DEATH    AND    DENIAL

Muaz Mirza

Daastan Publishing

First Published in Pakistan by Daastan PVT LTD

www.daastan.com

www.meraqissa.com

Text copyrights © Muaz Mirza

Book Design copyright © Anum Ameer

Edited by: Huda Hashmi

The moral rights of the writer, illustrator and editor have been asserted. All rights reserved. This book, or any portion thereof, may not be reproduced or distributed in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

ISBN (Digital): 978-627-526-120-9

 Author’s Introduction

Muaz Mirza is a 15-year-old writer based in Lahore. Death and Denial is his first full-length book. However, his passion for storytelling began much earlier. As a child, he spent much of his time reading and writing short stories, developing a lasting interest in creating narratives and characters.

For as long as he can remember, Muaz has enjoyed coming up with new ideas and imagining original characters. He found story writing to be the most effective way to bring these thoughts to life. As the plot expanded and the story developed, he realized that these ideas deserved to exist beyond his imagination. Drawing inspiration from numerous concepts and characters he had created over the years, he combined them into a single work that brought them all together.

Beyond writing, Muaz has a strong interest in cinematography, music, and design. He is particularly drawn to creative fields that rely on personal thought, interpretation, and analysis. Death and Denial marks the beginning of his journey as a published author.

Editor’s Note

Death and Denial has been my most immersive editorial correspondence so far. Over several long months, Muaz’s manuscript transformed into a memorable piece of speculative fiction through countless discussions, revisions, and moments of reflection. Throughout this process, Muaz’s patience, eagerness to learn and attention to detail made him stand out as an author whose love for storytelling is contagious.

Moreover, Muaz undertook the task of not only writing but also publishing his debut novel during a very crucial time in his life. While balancing the demands of his A Level examination, a defining and often overwhelming stage in a young person’s life, he continued to return to this novel with persistence and care.

As a debut, Death and Denial refuses simplicity. It offers layered characters that defy conventional categorizations of what it means to be heroes or villains. Rather, the novel delves into the enigmatic human psyche. Beneath its plot is an examination of violence, loss, denial, vulnerability, and the precarious ways individuals try to survive each other and themselves.

Editing this work meant witnessing not only the growth of a manuscript but the emergence of a writer with a distinct voice and emotional honesty. It is difficult to believe this is merely the first of many stories Muaz has yet to tell.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1: A Deserving Curse                                                             1

Chapter 2: A Light in the Dark                                                           5

Chapter 3: Familiar Faces                                                                  15

Chapter 4: No Cards Left to Play                                                     32

Chapter 5: A Bittersweet Reunion                                                   37

Chapter 6: Intel is Torture                                                                52

Chapter 7: Plan in Motion                                                                 63

Chapter 8: Are We Truly Evil?                                                         77

Chapter 9: Sometimes We Make Mistakes                                   89

Chapter 10: Unexpected Hurdles                                                   108

Chapter 11: 0 Days before the Incident                                          128

Chapter 12: A Noble Man Forever                                                 156

Chapter 13: An Escape from a Fallen Dynasty                              163

Chapter 14: And the road leads back                                             176

Chapter 15: Final Stand                                                                    183

Chapter 1

A Deserving Curse

You hear the distant but off-putting howl of an alarm in the area, but you ignore it. You busy yourself with the sounds of joy and wonder, watching your two younger sisters play dress-up with your cousin, who is visibly annoyed with a slight tint of embarrassment. Your mother and father sit with the guests at the brand-new dining table, chatting about their raise.

The ambience is pleasant, almost perfect, you could say, not a squeak of unhappiness, only a good day ahead, but you ruined it. It was your ignorance that caused it to happen. You just couldn’t pay attention, could you? The thought of what could and what should have happened sears into your mind, and the guilt swallows you whole.

The alarm was urging you all to evacuate, but everyone shut it out as this day was supposed to be flawless. God chose you. He gave you the chance to at least save them. You disappointed Him. No, no — you angered Him. You don’t deserve His pity, not after what you’ve done. You’ll never forget the agony and despair in the air. And suddenly, your home wasn’t home to you anymore; it was a burial ground for your family's dead bodies lying there with confusion frozen on their faces eternally. Their mangled appearances made your skin crawl. It was just so horrific. Why them? It isn’t fair.

