The Spider Killings (19)

Fate could not be that cruel

Roxanne was smoking her fifth cigarette of the night, leaning against one of the side doors at the police station, which opened into a narrow side street. With Majid’s whereabouts unknown, she did not feel safe enough at her hotel and had asked Ramin to allow her to hang out with him. The memory of Majid holding her daughter’s photograph threateningly would not have allowed her to go to sleep anyway. Thank god she had been able to reach Manou to take the necessary precautions. He had taken Setareh with him to shomaal, to the popular seaside resort that lay to the north of Tehran, where nobody would know they were>>>


The Theater of War

"We don't want peace. We want war!"

Fields of battle throughout history where men had fought and died had culminated in the beautiful sand dunes of the Presidio of San Francisco serving as the theater of war for a group of students from Presidio Hill School, and the young man who had brought them there thought that that must have often been the case - that even the sight of the bay in the distance added to the spirit of battle for its participants, rather than contrasted with it. Each group had probably believed that nature was on its side, and nature hadn't been able to tell anyone that it wasn't on either side, or at the least it was on both sides, but most of all it was on the side of those who had laid down their arms, or had never picked them up in the first place. They were the ones most in need of something on their side anyway>>>


Based on an Old Persian anecdote

01-May-2008 (2 comments)
“Have you met our new neighbors?” Bob asked his wife.
“Not yet. They just moved in a couple of days ago. After they settle in we should go and meet them.” She responded.
“Where are they from?” He asked.
“They look Middle Eastern to me. But their two girls were probably born here. They speak perfect English. They were talking to April the other day. They got along well.” She commented. >>>


The Spider Killings (18)

This could be the break Ramin had so desperately been looking for

29-Apr-2008 (2 comments)
Azadeh woke up in a cold sweat. For a few seconds, she looked around disoriented at the unfamiliar room in which she had been sleeping. She was lying in a lower bunk bed and someone was snoring on the top. In front of her, another set of bunk beds was erected against the wall, where other women were lying asleep. Her first instinct was to look for Yassi and then, she remembered. The awful reality that her friend was dead smashed her with a hard thud on her forehead like a stone aimed at her with a vengeance from afar>>>


The Pomegranate Path (3)

Chapter 3: Taroff

25-Apr-2008 (one comment)
Back at Ollie’s house his mother was brushing her long, silky black hair after having taken her evening shower.Sitting at her vanity mirror in her house robe and slippers, she looked intently at the fine lines which in the past few years had begun to form around her eyes.Even now at forty-nine, she was a fine-looking woman by anyone’s standards. Every night, she meticulously went through the same routine of applying an assortment of expensive creams and lotions to her striking face and gorgeous neck.No one could ever accuse her of not trying her very best to hold back the toll that the hands of time inevitably inflict upon every once young and once beautiful woman.She wasn’t entirely convinced that her regimen of beauty products was having the desired effect, but at least she wasn’t giving up without a fight>>>


تصادف با شیر

پنج نفر در قفس شیر؟ دروغ می گویی!

24-Apr-2008 (2 comments)
کم کم دارد جزئیات به یادم می آید! من هم یادم نیست از کجا می آمدیم یا کجا می رفتیم. همین قدر یادم هست که ماشین را در دنده ی خلاص گذاشته بودم، گرم اختلاط بودیم و سرازیری جاده ی"پهلوی" را که "مصدق" شده بود، و هنوز مانده بود تا "ولی عصر" بشود، آرام به پایین می لغزیدیم، که ناگهان اتفاق افتاد. نزدیک بود قالب تهی کنم. آره! یادم هست که جیغ کوتاهی کشیدی که بیشتر شبیه به یک ناله بود، انگار که بگویی؛ خدایا! یا عجب بدشانسی! همان وقت بود که متوجه شدم چیزی پیچیده در یک چادر، روی کاپوت ماشین می لغزد. مثل این که در آن لحظه هیچ کداممان جلو را نگاه نمی کردیم! تعجب من هم از همین بود. در درازای چند ثانیه ای که ترمز کردم و پایین آمدم، صدها فکر در ذهنم می چرخید.>>>


The Spider Killings (17)

How could Mahin get Hossein out of this mess now?

Azadeh and Roxanne had just finished washing Yassi’s body at the mosque. It had been a grueling task. Azadeh remarked to herself that in death, Yassi resembled her more than she had during her lifetime, her body covered with cuts and scratches like her own. They had never looked so much like sisters. Except these wounds had not been self-inflicted and they had been deadly. Exiting the mosque, a feeble and trembling Azadeh was supported by Roxanne on her way home. The older woman had been at the side of the young girl almost exclusively for the past two days.>>>



Short story

“Would you like another one?” The man sitting at the bar offered the woman next to him.
“Are you trying to get me drunk?” Uma replied in a seductive tone while playing with the empty glass in her hand.
“I enjoy your company. I like to prolong our exciting conversation.” He responded.
“I have every reason to be skeptical of your intentions.” She sneered.
“That’s because you’re cynical. I like that in a woman.” >>>


The Spider Killings (16)

The woman was kneeling in a pool of black liquid. There was no doubt about it. It was blood.

