Burning Faces

By George Zamalea

In human experience, there is nothing at all than desire, even when we don't know where the desire is heading, then there is only one emotion that seems to adjust to another level of living, lust, which blows through our life, sometimes gently, sometimes brutal, the maximum pleasure of living.
Burning Faces show how several women and men, with different backgrounds and cultures, reveal their inner emotions and experiences and loves and sex. They are attached to their stories and boundaries but rather to leave them feeling victimized they enjoy the freedom of being woman, being man, which through their relationship as fantasy stir their creative. They provide the experience of singleton, marriage, and sexual references in the never-ending struggles between them.

• Language: English
• Publisher: George Zamalea
• Release date: May 6, 2016
• ISBN: 9781310889301

George Zamalea

George Zamalea is a graduated student with degrees in Literature, Philosophy and History. Mr. Zamalea Lived in Spain, France, Italy, and Brazil. He received a recipient of Creative Writing & Language in USA. Awards: First place of the 2011 International Latino Book Awards in the category of Best Spiritual / New Age book in English with the Six Seasonal Amendments, A Hispanic Inspiration. He is a member of the Academy of American Poets, Society of Children's Book Writers & Illustrators, Latino Now, NALIP, Writing & Nonsense Club and American Hispanic in Journalism. His publications and literary journals include the Screech Owl, and others. He is currently working on Animal. He Lives in Rosamond, California.

Book preview

Burning Faces

By George Zamalea

Smashwords Edition / Copyright 2016

George Zamalea

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only.  This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people.  If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient.  If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy.  Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author

Book cover artist

By Self-PubBookCovers.com/LeatherMan

Burning Faces

SMASHWORDS, LICENCE NOTES All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead is coincidental.

Table of Contents

Ussula Ahmandinalleh

Nya Petrozavodsk

Joyce Camposanto

Anne Pérignon

Beatriz Tocqueville

Deanne Takikachi

Ray Hurley

Samantha Foxx

Patty Mills

Debbie van Servez

Leslie Bagby

Nina Praya

Julian Pruhs

Yevine Smyth

Chalsea Lapierre Deauville

Sarah Guldsom

Latonya

Anomie

Elle

Ussula

Chalsea Lapierre Deauville

Ussula

Sonia Cabrera

Nya Petrozavodsk

Ussula

Graciela Amontes

Roby Johnson

Claudia Oggini

Acknowledgements

About the author

Other books by George Zamalea

Ussula Ahmandinalleh

Baghdad, Iraq

She's exceptional sexy, gorgeous, I say, which I am playfully opening to it without any reservation. I'm modeling her; I am dreaming about her and I cannot hide this sin of watching her in her green army uniform. There is the thought of desire because of this hard way of her living, in the way she is risking her life every single day because of her belief and meaning, as if it were a physical object of pleasure like a little girl wishing to reach the high apple of a tree.

Once upon a time, she is attached to that dream since she was a child. Her Mother had said many times, You could not have too much love for your friend Bvala, Ussula.

A mother would never found one daughter absolutely attached to it. This friendship is prohibit when both of them are lying together in the tall glasses next to the riverbank, laughing each one of the most silly events, and staring at each one searching inside their soul the exclusive path of heaven. That mother of hers would never go to understand that. That there is the most clear intention and she does not even know she wants her to understand really what her Mother is thinking when she is seeing her with Bvala, and it is all right for the fact she never has experience such attraction can exist at all between two barely children. But it is a conscious sentiment. There is no fantasy and it is quite well not to have it to the coming years, rather the fear in front of her Mother's ignorance.

On the other hand, once again, it should be attached to that past what she is feeling now from her mother's rejection. These rejected laws of attractiveness, and it clearly has taken her to another level of seeing herself wondering if there is a different between Man's tenderness and Woman's enlightenment in front what she senses to her American soldier friend: The unique of softness, the carefully holding, the pleasing notions, and finally the whole satisfaction of being held by such monumental achievement; but it appears to grow inside her from a human alienation. Especially, from those who do not believe the magic of Sappho.

Praised are you, O Lord our God Allah,Kind of universe you fix the cycles of light And darkness; you ordain the order of all Creation: your radiant mercy is upon its Inhabitants.

Twenty years later she writes this thought again on the real journal as a mirror in front of this thought before her American Soldier Girl. As a whole grains eaten by the great wish of being listened, and able to talk of God or Allah, has been swallowed by this simple rule:

No perfect acceptation should be perfect given.

Ussula Ahmadinalleh has long black hair. Working with long dress and a tag across her chest she moves freely back and forth inside the American campus. Her face wears a mask of traditional young girl of respect and love, that secret love.

I've not free except when I am working in American campus, once she has to her American Friend.

Her face is featured: photogenic, and she has rounded eyes. She had well-composed chic and abundant eyebrows, and she is indeed a dazzling, enchanting girl. She is tall, healthful, and with long legs. Her skin is, well, like this bud set up behind the shallow of a tree. It was delicate and soft, making up a vanity case: without adornment, without eyeliner or lash; just the smooth, natural retextured skin of an unborn baby; but alone, when she has her day off, which would bring attention to the American soldiers and many more, except her, she feels to touch her face with a Westerner desire.