You then saw the guards coming to check for survivors, and no, it wasn’t to save them. You ran as fast as you could. You didn’t have any sense of direction; you just knew you had to keep going. Your idiocy made you run into a person. You were terrified of his fancy cloak and blinding medals, but he just stared at you with curiosity and… he let you go? Why would a supposed apex predator spare such a helpless human? He just pointed you to the catacombs, and as you wandered off into the distance, you saw from the corner of your eye a smirk as if he knew what you had done…. No, that can't be the reason, can it?

Quietly sneaking past the guards, you find an exit, and it leads you to more horror. More death and destruction awaited you at every step. Is this because…. why? You sit there with no light left in your eyes, just like the dead bodies surrounding you. Why live in a world like this?

“People like you don't deserve to live.”

This quiet moment of contemplation leaves you hopeless. Then you see a knife, your exit.

“You don’t deserve to live after all the suffering you’ve caused.”

You place the knife to your throat, and silent tears fall on the blade. Your hands shake, well…you were scared, but…why?

“Had no problem in taking somebody else's life, so why quiver when it's your turn.”

The ringing in your ears gets louder. You begin to press the knife onto your throat. The noise begins to morph into faint cries. But you don’t care…right? The cries turn into sharp, shrill ones; your curiosity gets the better of you. Even at a time like this, you're still being nosy. It’s coming from one of the dorms. You check, and it’s a mother holding her baby. The baby is clinging to her cold, lifeless body, crying out for a warm embrace that used to hold him, eyes searching for love and reassurance in a blank stare. He looks at you. In a person as dull as you, he’s not going to exactly find love and reassurance. You feel slightly bad for him, knowing he is doomed, now that his mother is dead.

Right now, you want anything that might delay the exit. The thought of doing it fills you with fear. As you look around the room, something catches your eye: a note beside the counter. You figure a quick peek wouldn’t hurt.

“Garret, please, I need you to come back. The war is getting worse, and I'm afraid I don’t have much time. I beg of you to take our child, and I need you to promise me to take care of him, my love.”

It never got sent. That’s…depressing. An odd thought suddenly creeps into your mind.

“What if instead of Garret coming to the baby, you take the baby to Garret?”

This idea begins to overpower your desire within mere seconds. How? You don't know! It almost feels like a divine interference, like you're meant for more. Thus, you make your decision. You keep the notice in your pocket and throw the knife. The baby has no chance of survival if he stays here. So, the least you can do is help somebody, instead of dying as a pathetic loser. God has given you a new task; you must take this baby to his father, even if it’s the last thing you can do. After all, it’s the least you can do to redeem yourself. That’s where you’re at now.

The sun begins to set in preparation for the next day, a day you never thought you'd have to witness. The atmosphere shifts from the cold, desolate one; it's warmer now. This world reeks of death and denial, but it brought you a second chance. It begs the question….is this a blessing or a curse?

Chapter 2

A Light in the Dark

“Damien! Go get the formula from the kitchen. Damien, don’t hold him so harshly, you could hurt him! Damien! Babies can’t control themselves; they will cry!

Your mother’s wisdom makes you realize the tediousness and difficulty of the task ahead; you considered it too when you looked at the baby for the first time. This task is incredibly difficult to accomplish, especially with a lack of support. You, however, still have assistance; a comforting hand rests on your shoulders during these abysmal times. You thought it was merely your guardian angel, but it is so much more than that. In your darkest times, it brought solace. In your times of confusion, it brought clarity. In your moments of suffering, it bore the weight of resistance for you. It was like... no, it is your very own personal God, but it serves more to you as a friend. Deity will always be with you; she'll never leave you for the afterlife, as your parents did. No, she wouldn’t do that. She will always protect you, no matter what you do. She whispers,

“It’ll be alright, if the grievances of the past, sheltered in the dark corners of your mind, do not interfere with the livelihood of this miraculously living infant.”

It motivates you, and you begin to scan the area. There was an abandoned, beaten-down car skulking in the shadows of the fallen debris. The only treasure you find in it is a baby bottle with a small crack in it and formula milk meant to expire in a week. You weren't a beginner when it came to taking care of babies, as you had plenty of training from feeding your baby cousin. Sorrow tries to creep in. You remember he was younger than you. Deity blocks it for you and reminds you to focus on the task at hand.

“All will be well. All will be well.”

