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The Ghūl

Samir could see seagulls swirling high above him, squawking and squalling in their large number. They had become a regular occurrence to him and the novelty of seeing them had long since ceased. He was coming back from school. His little legs were running up the wet redbrick stairway of the housing block and, as soon as his mother’s hand twisted the key in the lock, straight into the comfort of the living-room. He frequently found the world outside, school, or whatever else was going on around him, far too confusing. In fact he didn’t really want to be a part of any of it. It seemed that being a ten year old meant that no one really cared, although when asked what’s going on he didn’t have a clue. All the same, it seemed convenient enough for him, and everyone else, to spend every pleasurable moment in the sanctity of his room – a half-decorated, whitewashed, playground for his imagination to boot with pealing wallpaper and cracks in the wall. Here even the electric sockets, unhinged f

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