You look different today, Ussula, one of the wounded soldiers said in the hospital or in the pharmacy, reading impatiently the last lists of the deaths and wounds in the Hospital Board.

Thanks!

And then she hurries off.

During this observation for months she wonders: I unequivocally realize that there are things a woman cannot see me as a woman. It is a matter of time it would come. And I would not know this until the day arrives. I am still virgin and innocent to the quality of giving. I like to penetrate by those lips of girls who have the same innocent thoughts of given. Can be so hard?

Is this story about her? Is this story about this war? Is this about many girls, women like her or about that American girl she admires so much?

She says: It is about things that few in Iraqis women or Middle East wondering how it can be possible or in the quietly path of survival heaven there is a way to create such paradise of love because of the emotion involve.

It is about her as many others.

Her name is Ussula Ahmadinalleh, and while her name takes all of the movement of your mouth and palate, she is very serious who she is or where she lives and where she comes from.

Of course it's a relief to say it.

This is not a story about who she is or where she lives in, which she tries to make it as simple as possible in her own term. It clarified then what she has said above, especially to any interpretation.

She is Ussula, any Iraqis woman. Not only that she is a woman who have outrageously praise for beauty or who admires the ranks. She is 25, single, and it is rare in a culture of macho and rigid fundamentalism, that she is alone and single, and that she loves herself very much, and women.

She is from the mostly Shiite Muslim neighborhood of Kadhimiya, and she is a registered nurse with a Bachelor degree from the University of Baghdad, and she is working at the USA Fortified in Baghdad, a place that has become her primary residence when her whole family was killed last year in Sadr City. She cures wounded American soldiers and she has seen all mutated bodies and parts and she believes when she says this is not about war, terrorism or low life dream, rather this fear of shame, this compulsive feeling of being hugged or pointed out, that is still there and hurt her like a crazy bullet in her stomach.

It's about her like many through these pages.

Non-denial

Lack of betrayal

Usually unconscious

She has even gone as far as beating herself completely as any self-punished believer, which actually it deeper until she felt exhaust or passed out in her private quarter next to the Official Rooms several yards from the Pharmacy.

Allah knows, she is after its courses, to the promising of its Will, and she is quite honest what she is feeling is not abnormal. But admiration isn't a sin for women like hers who are aware about beauties, the delicacy that men ignore to detect, the balance and the solemnity that a woman pursuit in front of them who have all the secrets to multiply it in a great privilege.

And when she began to look at this, no wonder she doesn't realize how consistent she was when she saw Lynnette, or how confuse or painful if she did not see Lynnette's name among the deaths or wounds. It was that communication about her feelings, in silence, that emotional one that makes her to have such reliability of trust.

But this feeling isn't coming because of it. It would not come what she has told herself in such self-sufficient that Lynnette is alive. Rather it has grown slowly, listening to the bombs from nearby or the news of suicide bombers, and adding other motives, where her parents were killed.

She thought: I have that motion, with a little alteration, that's more of that.

In past months there is a sense of unsafely and chaotic changing she has found herself enjoys the company of Lynnette, who has been discharged temporarily from her duty, to have a couple of days off, and to visit the few safety places in Baghdad. In the street, wearing both the traditional clothes of Muslim code, she can feel her heart pounding. Obviously, she thinks her American Soldier must feel it too, but there was a distance to her emotion, which Lynnette took Ussula as her sister, and which she also seeks to reproduce in it her sisterhood to receive such sort of attention.

I consider myself to be pretty cool about that.

She is her sister, her lovely sister. She is her everything. She has found, however, the thrill. The painful reality if Lynnette would discovery this fascination for her, because she seeks a partner who is very alive and associated to that cocktail emotion.

In their walking, regardless of whether those experiences are only hers, regardless of the dangers, they always have a great time together. With that smile of Lynnette’s mouth and with thoroughly explanation what she sees or feels (except Ussula’s burning desire toward the American Soldier Girl) there is nothing more profound of this and it rewarded her, her secret love. And this chaos, fear, critical, she admired Lynnette more than ever. Last week she took her to the countryside. Away from the smoky city or blood, she showed her the real beauty of her Iraq.

Ussula saw her lovely American Soldier Girl was very happy. She was laughing, out of this green fatigue, and she was unable to hide her happiness and that essence of her young heart.

They were there, their faces naked, receiving the sun, and where she has accomplished those unconscious goals, she knew it was not the perfect time to say her how beautiful she was.

She was looking at Lynnette. Her eyes, her face, her lips, but only if she fantasized her in night or in prays, and she came to think it like a crazy dream, it would be unfair to produce such quivering. Needless to say, she told her about her future, and Lynnette told her about hers.

A love, a fear of dying, she had told her.

Of course, then she couldn't know that. In retrospect she realized she was that love, and she was fascinated that she was still! So, that was how her identity for her rotten in her.

And now finally she is about to love her first woman openly. Perhaps, because she has always thinking on her, or she has a judgment for Lynnette, she began to feel her deep in her heart. Thus she approached it differently,