About the Book

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Rafat paused in his cleaning, stepped outside, and pulled out his golden fountain pen, a birthday present from his mother. That was the advantage to night cleaning. He could always stop to capture a couple of lines. He couldn't be certain, but it felt like his songs were getting stronger.

     Night sky, tight sky

     everything all right sky,

     soon no moon,

      babe, let's croon.

Maybe spoon? Both old-fashioned words which his mom would appreciate, haha.

     He was about to start another verse, but before he could write "Light sky," he saw a flash of something in his peripheral vision, something shining in the dusty moonlight.

     "No!" he thought, turning to face the assailant, Rafat's pen extended like a weapon.

     The knife cut into him before he could lunge. It struck again and again. The young man was dead before he hit the ground, notebook clenched in his hand. His cherished fountain pen rolled quietly away from his body, as steps retreated.