يعبر الزمن على دراجة

My surrender did not last, because the ball of the sun began to rise from my chest, rising, and then a striking, luminous hole appeared in it - I feel my eyes alive - and around the hole was a black circle with a ring of light around it, and the sun formed like a mermaid’s eye and began to get smaller and rise, until the universe became brighter again - of course - I am alive, this is our house, this is its wide-paneled door, but how did its panels become more polished and shiny? And this is the staircase of our house, yes it is, clay and wood, and these are the walls of the house, its bricks, its cracks, even the joints between its bricks I know, but they are cleaner: the clay particles shine as if they were coated with glass powder, and the house, all its things are cleaner, people move normally, no one asks what happened, and no one speaks as usual when the effects of the disaster are over, my mother kneads, yes she kneads, her dough looks like milk, and her shovels shine like the panels of a door. “The Broad House.” Hussein Mansour awakens what can be described as sleeping writing, which travels within the subconscious, producing disturbed visions that are translated in the form of paragraphs that oscillate between dreams and nightmares. What is striking here is the writer’s ability to draw imagination in the form of living words, which cannot be changed, because they are in their exact position, like an image from which no element can be excluded. And in the story “Time Passes by on a Bicycle,” we read: “My father would not consult me in a dream he told or a story I told, no matter how strange it was, so he would not ask me about the man who He grew wings and flew until he rose to the minaret of the mosque... How did he fly? He was not lying to me about the story of the wolf that met me when I was returning from school. I threw a brick at him and hit him in the eye. He ran to his mother crying like a little puppy and did not inquire about how I rode on the back of the whale, and he floated with me in the sea and made me see everything in it, the colorful fish, sharks, and coral reefs that we see in the science book. My father was not surprised by my stories about the fairies and goblins that I see in the dark I was afraid of her, but he was urging me to continue the story by asking him: What next?