STORY

مرد / زن / تنهایی

داستان کوتاه

by Ladan Lajevardi
06-Oct-2007 (2 comments)
هیچ وقت شکایت نمی کرد که آخر چقدر مهمان داری – خسته شدم – این چه زندگی یست. هیچوقت صداش درنیآمد. هیچ وقت نق نزد تا روزی که مریض شد. دیوانه شد. از آن به بعد، کارهای عجیب و غریب می کرد. یا ساکت می نشست و ساعت ها به دیوار نگاه می کرد یا جیغ می کشید و همه چیز را پرت می کرد، می زد می شکست. یا لباس هاش رو می کند و برهنه وسط اتاق می نشست. یا می خندید، می چرخید و می چرخید تا خسته بشود و خودش را رو زمین پرتاب می کرد. ولی هنوز نماز می خواند.>>>

LIFE

دو نيمه خوشبختی

لامذهب دقيقا می دانست چگونه دست به موهايم فرو ببرد كه نا خود آگاه لبانش را ببوسم

by Venus
02-Oct-2007 (12 comments)
آنشب مسعود آمد. بوسه ای روی لبانم نشاند و گفت كه خسته است. می خواستم او را بر سر شوق بياورم. آهنگی شاد و ايرانی گذاشتم و شروع كردم به رقصيدن. حركات من او را هم به جنبش در آورد و مرا بوسيد و در گوشم زمزمه كرد: "دوستت دارم". لحظه دادن اين خبر خوش فرا رسيده بود. در حالی كه گردنش را می بوسيدم آرام گفتم: "مسعودم من و تو بچه دار میشيم. خدا كنه شبيه تو بشه".>>>

STORY

ماههای آخر

دقیقن چهار ماه و هیجده روز است که " ره نمی پیمایم "

by Abbas Sahraee
01-Oct-2007 (5 comments)
فکر نمی کنم بتوانم تاب بیاورم. دردهای جسمی ندارم، یعنی جسمی که درد می کرد، دیگر نیست. پنج ماه و دوازده روز پیش از من جدا یش کردند. آن را ا ز من گرفتند." چپم " را همان روزهای اولی که به جبهه رفتم، هنوزعرق ام خشک نشده بود، که از دست دادم....دومی را؟ خیلی باها ش کنار آمدم، اما حالا آن را هم ندارم. درد جسمی هم ندارم. دیگر نیستند که به مجرد کم شدن اثر مُسَکن، درد را روانه کنند.اگر هم بودند، دیگر کاری ازشان ساخته نبود. اما درد فکری چرا، خیلی هم دارم. گاه مدتها سرم را روی دست هایم می گذارم و درمانده، جان می کنم.>>>

TENDER

ماهیگیری با تور خورشید

به نرمی عاشق شدم

by hadi khojinian
25-Sep-2007 (3 comments)
دیگر از بهشت دلزده شده بودم ، دلم هوای تازه می خواست دلم از همه خوشی ها به هم خورده بود و خدا خیلی زود این را حس کرد و اجازه داد که با بالهای خودم به مرخصی بروم با همه ی دوستان فرشته ام خداحافظی کردم تک تک شان را بوسیدم یک به یک ، حتی به درختی که مادرم حوا و پدرم آدم ، زیرش از شیطان گول خورده بودند هم سر زدم و در لابه لای برگ های سبزش مار را دیدم و با او هم روبوسی کردم ، مار لبخندی زد و برایم سفری خوش آرزو کرد ، بالهای سفیدم را از خشکشویی کنار خانه ی خدا گرفتم از تمیزی برق می زد.>>>

FICTION

احضار

فکر کردم، راستی چرا نپرسیدم دلیل احضارم چیست؟

by Abbas Sahraee
12-Sep-2007

"....فردا ساعت هشت صبح باید دادگاه مستقر در زندان " اوین " باشم. چند دقیقه پیش تلفنی اطلاع دادند. من تنها نمی روم. رئیس توئی، تصمیم گیری های نهائی با توست. فردا با هم می رویم...."

مثل برق گرفته ها تکان خورد. رنگش پرید، و بر عکس همیشه که چکشی حرف می زد تقریبن با ناله گفت:

" ...من چرا؟ تو را احضار کرده اند. آمدن من کمکی نمی کند..."

حرفش را بُریدم...

>>>

FICTION

The ballad of Howard Baskerville

"My mind is set, there is no going back"

by Kaveh Afrasiabi
05-Sep-2007

I sought him at the Karachi office of London Times and was directed to a raggedy, third class hotel near Prince’s market filled with beggars and found him still sleep in his cluttered little room – at 2 pm, unshaved and with a heavy breath of alcohol permeating him, looking considerably older than the photo attached to his foreign dispatches from Persia, India, and elsewhere . He offered a bit of his left over rum and I sipped it in a tea cup, wondering if that was the right moment to indulge him in his splendid Persian story.

