The Spider Killings (6)

Ramin knew this was the work of one man

The opium was already starting to lift Ramin up onto a sensual, cottony cloud when he was suddenly yanked back violently to earth. Mandana’ smiling, rosy face had morphed into that of an eye-less, decaying Fati. Fati, the seventh victim. Fati, poor Fati. She was not anonymous anymore. She had been a wife, a mother. Her son, Babak, had stood there staring at Ramin with hate, telling him he was a liar, that his mother was not dead, that she was waiting for him at Kuh Sangi Park. But Fati was dead, and it was up to Ramin to find who had killed her, and the others. Some among his force were already nicknaming her murderer the Spider Killer. A fitting name>>>


The Spider Killings (5)

This will be the last time Azadeh sees that schoolbag

As soon as Azadeh got home, she rushed to the bathroom and locked herself in. Quickly shedding all her clothing, she stood in front of the mirror, looking at her naked reflection, something she seldom dared to do. Her arms and legs were covered with a multitude of scars, as well as the coagulated blood from fresher wounds. Her body had for years been the canvas for her monstrous designs. She used knives, razors, and scissors in guise of brushes and pencils. She opened one of the drawers in the bathroom vanity and took out a pair of scissors. The thought of cutting her skin once more filled her with both trepidation and exhilaration. Slowly, she brought the sharp tip of the instrument down, until it rested against the skin on her inner thigh>>>


The Spider Killings (4)

Just then, she heard the door of the interrogation room open.

-- "Akh ! Ajab heyvoun-haayee hasstan, what animals they are!" Azadeh murmured as she looked at her bloody lower lip in the small mirror hanging on the wall of the interrogation room. Why did they have to slap her on the mouth like that? For what? That old pervert who had tripped her on purpose so she would fall on her ass? He deserved to be told off, even if he was the bloody chief of police. Oh, how he had ogled her body: Like a hungry dog before a juicy cut of meat! She smiled as she remembered his shocked look when she had asked him if he wanted to take her picture.


قصه 24 ساعت خواب و بیداری

قصدم اين است كه بچه هاي هموطن خود را بهتر بشناسي و فكر كني كه چاره ي درد آنها چيست؟

24-Feb-2008 (16 comments)
چند ماهي بود كه پدرم بيكار بود. عاقبت مادرم و خواهرم و برادرهايم را در شهر خودمان گذاشت و دست من را گرفت و آمديم به تهران. چند نفر از آشنايان و همشهري ها قبلا به تهران‌آمده بودند و توانسته بودند كار پيدا كنند. ما هم به هواي آنها آمديم. مثلا يكي از آشنايان دكه ي يخفروشي داشت. يكي ديگر رخت و لباس كهنه خريد و فروش مي كرد. يكي ديگر پرتقال فروش بود. پدر من هم يك چرخ دستي گير آورد و دستفروش شد. پياز و سيب زميني و خيار و اين جور چيزها دوره مي گرداند. يك لقمه نان خودمان مي خورديم و يك لقمه هم مي فرستاديم پيش مادرم. من هم گاهي همراه پدرم دوره مي گشتم و گاهي تنها توي خيابان ها پرسه مي زدم و فقط شب ها پيش پدرم بر مي گشتم. گاهي هم آدامس بسته يك قران يا فال حافظ و اين ها مي فروختم.>>>


The Spider Killings (3)

It was a hot and sunny day, perhaps too hot

Babak could see his mother, Fati, standing across the pond at Kuh Sangi Park, one of the most beautiful parks in Mashad that he and his mother loved to stroll in whenever possible. She was clad as usual in her long chador with only her face peeking out, a tall black triangle with a small white oval in the top corner, an oddly austere figure among the colorful and fragrant tall grass and blooming flowers that covered the ground at Kuh Sangi Park like some sort of magically alive Persian carpet. Babak continued to calmly suck his thumb for a few seconds, believing that Fati would eventually see him and come towards him. But she just stood there, still as a tree>>>


The New Man

A young woman made a space available inside herself for the New Man

The New Man sat over the proceedings like a kind and friendly ghost, like somebody who was not only new but also old, because of how the people were like children before him. And maybe he was old, because the thing they were there to talk about fighting, the thing that the man whose face was on the tee-shirts had fought, the face that was staring at all of beauty and tragedy at once, which everybody in the room was staring at too, even if they didn't do it all the time like he did - that thing that they were all against could seem like it was what was new sometimes. It had been growing over their lives, for one thing, or trying to at least>>>


The Spider Killings (2)

All seven women. All seven prostitutes.

