Monsters & Mysteries
By Fizza Younis
5/5
()
About this ebook
This collection is for lovers of all things mystical & unconventional.
Fizza Younis
Dr. Fizza Younis resides in the vibrant city of Lahore, Pakistan, where her journey through life has been as diverse as her country. With a Ph.D. in economics, she has delved deep into the intricate webs of financial theory, but the enchanting realms of fiction and poetry have captured her heart. As a dedicated indie author and ardent reader, she revels in the art of storytelling, crafting narratives that transcend the boundaries of her academic pursuits. Rooted in the principles of minimalism, equality, and harmony, her writing reflects her steadfast beliefs. Her stories are both mirrors of her philosophy and windows into the lives of intriguing characters navigating the labyrinth of existence. In her world, characters come alive, and their misadventures resonate with humanity's shared joys and tribulations. She sprinkles love and encouragement with every word, creating a cocoon of empathy and connection that envelops her readers. Though she might describe herself as an average person leading a mundane existence, Fizza is nothing short of spectacular in the world of fiction. Join her on a journey through the written word, where ordinary lives take on extraordinary hues, and the essence of humanity is distilled into every sentence.
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Reviews for Monsters & Mysteries
1 rating1 review
- Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5I love most of the stories in this collection. Some could've been better, but overall, it's good for short fiction lovers looking for a quick read.
Book preview
Monsters & Mysteries - Fizza Younis
The Stories That Haunted Me
CHANGE OFTEN TOOK LONGER than expected. It could be an excruciating process that might make you lose your way even before it happens. To hope only to realize it was for naught, felt awful.
Every day was the same dull routine of writing stories I didn’t care about for a magazine that didn’t appreciate me. I felt trapped in a cycle of boredom and frustration, with no escape in sight. I dreamed of leaving this job and traveling the world, writing stories that mattered to me and inspired others. But I was too afraid to take the risk. What if I failed? What if I ran out of money? What if no one liked my stories? I had too many doubts and not enough confidence. I kept telling myself that someday I would find the courage to follow my passion, but that day never came. Maybe I was being unrealistic and selfish. Maybe I should be grateful for what I had and try to make the best of it.
As soon as I stepped into the office lobby, I saw my editor waiting for me with a grim expression on his face. He looked like he had been up all night and probably had. He was always working hard to meet the deadlines and please the bosses. He was a good man, but he didn’t understand me at all. Sabirah, where is your story?
With no greeting or pleasantries, he got straight to the point, and I knew I was in trouble.
The story he talked about was far from done. Crossing my fingers behind my back, I hoped he hadn’t had the time to check his email. I sent it to you last night,
I lied with a smile that didn’t reach my eyes. Did you check your email?
I hadn’t written a single word of the story he assigned me. It was supposed to be a horror story about a haunted house, but I hated horror stories. They gave me nightmares and made me paranoid. I couldn’t write something that scared me so much.
My blatant lie must have annoyed him, and rightly so. Don’t play games with me, Sabirah,
he said coldly. I checked my email this morning and there was nothing from you.
He held up his phone and showed me his empty inbox. You’re late again. This is unacceptable.
He sighed and rubbed his temples.
I’m sorry,
I said weakly. Can we talk in your office?
Maybe if we were alone, I could explain myself better and convince him to give me another chance. Or maybe he would fire me on the spot and end my misery once and for all.
There’s nothing to talk about,
he said firmly. You have a job to do and you’re not doing it. You’re wasting your talent, Sabirah.
He looked at me with disappointment and frustration in his eyes. He shook his head sadly. You’re one of the best writers we have here, but you don’t follow the guidelines we give you.
He pulled out a piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to me. It outlined the horror story he wanted me to write. It had everything from the plot points to the character descriptions to the twists and turns, leaving no room for creativity or imagination. It was like a paint-by-numbers kit for writing stories. "This is what we need from you because this sells."
All nervousness gone, I matched the annoyance in his tone, To be honest, that outline is the problem. I can’t write like that.
I marveled at my statement, not knowing where the courage came from. But I needed to say it at least once.
His response would have sorely disappointed me if it was the understanding I hoped for. Why not? So many authors do it these days. And it’s the only way to make sure you write something we can market.
He showed me all the patience of a saint.
Seriously?
I might have said it under my breath, but I was reeling from his insensitivity to my plight.
Okay, let’s do it this way; you write a story—any story you wish to write. Then, I’ll make sure it fits the outline.
The statement was so ridiculous it had me gawking at him like a fool. After the cat returned my tongue, I said skeptically, And how are you going to ensure that?
That’s my headache, not yours. We need that story, and that’s all I know.
Sometimes, I wondered how difficult his job must be. Or was it mine that was worse? Only if I had the freedom to write what I loved instead of coming up with the stories that would sell or following the outlines I couldn’t care less for. It was all about sales these days, and no one cared about the art of writing—creating a masterpiece that would live forever.
Okay, I’ll give it another try.
There was no point in arguing with him. He wasn’t the bad guy. I was there because I needed the paycheck. Life was simple in its complexity.
Rameen scanned the pages in her hands. She lowered her eyes and bit her lip as if she couldn’t bear to look at me. Then, she tossed them on the coffee table and turned to me with a frown. How can you write this stuff? It's so boring and cliché. It doesn't suit you at all.
We sank into the plush cushions of the couch, surrounded by the fireplace’s warm glow and the scent of vanilla candles, but I felt anything but relaxed. I grabbed the remote and switched the TV channel, hoping to distract her from the topic.
When she didn’t take the hint, I snapped at her, feeling defensive. It's not like I have a choice. It's my job, and I need the money. You know how hard it is to make a living as a writer.
Lying to her was bad enough, but admitting the truth was worse.
She rolled her eyes and took a sip of her tea. She always had a way of making me feel guilty for not following my dreams. Come on, you're an amazing writer. You have so much talent and potential. You could write anything you want, and people would love it.
She smiled encouragingly at me, but I didn't share her enthusiasm.
I sighed and shook my head. You're being unrealistic. Do you have any idea how many writers are out there, struggling to get their work noticed? How many of them are starving or homeless because they can't find a decent job?
I was always cautious and practical, unlike Rameen who was adventurous and optimistic.
She shrugged and said, But you never tried it. You never gave yourself a chance to write what you love. You never took a risk.
She looked at me with a challenge in her eyes, but I wasn't ready to accept it.
And I never will.
I closed the door on that possibility, afraid of what might happen if I opened it.
She shook her head sadly and said, That's your loss.
She looked at me