>>>

STORY

Somebody is calling my name

Whoever I may be, I know that now I’m the precise and perfect meaning of my name

by Nilofar Shidmehr
27-Aug-2007 (3 comments)
I don’t know the meaning of my name. But I know one thing: my name is entirely what I am. Already, I’ve forgotten the name that’s given to me. Maybe if I think harder, I’ll remember it. Yet I feel no urge to look for it: it was like all those things that must have been lost, those that must have been gone and set free in formlessness. I shaped my new name on my own, though. First, it was simply an insignificant speck of pollen among thousands of other specks, drifting around in the air, searching for the pistil. I waved at that very spec and it floated toward me. “Just don’t forget to water me everyday,” it whispered.>>>

FICTION

Cataracts, root canals, young women and aging men

Short story

by Ben Tanosborn
14-Aug-2007
Zakaria, a personable not-by-choice Iranian immigrant, had been introduced to me by another client, Ron, a general contractor who often utilized his services in the flooring trades; and who had always praised his tile work as artistry not to be found anywhere else in the United States. And it was during the first few months in the righting of his listing ship that Zak and I began to develop a friendship extending beyond the confines of business counsel. Now running a large successful business, my effort for his firm doesn’t extend beyond counsel provided at board meetings or occasional assignments. But our get-togethers as friends continue to be frequent and enjoyable. Curiosity was getting the best of me. What could be bothering him all of a sudden?>>>

LIFE

In search of ...

When a bird can't fly it wouldn't know what she is missing but she knows something is missing

by Jeanette Youhana
12-Aug-2007
I came home, took off my suite and took a cold shower hoping it would change my mood. It didn't so I drove to the nearest bar to have a drink and play a little. I was hoping it would be quite so I can just sit in a corner and no one would notice me but being Saturday night I thought wishful thoughts. The bar was full but I realized quickly the patrons were all regulars because they all looked like serious gamblers. That was perfect because they don't bother others and don't like to be bothered, after all they are there to "take the house down!" So I sat in the far end of he bar and ordered me a Stoley on the rocks with some olives on the side.>>>

STORY

اوهام!

خب گیریم که بوی کافور هم بیاید

by Abbas Sahraee
11-Aug-2007
نمی دانم چرا بوی کافور رهایم نمی کند؟ از هر وسیله معطر کننده ای هم که دم دست دارم بوی تند و تیز کافور بیرون می زند. همه آن هائی را هم که می شناسم، که مراوده دارم، که می بوسم، که در آغوش می گیرم همین بو را می دهند.>>>

PARSIPUR

What matters is her work

Who cares what a writer thinks about this or that issue?

by Asghar Massombaghi
08-Aug-2007
This is the second time in as many months that someone has written a piece attacking poor Parsipur and defending Mahshid Amirshahi on the grounds of the former's personal opinions on certain issues. Grow up, people. And this nonsense is coming from individuals obviously living abroad. Who cares what a writer thinks about this or that issue, what matters is her work. If we were to disqualify writers and filmmakers and poets based on their politics or positions on social issues then T.S. Elliot or Ezra Pound should never be read.>>>

STORY

The initial conditions

Me, Abbas, Ms. Morrison, jockstraps & Chaos Thoery

by A. Hamshahri
31-Jul-2007
The most popular way to describe the Chaos Theory is that a butterfly's wings fluttering might create tiny changes in the atmosphere that ultimately cause a tornado to appear (or, for that matter, prevent a tornado from appearing). The flapping wing represents a small change in the initial condition of the system, which causes a chain of events leading to large-scale phenomena. Had the butterfly not flapped its wings, the final outcome and its consequences would have been vastly different. Gently pressing the spot between side of his right foot and and top of his toes, I said: "Look son, if you want to get power and accuracy you simply have to shoot the ball with the front third side of your foot. Toe-poking it will give you zero control.">>>

FICTION

Screw

One day I was sitting alone on the roadside minding my own business when a speeding car ran me over

by Saeed Tavakkol
30-Jul-2007
A screw, a defective one, that’s what I am. Pay attention! I’m not a nail. Nails are flat head with no character I say. They are straightforward. I’m not. They have no twists and turns, I do. They are easy going. I’m not. Just hit a nail on the head and it obediently does its job, I don’t. You can straighten a crooked nail with a hammer and it works as good as new and if you hit me, I get even more crooked. The first time I was put into a good use, I failed miserably. The carpenter, who picked me out randomly from the box full of screws, could not drive me through the wood because I was slightly crooked and my head was stripped. His hand slipped and I made him bleed. So he tossed me to the ground cursing me under his breath.>>>

FICTION

Aghdass at impasse

Short story

by Azadeh Azad
26-Jun-2007
Aghdass dragged her husband’s dead body out of the house, down the wet steps and into the snow-covered back courtyard. It was wrapped in blankets, stuffed in an army sleeping bag and bound around and around with ropes. The Tehran winter night was as cold as ice and Aghdass’s stomach was churning like a stormy sea.>>>

STORY

Time

Chronicles of Fredrick D. Sauma, Part 7

by Farid Parsa
15-Jun-2007
Since I spoke English and my asylum was still in limbo, I was told by one of the embassy workers that I had a very good chance of migrating to Australia. Yet it was going to be months before any official answer came through. Meanwhile, all my daily routines were changing. I couldn't plan my day any more. Meeting people and talking to them, which used to be the bulk of my daily activity, was now on a great downward slope, for I no longer had the desire or the necessary skills to interact with people. Since many of my acquaintances knew where I lived and still came knocking on my door I changed my apartment. That, however, was only one reason to move. The other was the terrible things that happened in that place.>>>
« first‹ previous…313233343536373839