It's time to check if the car still works. Looks like the baby isn’t the only miracle, as the car has just enough gas to get to the nearest station. But really, how miraculous can a car be when you're an inexperienced fifteen-year-old driver, that too without a license? As if that wasn't enough, your only driving guide is a five-minute YouTube tutorial your online friend sent you some three years back. You wonder if she's okay. Your mind wanders off for an instant, you wonder where you can find her, but get distracted by the car’s sudden roar, and your attention then turns to the secret compartment underneath the dirt and rust. You stare blankly, your face full of disgust as the rotten stench of the rat's carcass hits your nostrils first. Next to it is a half-loaded 1950s Olympia. What a combination. You can't wrap your head around it, but you can only assume that someone kept it there when the outpost was being attacked. Maybe it was an heirloom. It doesn’t even matter now. You don’t even question the rat’s correlation and just throw it out to get rid of that pungent, almost ammonia-like stench.

As the baby’s cries give way to quiet snoring, both you and the car get ready for the grueling journey ahead. During the ride, you notice the brown-tinted dashboard seemingly missing its door. You think to yourself, a glance wouldn’t hurt and look inside. You notice many photographs of what you can only imagine are some honorable, hardworking soldiers. Some have dates on them - 2001, 2005 - others are scribbled out. Even amidst these horrid times, these photographs warm your heart because of the goofy faces the guards are making. In one of the photos, a man gives his wife a rose. His love-filled eyes are locked with his wife’s, whose shyness reciprocates the same emotion. Tears start to stream down your cheeks. You mourn the soldiers’ death, their dead bodies lying together frozen in time, donning a strange peace - their love forever sealed in an iron fist of trust and happy memories. Deity sees you upset, and she blesses your ears with her enchanting recitation.

“Now is not the time to mourn for the dead, for they are counting on you to complete their valorous mission from above.”

A mission that is now entrusted to you. Her comforting presence puts your heart at ease for the rest of the ride, until you run out of fuel. You realize, you severely underestimated how far the station truly was. Panic begins to flood your insides. You try to come up with another plan. You can't run back. You don’t remember where the outpost was. Besides, it is too risky to continue on foot with an infant by your side. Just when you were giving up, you hear an almost deafening scream call out, “HEY KID!”

You look up, thinking you are hallucinating, but you are wrong. A man has indeed locked eyes with you, staring with utmost distrust and uncertainty, but still offering a helping hand, nonetheless. You waste no time, carefully hiding the Olympia in your jacket’s extra-deep pocket, stitched back together by your mom after you tried to stuff three footballs in it. Of course, you are hesitant to grab the baby. You are unclear of what the man's intention would be, so you grab it, ready to spring into action if needed. If you think he was shocked before, well, you should see his face now. His wonder is now reaching new heights, yet even then, he still tries to help. First, he reassures you that he isn’t here to harm you, so opening fire is futile. Besides, he doesn’t seem the type to get scared anyway. He tells you that he has a safe and clean place where you can stay.

At this point, the baby has woken up crying, sure to alert the guards to your whereabouts. Both you and the man hear the noise of wheels, growling on the cracked, worn-down roads, and people murmuring and chanting God knows what. You both try to make haste, but you know that it would be impossible to outrun them. You spot a tall, withering bush. Your only choice becomes apparent: the two of you must hide behind the tall, withering bush in hopes that the baby’s cries have not raised too much suspicion. The guards look confident and cocky while they talk to each other. They sound quite friendly, but how shocking they're trying to hunt you down. The man then tells you his name is Arnold Hernando. He is about to do something that could be a little traumatizing for you to witness. You are taken aback by this claim and let out a mocking laugh. Your entire family died in front of you, so a little roughhousing would be nothing compared to the atrocities you’ve seen. To be totally honest, you didn’t expect the dude with the wolf cut, the torn striped football jersey, and Nike sneakers to do much harm. He certainly exceeds your expectations when he withdraws a 15-inch dagger from his pocket. Clutching onto it, he motions towards the pacifier. He wants you to make sure the baby stays quiet. A task you find much more monumental than whatever he is about to do.

The first guard has his gun in his holster, looking behind a tree - unarmed and vulnerable. Arnold ambushes him, putting his hand over the man's mouth and slicing his throat with the precision of a butcher. No, it was much more meticulous. Almost like a surgeon’s precision. The man could not yell. His throat was blocked by all the blood, and all that escaped his throat were muffled choking noises. The second and third guard seemed lost in conversation about their plans. A future that was bleaker than a seaport in fog.

Arnold mumbles,

“Well, at least, they don’t have to face their fears now.”

One goes behind a bush to relieve himself, and the other one sits down, sharpening his pocketknife, looking bored and most likely daydreaming about his future riches. His irritating whistling triggers Arnold, and he lunges forward, stabbing the guard in his stomach as he screams,

“Here, here, Michael, the plan worked.”

