Chapter 1: Awful and Beautiful

Tahla, Morocco

The sun was about to set. It was dulling, but blazed brightly in its last hour. I was a long way from home and needed to get going before it became dark, I had at least an hour..

I lived near the countryside which wasn't that wealthy. It wasn't the poorest, but it wasn't full of bars and buildings either. It's inhabitants were mostly foreigners like me...who were looking for something different. They could have visited the large cities and the nightclubs and all that cool stuff, but that wasn't what they were searching for. They could see all that at home. I'd seen all the beautiful sights and been on the cool tours, but that wasn't enough. Like me, they longed for something simple. Something that could be awful and beautiful all at the same time.

The markets and shops were still pretty far from me...about 30 minutes walking. My teal headscarf blew softly in the wind. Covering your hair wasn't mandatory here, but I didn't want to stand out too much.. I also wore long flowing skirt that matched it. I wore white short sleeve shirt but, I still looked very "American", maybe it was due to bright blue eyes and fairly pale skin. Either way, people still treated me differently. It also wasn't mandatory to cover yourself up, but if you had any sense you would... especially where I lived. I hated drawing attention to myself anyway.

Beads of sweat laced my forehead clinging brunette strands to my face, but I was only focused on getting home. I picked up some rice, some spices, some fruits, a few vegetables and a bag of chips to take home. I only knew enough Arabic to get the essentials like clothes, food, etc. I also knew some French. I stuffed the paper bag into my knapsack so it would be easier to carry. I lifted my right arm to wipe my now sticky forehead. My silver bracelet got caught in a strand of my hair.

Instead of being careful, I yanked it along with the hair.

I could get over the pain.

6 Months Ago

Lansing, Michigan

Four years. I spent four years of my life studying and going to school. I grew up learning that going to university was the next step forward in life...that it would lead to greater things, but now that I had graduated I felt like I was back where I started. I was confused about what to do with my life. I majored in English and minored in Art, but so what? Did that mean that once I had graduated I would have every thing figured out? Of course, not. I just did what was expected of me. Now that it was over, I was left to figure out the rest.

So right now I was making money...working as an intern for a magazine. It wasn't bad, but it paid the bills and still gave me money leftover to do with as I pleased.

It was late December and I was wandering the streets. Through one of the shop windows something caught my eye. I entered the store to get a closer look. I saw one of the most glorious paintings I had ever seen. It was a portrait of a women belly dancing. I stopped to marvel at it.

"Um, excuse me? Did you paint this?" I asked the middle-aged, dark-haired woman behind the counter, who was flipping through a newspaper.

She laughed. "Oh no..no. I wish. It was done by a famous Arabic painter."

I traced my fingers along the texture. "Is it of a real person?"

"No. She got inspiration from a dancer she saw. Everything else is from her own mind I guess."

"She was visiting Morocco when she did it," She continued.

"Wow. Have you been?"

"Yes, many times."

"This one over here was painted by her as well." She walked me over to a painting of people walking through an alleyway of odd-shaped houses with colorful walls. They looked happy.

"It's not as glamorous, but it is real," She noted.

"I think its lovely."

"Yes," she agreed, before leaving me and walking over to greet a customer.

I looked at the clock hanging on the wall. I had to hurry if I wanted to get lunch and be back to work in time.

After helping the customer, she realized the door wasn't shutting and was letting the cold air. She went over to close it. On her way she knocked her newspaper from the counter-top.

"Oh, I got it." I bent down to pick it up.

She struggled before finally managing to pull it closed.

"Here you go." I looked at the headline before giving back to her. Gotham's Recovery After Months of Hell.

"Did you hear about this?" She asked me.

"Uh, no." I smiled innocently. I didn't pay attention to news anyway, especially about Gotham, considering the last few years. I didn't even own a TV. I just wrote on my laptop most of the time. I would occasionally hear about the news from my over-excitable mom. She couldn't wait to educate me on something I knew nothing about.

I glanced at the large painting once more. The dancer was seductive and beautiful, but she looked like a confident woman...who could go wherever she wanted...wherever her feet took her, without being afraid of the unknown.

The woman walked back over to the counter. "It's wonderful. You should visit." She added.

"Excuse me?" I asked, taking eyes off the painting.

"Morocco." She said. "Visit. Take pictures. Even to live... while you're still young. You might not get the chance again."

I headed for the door. "I'll think about it." I smiled as I opened the door and stepped out.

"Maybe you'll find something unexpected," She said before the door slammed shut.

PRESENT

My judgment must have been wrong because when I glanced at my watch it was almost 8 PM. The sun was completely gone and the sky was a deep dark blue. I held tightly to the straps of my bag and quickened my pace.

I turned a corner and that's when I saw a group of three men huddled around in a circle. Great, I thought as I turned for the other direction.

After yanking my bracelet from my hair, it must have come undone because when I looked at my other hand it was gone. I turned back in the direction I was heading to see it glistening in the night by the corner.

Be quick, I told myself. Don't even look up. I ran and grabbed it from the ground, stuffing it into a zipper pocket. I didn't want to look up, but I did anyway.

A man lay on the floor in front of them. They were shouting and beating him mercilessly. One of them ripped something from the man's face and it fell to the ground. He let out a loud cry. It looked like some strange type of mask.

I couldn't understand what the men were saying because of how fast they spoke. Why were the beating him in the first place? He looked weaker than them so I assumed he hadn't started it. What kind of person would pick on someone weaker than them? He wasn't even strong enough to get off the ground.

The man who was being beaten, kicked the mask to try to get it away from the men. This angered them even more, but they didn't bother to go pick it up. They continued to kick his body. He seemed more concerned with his face though. He desperately tried to keep it shielded.

The mask then rolled in front of me. Still hidden in the shadows, I thought, Should I take it? I knew that when the men were finished with him, they would take the mask and he would never get it back. I didn't know what the mask was for...but I assumed it was important to him. When the men ripped it from his face, it seemed painful. Suddenly, the man was kicked in the abdomen and I flinched as he let out a painful moan.

I had decided. I quickly grabbed the mask, then ran back to my hiding place, then moved back a little further. I stuffed it in my knapsack as well. After the men were done with him, they left him on the ground. They searched for the missing mask. I didn't know much Arabic, but I knew they were looking for the mask.

The man who was beaten, quickly limped away as the men tried to find it. I stayed hidden and followed the wounded man.

Author's Note: I've been working at this and the 2nd chapter for a while. I hope there are no mistakes.

Please let me know what you think.