Gretly's Mind

My name is Ahmed Gretly, and I live in Cairo, Egypt. I'm a published writer, a Civil Engineer, a poet, a freelancer, a researcher, a daydreamer, and a psychopath. I write fiction, mostly short stories and novellas. I also enjoy reading, photography, and art in general.

Welcome to my blog.

I'll be posting things I like and that inspire me.

Go to this link if you wanna check out my writings: http://anadergretly.wordpress.com/
Oh, yeah. Look at her.

Oh, yeah. Look at her.

We had a sandstorm on site today. I was not amused about it. Yeah.

We had a sandstorm on site today. I was not amused about it. Yeah.

12 meters below the natural ground level.

12 meters below the natural ground level.

The aftermath of a tiny twister we had on site today. I couldn’t photograph the actual thing because, well, too much sand.

The aftermath of a tiny twister we had on site today. I couldn’t photograph the actual thing because, well, too much sand.

Plywood formworks of RC footings/ground beams. The building has 18 footings and 41 ground beams, varying in shape and size, so I have decided to carry out the steel works simultaneously with the formworks in order to save time. It is working rather well. You must have class A carpenters, and blacksmiths in order to accomplish such intricate work in a small amount of time.

#ConstructionEngineering #Building #CivilEngineering

Plywood formworks of RC footings/ground beams. The building has 18 footings and 41 ground beams, varying in shape and size, so I have decided to carry out the steel works simultaneously with the formworks in order to save time. It is working rather well. You must have class A carpenters, and blacksmiths in order to accomplish such intricate work in a small amount of time.

#ConstructionEngineering #Building #CivilEngineering

The Lights, #prose by A. N. Gretly


Skid marks on black asphalt tell tales of sudden frights, mesmerising white dashes scurry beneath me, the blurred lights of a thousand cars paint visions in my mind. Tiresome day on my shoulders as I drive home in my metallic skin, and in this silver cacoon, I ponder life and how it moves all around me. And I gaze at the weary faces of those whom I am linked to through this ragged desert road. I imagine their stories, where they have been, where they are heading. Sometimes it is mundane, but other times I see a thing or two that truly set my mind into a frenzied rampage of utter visualisations. It is rare to see a lonesome driver smiling, for the lonesome brood upon their lives, they sink into their own heads, well, unless they are truly sad, that is when you see them singing silly tunes with the radio blasting at full volume. Ah, humans can be strange. Skid marks on black asphalt tell tales of sudden frights, mesmerising white dashes scurry beneath me, the blurred lights of a thousand cars paint visions in my mind. I am a lonesome driver, but I do not sing alone, I sink and sink into this abyss, letting my tiredness poison my mind with visions upon visions. Driving the streets with a windshield view of the world. Driving the world with a windshield view of the streets. And the streets spread in front of me, and the colours and the sounds and the smells, and every single thing in between. I perceive everything but understand nothing at all, but I do not mind, I do not mind. And then a screech changes everything. Eyes dilate, heartbeats quicken, and the world jumps back into focus. Skid marks on black asphalt tell tales of sudden frights, mesmerising white dashes scurry beneath me, the blurred lights of a thousand cars paint visions in my mind; well, I am not dead yet.



#Writing #ShortProse #CreativeWriting

The Lights, #prose by A. N. Gretly


Skid marks on black asphalt tell tales of sudden frights, mesmerising white dashes scurry beneath me, the blurred lights of a thousand cars paint visions in my mind. Tiresome day on my shoulders as I drive home in my metallic skin, and in this silver cacoon, I ponder life and how it moves all around me. And I gaze at the weary faces of those whom I am linked to through this ragged desert road. I imagine their stories, where they have been, where they are heading. Sometimes it is mundane, but other times I see a thing or two that truly set my mind into a frenzied rampage of utter visualisations. It is rare to see a lonesome driver smiling, for the lonesome brood upon their lives, they sink into their own heads, well, unless they are truly sad, that is when you see them singing silly tunes with the radio blasting at full volume. Ah, humans can be strange. Skid marks on black asphalt tell tales of sudden frights, mesmerising white dashes scurry beneath me, the blurred lights of a thousand cars paint visions in my mind. I am a lonesome driver, but I do not sing alone, I sink and sink into this abyss, letting my tiredness poison my mind with visions upon visions. Driving the streets with a windshield view of the world. Driving the world with a windshield view of the streets. And the streets spread in front of me, and the colours and the sounds and the smells, and every single thing in between. I perceive everything but understand nothing at all, but I do not mind, I do not mind. And then a screech changes everything. Eyes dilate, heartbeats quicken, and the world jumps back into focus. Skid marks on black asphalt tell tales of sudden frights, mesmerising white dashes scurry beneath me, the blurred lights of a thousand cars paint visions in my mind; well, I am not dead yet.

