At Loggerheads - By Mohommad Ihthasham

Written By: Mohommad Ihthasham

Category: Short story

Competition: Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026

In the poignant short story "At Loggerheads," Mohommad Ihthasham explores the complex tapestry of familial relationships and unresolved tensions. Submitted to the Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026, this piece invites readers into a narrative of introspection and emotional reconciliation. Set against the backdrop of a nostalgic journey to a small town in Utah, the story delves into the protagonist's struggle with his memories and the ghosts of the past. Ihthasham's writing is a compelling exploration of themes that resonate with universal truths about family, identity, and acceptance.

About the Work

"At Loggerheads" captures the essence of a profound emotional journey, as the protagonist grapples with the lingering shadows of his relationship with his father. The story is imbued with rich imagery, from the crescent moon to the scent of mashed potatoes, painting a vivid picture of nostalgia and introspection. Through a series of poignant reflections and dialogues, Ihthasham masterfully conveys the theme of seeking closure and understanding within the confines of familial bonds. The narrative is both heart-wrenching and cathartic, offering a raw and honest portrayal of the human condition.

At Loggerheads

Original Submission by Mohommad Ihthasham

At loggerheads

The crescent moon was taking its leap. The old oaks were plastered with a fiery hue. The nightingale started to sing its sad hymn.

There I was looking past the window. Tapping the steering wheel as a way to ease the pain. Nostalgic tunes of ABBA were blasting through the radio to accompany the silence which lingered inside the car.

Family reunions. A waste of energy. Served on the same paper plates, which were filled with the same mashed potato intoxicated with gravy. Awkward hugs and small talk to hide the silence.

As I made a right. Everything felt the same. As if the tiny town located in the middle of Utah, stopped and let the whole universe revolve around it without looking back. I saw the good ol’ dairy which served the best cream waffles which made every kid down the block infiltrate it like hungry rats. A tiny chuckle was released when I saw the thrift store where I used to steal rare German coins from. I was always one step ahead of the goth store clerk.

I started to hum the chorus of Mamma Mia.

I came to a sudden stop, everything felt tense when I saw the bend which my father taught me how to parallel park- It was sixteen-year-old me clutching onto the brakes as my dad howled through the window like a madman.

I stopped my M3 near the curb under the emerald evergreens. I opened the glove box, took out my cigarettes. Looked dead straight into the interior mirror, fixed my hair. Took a deep breath and knocked the door. Aunty Sammy opened the pine paneled door. A pudding like woman, vandalized by moles, wearing a rose stitched dress, “Welcome home dear”, she smiled. I walked through the door and was greeted by the smell of smashed potatoes and baked beans. The house had aged since I left. The wall paint had reached its final chapter. The gold trimmed couch had lost its colours. But the aroma hadn’t. The smell of incense danced passed my nose reminding me of mama and her love for the afterlife.

My heavy footsteps echoed as I walked along the hallway that led me to her. She was laying on her silk wrinkled sheets as tubes overflowed her body. I knelt before her as she played with my hair. Mama gave me a gentle smile and whispered, “Talk to your father”. I didn’t say a word. I kissed her forehead and marched to the living room. Sat on the rocking chair overlooking Him. There he was with all his glory. He hadn’t changed… I guess he never will. He was wearing his beaten-up overalls, his silver watch which kissed his wrist and his cat scratched work boots. His posture. Straight. His eyes. Straight. No room for error.

I sipped some ginger tea, which hugged me, which comforted me.

I stared onto him without saying a word.

I broke the silence, “Can you remember the time I broke my wrist when I tried to climb Mr. Benson’s apple tree. You demanded men don’t cry. Men never show a sign of weakness. But…. But I didn’t want to be a man. All I wanted was my dad. A dad who would make me feel as if everything would be okay”. He didn’t reply. He stared onto the dark abyss.

“You know, I always hated you. You were the worst thing that ever happened to me. I was the puppet and you held the strings. You critiqued my whole existence. From the way I laughed to whether my walk was manly enough. I couldn’t cry when things got dark. So, I grudged onto my wrist and always looked down, hiding the coward I was. I was scared I’ll never be the son you dreamt of. You know something funny; I don’t think I ever met your crazy expectations”.

The twitters of the garden frogs filled the void. I held onto the cold tea as tears sprinkled down my crusty cheek.

“I hated the fact that you were my father, that I started to shave my beard. I couldn’t stand the fact that we looked the same. So, I did everything I possibly could to change myself”. Genetics what a joke.

He didn’t reply. He was cross legged, reading the daily mail. I got to my knees and screamed, “why didn’t you love me? Why did you make me hate myself, hate the fact that out of every possibility you…. you had to be my father?”

I brushed the tears off my face and gave a deep sigh. I went out, picked up a cigar and puffed out hoping the demons would stop.

“I know you aren’t a monster. Deep down I knew you loved me. I knew you cared. I always knew you were never loved until mom showed up. But it affected me in ways I cannot explain. All I wanted was the assurance that you loved me”.

I polished the crumbs out of my acid washed jeans. Held onto dad and slowly but steadily placed him inside my car. His silver stoned casing was tight on the passenger seat.

We drove… We drove to somewhere only we know. Deep into the forest welcomed by the mountains which whispered secrets and onto the lake where dad taught me how to skip stones.

I picked up dad’s soul, enforced in a silver vase and walked towards the ripples of the water.

I cracked open the jar and poured his ashes onto the lake. The pine trees stood in reverence as I poured his spirit. Accepting him as a father even though he made me question my sanctuary.

I silently walked back to the car. Sat. Cried. And accepted…

Goodbye dad.

About the Competition

The Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026, hosted by Hashtag Kalakar, is a prestigious platform celebrating the diverse voices of writers worldwide. This competition encourages participants to express their creativity and narratives, fostering a global appreciation for the literary arts. It serves as a significant opportunity for writers to share their unique stories and connect with a broader audience, contributing to the vibrant tapestry of contemporary literature.

We extend our heartfelt thanks to Mohommad Ihthasham for sharing "At Loggerheads" with us in the Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026. Through the narrative's emotional depth and vivid storytelling, Ihthasham offers a touching exploration of familial bonds and personal reconciliation. We are honored to feature this compelling story and look forward to more captivating works from him in the future.

About Hashtag Kalakar

Hashtag Kalakar is a creative platform dedicated to providing artists, writers, singers and other creative talents with opportunities to showcase their work and reach wider audiences through competitions, features and creative initiatives.