time you are nine-years-old, you are al pick outy considered a wo humanness. In my mothers country, you could already be married off at that age. You could live in a house with your husbands family, you could bare children, and you can consumate your marriage even before you are of a mature age. Alas, I am not nine, I am not married, and in some respects, Im not yet a woman. At least, Ive never felt that way.To be perfectly honest, Ive always felt like a child. My family may have disciplined me into creation quiet and intelligent, to pray five times a day to Allah, to read the Quran and wear the hijab, and always to get good grades, but Ive always felt this longing for adventure. They wanted me to grow up quickly so I would have a future that was every bit as special and important as the ones promised to other American children. But during my studies, my mind would always pasture to imaginary worlds of castles, dragons, fairies, and of knights and princesses that banded together to save the day.And that feeling would build in my chest warm and comforting, so light that it can almost lift you off your feet, whispering promises of joketer and happiness to come. It isnt easy being a Muslim in a sixth grade class full of conservative Christians, girls with gothic make up, or boys with their pants worn so low that their underwear shows. Despite how different they all in all are from each other, all of them were the same in their treatment towards me. At the very least, my imagination would crack feelings of companionship. Close fri ends who would accept me for who I was and not for what I wore or how many times I had to better and pray throughout the day. At least, when I had finished my homework and had the time to write and draw in my notebooks, I could return to that imaginary place of peace and happiness. And sometimes, as childish as it may sound, I would pretend that such a place existed.Then I was killed.At least, thats what I think happened.The nicest tantrum of imagination is that, in your own world, there are no Islamophobes. in that respect are no battalion who want you dead simply because you are Muslim. You dont have to worry about stepping into the mosque and some scary man driving a van full of explosives into the building. He wanted to take out as many Muslims as he could, and one of them was me.Everything happened so suddenly that its hard to recall exactly how it happened. I regard as hearing glass shattering. The doors leading into the mosque were made of glass, so I assume that was whe re the van drove into the building. There was the sound of doors being broken down, or wood snapping, and then the blast. I was the closest to the wall where the effusion went off. I remember feeling something smash against the side of my head and I briefly remember the conflagrate that followed. There was nothingness for awhile I could not see, think, or hear anything that was happening around me. I could not feel anything anymore. The best way I can accurately describe it would be a black out. Because it happened so quickly, I did not have time to register whether or not I was dead.I reached that conclusion when I woke up here. The Quran describes paradise as a place of liberal trees, sweet water, and pure soil of musk. The dwellers of heaven would not feel the excessive heat of the sun, nor the excessive chilly of the moon. It is a realm of magnificence.This afterlife did not fit that exact description. There were trees larger than any I have seen in this life. There was wate r, beautiful and sweet, with the ability to heal me if I were hurt, or provide me with force when I was weary. There was soil so pure that flowers and plants of all kinds could grow. It was indeed a realm of magnificence, but also a realm of both wonder and ruin.There were times that were heartbreaking. There were moments where I was received I was going to die a second death. There were moments where we would walk and walk and walk with no chance of knowing if we would ever truly reach our destination.But there were moments of happiness and laughter. There were moments where we could laugh about the hardships we had just overcome. And there was that feeling of acceptance. I had found people who did not hate me for what I wore or what I worshipped.Before I continue with my story, I should introduce myselfMy name is Nasira. I was twelve-years-old when I died and woke up on the Mist Continent.