Zeid Abughazaleh – Digital Marketer – Screenwriter

The clear night sky draped over the warehouse nightclub, with its hard brick walls and large glass windows encompassing the vibrant life blaring inside. The warehouse looks ancient, close to death but not quite ready to go, a contrast to the young hearts beating inside; a shell of death but a soul of life. 

The metal doors swing open and out steps Fatima, partially soaked and frustrated. Her curly hair ruined with the stick and stench of beer, her white jeans stained from bottles of wine, and mascara naturally running down her face. She takes a deep breath and looks up into the sky, hoping to find an answer for a question she can’t ask. As silence follows, she marches her way to the side of the warehouse.

Loitering on the rough walls of the nightclub, Kenji flicks on a lighter before turning it off, restarting the process over and over again. Fatima makes her way to the wall, unaware and uninterested in Kenji’s being. She pushes her back onto the wall looking forward, a noticeable distance away from Kenji. She pulls a cigarette towards her mouth and takes a puff, inhaling it till it almost starts to burn her fingers. She exhales, letting the stress of the situation go with it. Kenji watches her do this, interested in the process and smiling at her complete denial of his existence. 

“Just don’t.” Fatima demands from the loitering man.

“Don’t what?” Kenji asks with a giggle. 

“Don’t hit on me.”

“What makes you think I was going to hit on you?”