Roxanne went straight to Peyman’s house after checking in at her hotel in Mashad. Though she had telephoned Ramin from Tehran about her friend’s disappearance, she found that she could not sit by the telephone, idly awaiting news from the Brigadier-General. She must be there in person. There had been another row with Manou but Roxanne was used to that. What she was more upset about was leaving Setareh again. She would tell her daughter about everything once she got back to Tehran. It was high time she knew the details of her mother’s work. It would help her to understand. When she reached Peyman’s home, the door was slightly ajar. She pushed it open and walked in. No sign of Peyman.>>>


The Pomegranate Path (2)

Chapter 2: Tea Leaves

19-Apr-2008 (3 comments)
It was exactly 5:03 when Ollie walked in the door. “Ali joon, is that you?” his mother called out from the kitchen. “Baleh, maman! Kohjahee?” Ollie answered. “I’m in the kitchen,” she hollered back. He didn’t need to ask her what she was doing because he could smell the sweet, yet pungent aroma of pomegranate paste in the air, and he knew in an instant that this could mean only one thing – khoreste fesenjan, or simply fesenjan, for short! Ollie never could figure out why his mother and other Iranians spelled fesenjan in English the way they did, f-e-s-e-n-j-a-n; the way they pronounced it when speaking Persian was f-e-s-e-n-j-o-o-n. Fesenjan was Ollie’s favorite Persian food>>>


 Saving the Death

In her half sleep Mary sees the earth open and a hand grabs her

18-Apr-2008 (3 comments)
Mary secretly moves her air mattress and blanket to the Red Cross tent, where the corpses are laid out in plastic bags. Since there is no running water to give them a proper Islamic wash, someone will come tomorrow to give them ablution by earth before they are buried in a mass grave. She sets her cot by the opening of the tent and lies with her back to the dead; It is better to breathe the freezing air of the desert winter, than the odour of decaying bodies. Two corpses—a young woman and a young man partly wrapped in white cotton sheets—share a plastic bag as if asleep side by side. Mary feels a pang in her breast and gasps.>>>


The Islamic Mission to Europe

Translation of never published work

16-Apr-2008 (8 comments)
On the auspicious day of 25 of Shawwal (the tenth Muhammedan month, beginning with the feast of breaking the fast of Ramadan) of the year 1346, representatives of the Muslim nations were solemnly invited to participate in a conference in Samarrah, one of the prosperous cities of Arabia, in order to deliberate and consult about sending a team of missionaries to disseminate and promulgate the orthodox Islamic teachings throughout the world. Mr. Crown of the Orators (Taj ul-Mutakallimin) was the president, Mr. Nightingale of Islam (‘Andalib ul-Islam) the deputy, Mr.Helm of the Law (Sukkan u-ShShari’a) the consultant and accountant, and Mr. Chief of Commanders (Sunnat ul-Aqtab) the stenographer of the conference>>>


The Pomegranate Path

Chapter One: Head’s Roll

The sun was just beginning to rise over the March horizon as Ollie’s new alarm clock began to ring. He struggled to open his eyes, but with the room still dark and the bed so invitingly warm, he fought to resist the temptation to lay back down for just a few minutes more. The last time that he closed his eyes for just a few minutes more, he ended up being an hour and a half late for school. This is the reason why his mother bought him this damn new monstrosity. As he struggled to consciousness, the fleeting thought popped into his groggy head that this was no ordinary clock; no, this was Big Ben!>>>


The Spider Killings (15)

Looking at the young girl laying lifeless before his feet, he felt all the rage, anger and frustration

15-Apr-2008 (one comment)
Babak had not dreamt of his mother Fati in a long time. He still missed her a lot but he was glad he was not having his nightmares anymore where a creature resembling his mother but smelling of damp earth and with two gaping black holes where its eyes should have been would fool him into thinking she was still alive, waiting for him at Kuh Sangi Park. Accepting the harsh reality that his mother was gone forever and would never come back to pick him up from Mahin Khanoom’s house had been a traumatic ordeal for the five year old>>>


Tehran Nights

Part V

14-Apr-2008 (4 comments)
Ross opened a set of double-doors. The doors were arched. The arches hinted at a theme in the house. The design was replicated in the frame of the burgundy-velvet draped windows placed strategically around the home for auxiliary privacy. As we followed him through the luxueux abode, the music got louder and louder. A drum-like beat complimenting the song playing in the background, Sharam’s ‘Party all the Time’, led us to the crowd. Walking through the candle-lit passage and into the first of five bays, we were faced with the ecstasy-party bit in the opening scene of Syriana, but infinitely swankier. High quality, everything.>>>