#Writing #ShortProse #CreativeWriting

This shall be the last face you see…

This shall be the last face you see…

The Searcher, #prose by A. N. Gretly


Sentinel eyes watch from behind closed doors, quivering breaths break this eerie silence, only the brave walk the streets. I search once more for meaning, but the truth scurries away whenever it senses that I am near, it runs and hides in the shadows, it huddles up with all these things that do not want to be found. Frightened footsteps hurry through dark alleys, forbidden tales told in the night, and as the clock strikes midnight, and the bells toll bong-bong, only the crows gather around to plan their next move. An old man coughs, a young girl sighs, and I, I walk the streets once more. Sentinel eyes watch from behind closed doors, quivering breaths break this eerie silence, only the brave walk the streets. I see it now, but just because it is right there before me, it does not mean I understand it, for to comprehend it is to sink into the depths of its meaning, and I am not, and will never be ready for that. This is the truth that I know, that I am as scared as the others, that this horrid disease has also affected my heart and mind, but here I am, limping in search of something I already know, afraid, so very afraid, but my fright does not bring me down, it does not shackle me like it does the others, no, it pushes me forward to my own demise. Sentinel eyes watch from behind closed doors, quivering breaths break this eerie silence, only the brave walk the streets; and so on, and so forth.


#Writing #ShortProse #CreativeWriting

The Searcher, #prose by A. N. Gretly


Sentinel eyes watch from behind closed doors, quivering breaths break this eerie silence, only the brave walk the streets. I search once more for meaning, but the truth scurries away whenever it senses that I am near, it runs and hides in the shadows, it huddles up with all these things that do not want to be found. Frightened footsteps hurry through dark alleys, forbidden tales told in the night, and as the clock strikes midnight, and the bells toll bong-bong, only the crows gather around to plan their next move. An old man coughs, a young girl sighs, and I, I walk the streets once more. Sentinel eyes watch from behind closed doors, quivering breaths break this eerie silence, only the brave walk the streets. I see it now, but just because it is right there before me, it does not mean I understand it, for to comprehend it is to sink into the depths of its meaning, and I am not, and will never be ready for that. This is the truth that I know, that I am as scared as the others, that this horrid disease has also affected my heart and mind, but here I am, limping in search of something I already know, afraid, so very afraid, but my fright does not bring me down, it does not shackle me like it does the others, no, it pushes me forward to my own demise. Sentinel eyes watch from behind closed doors, quivering breaths break this eerie silence, only the brave walk the streets; and so on, and so forth.


#Writing #ShortProse #CreativeWriting

Oh, it’s been a looooooong day. 


#ConstructionEngineering

Oh, it’s been a looooooong day.


#ConstructionEngineering

Lost, #prose by A. N. Gretly


Lost in a vast expanse of overgrown grass, I turn skywards, and see a canopy of electrical wires like dormant snakes. And in this urban jungle, and in these desolate streets, I walk alone, like a voyager on a journey to an unknown destination, forever searching for meaning, for secrets that would unravel the mysteries of this post apocalyptic wasteland. I see ghosts of men in business suits wandering about, busy with their their pointless errands, and their zombie eyes stare blankly at the world as it goes by in an infinite loop comprised of utter bitterness; when the day is done, they go back to their wives who are so desperate for a gentle touch that they dream of running away, and having mindless animal sex with that waiter, or that young delivery boy who smiled at them this one time. Lost in a vast expanse of overgrown grass, I turn skywards, and see a canopy of electrical wires like dormant snakes. But these streets, they gnaw at your insides like rabid dogs, they tear you to bits, and leave you to die. This old asphalt has seen a lot of toil, it is now sozzled on the blood of ancient warriors who battled the demons that roamed the land. And I walk these streets, and I walk these streets, and my compass shows me the way, where ever that may be. My path is filled with dried gore, and I stagger along, ignoring the sights and smells, ignoring the horrors of those who have traveled before me, knowing one day, my turmoil shall be ignored as well. Lost in a vast expanse of overgrown grass, I turn skywards, and see a canopy of electrical wires like dormant snakes; time to go home.


#Writing #ShortProse #CreativeWriting

Lost, #prose by A. N. Gretly


Lost in a vast expanse of overgrown grass, I turn skywards, and see a canopy of electrical wires like dormant snakes. And in this urban jungle, and in these desolate streets, I walk alone, like a voyager on a journey to an unknown destination, forever searching for meaning, for secrets that would unravel the mysteries of this post apocalyptic wasteland. I see ghosts of men in business suits wandering about, busy with their their pointless errands, and their zombie eyes stare blankly at the world as it goes by in an infinite loop comprised of utter bitterness; when the day is done, they go back to their wives who are so desperate for a gentle touch that they dream of running away, and having mindless animal sex with that waiter, or that young delivery boy who smiled at them this one time. Lost in a vast expanse of overgrown grass, I turn skywards, and see a canopy of electrical wires like dormant snakes. But these streets, they gnaw at your insides like rabid dogs, they tear you to bits, and leave you to die. This old asphalt has seen a lot of toil, it is now sozzled on the blood of ancient warriors who battled the demons that roamed the land. And I walk these streets, and I walk these streets, and my compass shows me the way, where ever that may be. My path is filled with dried gore, and I stagger along, ignoring the sights and smells, ignoring the horrors of those who have traveled before me, knowing one day, my turmoil shall be ignored as well. Lost in a vast expanse of overgrown grass, I turn skywards, and see a canopy of electrical wires like dormant snakes; time to go home.


#Writing #ShortProse #CreativeWriting