Michael comes out with a gun aimed directly at Arnold's head. Arnold completely changes stances, covering his mouth and pointing the dagger at his head.  He yells,

“Stay back or—um… I’ll make him just another spoil of this war.”

Michael is visibly shaking, and his friend’s muffled groans aren't helping either. The other guard hears their screaming and inches closer, by the minute, to save his friends. You know you must do something, even if it means revealing your identity. If Arnold dies, it's over. You fail once again. Holding your Olympia like it’s engraved into your hand, you carefully move towards the approaching guard. He turns around, but your reaction time is no joke. You deliver an astonishing blow to his head, finishing him off entirely at the spot. For an instant, you freeze, you realize you just took a life, a life of somebody who could've had a worried mother waiting for her son to return home or kids who desperately missed their “papa” and couldn’t wait to play with him again. But none of that would happen now. You took a life. You're back at it again. As always, Deity comes to your rescue, not allowing even a second of your past to haunt you.

“You have only eased his pain and protected him from other horrors he could've faced. Had he not chosen this path, then he could have had an even worse demise.”

Thanks to Deity, you snap out of it. You go for Michael now, who, at this point, is on his knees, tears rolling down his face, begging Arnold to spare his friend’s life.

“Let him go, please, sir. He’s a newly recruited kid—h… he has a mother waiting for him. She… she’s already lost two sons to the war. Don’t add to her grief now. Oh, sir, I beg—please.”

His friend lies there, passed out from the blood loss and at this point, you can see Arnold's face softening; he's already changing his mind. Those desperate pleas make you feel sick and twisted for even attempting this, but you leap forward and aim at Michael’s legs. He screams in agony, firing aimlessly as a brutal, gushing hole builds up in his legs. The next moment, it seems that the whole world has gone ghost-quiet until Michael’s wailing pierces through the stillness of the moment.

“Jeremy—oh no… n-no!”

Arnold comes forward to say that he's just passed out, but the realization of what really happened makes his blood turn cold. You realize that when Michael was firing aimlessly, he accidentally hit Jeremy right in the heart, ending his life, before Arnold even had the chance to interfere. He curses you both as you walk forward,

“You pathetic souls—you no… it wasn’t me. This wouldn’t have happened, if it weren’t for you… I… w-we will find you. We will never let you rest till your last breath—and… Ah, mark my words, a time will come when we won’t be the pathetic vermin you could slaughter easily. You hear me? You hear me?”

Seeing your unbothered faces, Michael gave up and limped forward. His violent sobbing makes you wish for silence. He rests his face on Jeremy's cold, lifeless chest. You feel bad for him, but you're thankful that the baby is safe.

Arnold then tries to mitigate the tension.

“Wow! Um…well that sure was brutal huh…”

Arnold hears the rumbling of the baby's stomach and offers to fix him something to eat. Obviously, you permit him despite not fully trusting him yet. Whilst Arnold feeds the baby, he inquires,

“So…since I told you my name, it's only fair I get to know yours.”

“I’m…Wilson.”

You only tell him your last name because you are still unsure of the man’s intentions. He could be a spy, a bounty hunter or even a cannibal trying to lure you in! But then you look at him closely, and he seems to be really fond of the baby he just met.  He is even making silly faces to try to make him giggle. There is a kindness in his tone; he also just saved your life. So, maybe he is deranged or psychotic, but he can say the same about you! After feeding the baby with the last bit of bread he has, Arnold addresses the elephant in the room: where do we go from here? You both know that surviving solo is a foolish approach now, as the guards in this area will be on high alert due to recorded disturbances. Arnold then gives a suggestion,

“Well…. Wilson, since you're one of the first people I've seen around here who hasn’t tried to kill me, I figure that you could…. come with me, I have…a safe place! This way I’ll have some company and the baby can be taken better care of.”

You don't deserve such a generous offer. For the baby’s sake, you accept it, however reluctantly. Inching closer to the safe place, Arnold hands you a mysterious piece of paper, a notice which he yanked from one of the guard’s pockets. It looked like a contract to you, flaunting fancy fonts in rich black ink, but you still have no idea what it is. So, Arnold points out the structure of the paper to you, one by one. You recognize that these are all listings of high-ranking officials. And that's when it dawns on you - these are the people responsible for war, responsible for your current predicament.

“Rubbing salt on the wound, huh?”