The body stunk to the point that several of the police officers had turned the same greenish shade as its decomposing skin. A smell more putrid than decaying garbage, yet with an underlying sickly sweetness that reminded Ramin of rotting flowers in unchanged vase water. As he approached, he could see that flies had already made their nests into the woman’s eyes, nostrils, ears and god knows what other orifices. The insidious insects had even found their way inside the mouth, eating away at its corners as they speedily lay their eggs, so that it looked as if the corpse was beckoning Ramin with a grotesque smile>>>


The Spider Killings

Based on true events in Iran

12-Feb-2008 (4 comments)
Fati took another look out the window of her tiny apartment, squinting her eyes to see as far down the street as she could, in the hopes of seeing Jamshid finally coming home. But it was to no avail. She knew that he had disappointed her once again. It was already ten o’ clock, five hours after he had promised her he would come home, bearing the rent money that was due the next day. It was useless. As soon as money, any money, made its way to Jamshid’s hands, it had a way of swiftly disappearing, up in the smoke of an opium dream. She gritted her teeth. It was too much to bear. Again, he had let her down. Again, she would be forced to do it. And she had promised herself she would never resort to it another time, that the last time was truly that, the last>>>


نیمه راه

داستان کوتاه

12-Feb-2008 (2 comments)
همان موقع که میخواست از داروخانه بیرون بیاید، متوجه شد که دارد نگاهش میکند. از داروخانه که بیرون آمد و به طرف اتوموبیلش رفت، دختر در چند قدمیاش به انتظار ایستاده بود. هفده - هیجده سال بیشتر نداشت. روسری پلنگی، چند طره موی مشکرده که افتاده بود روی پیشانیاش. مانتو کوتاه و تنگ که به سختی تا روی رانهایش میرسید. لبخند عصبی. گفته بود اگه زحمت نیس، منو برسونین. یه خرده بالاتر، تا سر آفریقا. دیرم شده. ایستاده بود کنار اتوموبیل، کیفش را روی شانه انداخته بود، دست چپیش را گرفته بود به بند کیف و دست راستش را کرده بود توی جیب مانتو. سعی میکرد مؤدب، محجوب و خانم جلوه کند. اما صدایش میلرزید.>>>


Coming to life

Coming to life

Multicultural richness in an Iranian American webcomic

by Dara Naraghi
11-Feb-2008 (8 comments)



She brushed her body on my canvas and took a more compromising position

08-Feb-2008 (3 comments)
“Don’t, don’t make a move for a second and let me crush you right on the wall. You’ll pay for invading my privacy in the middle of the night.” I was loudly declaring its death sentence but the fly sitting comfortably on the wall wasn’t scared. It was mocking me with its disgusting compound eyes the very moment I was issuing the death warrant. The second I raised my hand it flew off and insanely crashed its head to the window glass and then circled around the room. I patiently traced it with my eyes>>>


Boy in Prison

The craziest part of the whole adventure

07-Feb-2008 (2 comments)
What an adventure, from waking up in the morning to going to bed at night, a life spent behind enemy lines, you might say, but if he did, he would say it with such a smile as to disarm any enemy, as to leave them intact but thinking, introducing them to their own country, already having accepted that they are the last to know, that they are the last to know about a prison cell in his country, about a prison cell in all the countries like his. It was all an adventure, because no place where he could find himself was any place he would've guessed as a boy in prison. I'm here on the ground with you, he could say to anybody, but I'm up in the sky too. On the ground, he could lose them, but from up in the sky, he could see them walking home, going to their own bed at night>>>


عمو ناصر!

پستان های داغ شهلا جاهد دیگه سفتی سابق رو نداره

25-Jan-2008 (16 comments)
من همه ماجرای عشقی تو و شهلا را به خوبی می دانم. ناصر! یادت می آید خانه ی شهلا در خیابان ظفر؟ همان جایی که پستان های داغ و هیکل خوش فرم شهلا را به دهان می گرفتی؟ همان جایی که شهلا بساط تریاک کشی ترا آماده می کرد؟ راستی در همه جای خانه با شهلا عشق بازی کردی و به قول خودت چه سکسی هم داشت. آخر می دانی اگر شهلا سکسش خوب بود به خاطر این بود که با تمام وجودش ترا دوست داشت گرچه می دانست همسری داری و شاید به قول خودش هوویی! شما دو نفر سالها با هم دوست بودید. نمی دانم شاید هم زن شرعی ات شده بود نمی دانم! >>>


A Hero born of a hero

Dedicated to Bilawal Bhutto Zardini

23-Jan-2008 (7 comments)
It was the noon of January 8, 2008. A large crowd was waiting for Bilawal Bhutto Zardini's speech. He is the son of the famous Benazir Bhutto, the former prime minster of Pakistan who was assassinated two days ago in a mysterious event. Now, Bilawal, a 19-year-old history student of Oxford University was the chairmen of the Pakistan's People Party, the greatest secular party of the nation, although he did not like political jobs. There is a high risk for a terrorist action during or after today's event. For a teenager it seemed so soon to worry about death, but it was the reality of life for Pakistan's new sudden hero>>>


گلابی ممنوعه

گلابی درشتی بود که درست در پرگوشت ترین قسمتش به سرخی می زد

23-Jan-2008 (3 comments)
سرگروهبان قنبری آموزش دیده ارتش شاهنشاهی بود و هنوز بعداز سالها خدمت، بدنی ورزیده داشت.در مدت خدمت و در طول جنگ تحمیلی صدام بر علیه ایران گروهبان جوانان زیادی را آموزش و به قول خودش آنها را به مردان ورزیده تبدیل و به جامعه تحویل داده بود. گاهی وقتها که در خیابان قدم میزد با مردان جوانی روبرو میشد که با احترام و محبت به او سلام میدادند و وقتی با دقت به چهره های آنها نگان میکرد تصویر جوانانی را می دید که سالها قبل زیر دست او آموزش دیده و خدمت کرده بودند.>>>