“Ignore that, Damien.”

Arnold refers to it as a cool discovery, but to you, it's just a handful of people who are fanning the already lit flames. That night, as the dust settled and the stars filled the sky, you felt relieved for the first time. The night sky looked beautiful. You took that as a good omen, that maybe you had found a light in the dark.

Chapter 3

Familiar Faces

It's difficult to really believe the idea of you having a friend again. You never expected to get this far, frankly, never wanted to, either. You don't deserve a person to rely on, not after what you did to them. You can't escape the guilt; it chains you. You're stuck here, even drowning.

“Ah! Here we are at the safe place, or you know…my humble abode.”

Deity invades your mind.

“Bind yourself to the reality of your situation.”

You bring yourself back to reality. Arnold stands in front of you, a forced grin gleaming on his face. He opens the door. You enter, taking in your surroundings. You weren't expecting much, yet you were still appalled by the condition of his home. Trails of boxes tossed on the floor like a factory outlet, a couch with termite-infested seating and walls with faint patches of dampness and muck. In other words, the safe house was a mess. Arnold notices your disgusted expression.

“I know it's not the best place to spend time in, I’m…sorry about that, but maybe we could clean it up together…if you want to.”

You admire Arnold’s enthusiasm and decide to entertain his request, but it's not entirely because you feel bad or anything.

“Yeah, sure, that'd be cool. Honestly, it would be a good pastime. Again, thanks for letting me stay with you. I could never have helped the kid without you.”

“Oh dude, it’s fine, really. I should be thankful to you, and the little guy keeping me company really boosts my morale.”

Maybe Arnold isn't as bad as you think. While exploring the house, your attention immediately turns towards the old-fashioned antique baby crib with layers of golden-brown metal details engraved into the edges. It's the cleanest object you've found so far. The baby begins to feel uneasy. To resolve his discomfort, you figure it's best to put him inside the crib. At this point, the baby hasn’t just gotten a little used to your presence, but has even, to your absolute astonishment, started taking a liking to you. You trudge forward, leaving Arnold to hang the listings on his noticeboard, near his disheveled equipment.

Your impression of him was that he is not a man who cares much about appearances, despite being quite well-groomed himself. You go back to the room where the baby is. At last, the baby looks at ease and, for some reason, is giggling. It’s a strangely heartwarming sight to behold. You turn around to see an opulent, dark metallic mask with grey rhinestones sparkling around the eye and mouth area. It looks as if somebody combined a creepy clown and the devil himself. In your eyes, it is rather unsettling, but right now, you are rather uninterested in dealing with an unsettling mask. However, since you couldn't find anything else for the baby to play with, you grab the mask and place it next to him, hoping he wouldn't notice that it wasn't a toy. You walk out of the room and into reality, which is starkly different from the air in the room because of the baby's laughter. Outside, even the air reeked of impending doom.

Whilst walking back to the main lounge, a painting comes into your vision, and your curiosity gets the better of you. It is of Arnold and presumably his mother. In the painting, they both seemed glad to be around each other. It looked like they had a very strong bond growing up. However, the other photo lurking in the storage room around the overfilled trash bin revealed another story altogether. She had gone to Roshito Island, presumably leaving behind what seems to be a younger Arnold to fend for himself. The photo remains without any frame, and the fact that you found it near the trash bin proves to you that Arnold despises that day and wants every memory of it to be gone. You hear Arnold in the distance, 

“What are you doing near the trash bin…. what do you have in your hand?”

“Um…. found a photo of you and your mom…. Arnold, is she still around?”

Arnold glares at you, slightly annoyed.

“Put that back! No, she isn't around, not…anymore at least. Just…put that back now.”

You begin to realize that you just snooped through someone’s private belongings.

“I’m really sorry that was stupid of me to ask.”

“Ugh, I…dude just drop it, it's ...alright.”

Awkward silence dominates the atmosphere. To ease the tension in the room, you ask about the listings. Arnold, desperately trying to escape the conversation, exclaims,

“Well…This is every rank available in this god-forsaken war. I’m guessing, you fill out a form and send it to the post office, blah, blah, blah…. pretty useless for us basically, but here are some examples of people involved, so it'd be cool to see who's pulling the strings!”

Intrigued, you turn to the listings with the slight chance in your head that maybe, you'll be able to find out who that guy, back at the bomb drops, was. Arnold is amused by your focus and offers to further elaborate on what each of these men does, but you're already knowledgeable on the topic due to your past endeavors.