FICTION
Should I wake from this nostalgic dream into the nightmare of living?
It is dark. Lying under my bed, touching the thick harsh wooden board that holds the mattress, touching the cold metallic bed frame, listening to the drum-like sound of artilleries aimed at invisible enemies. The darkness of night blankets the absurdity of the situation, and still knowing that does not help me to calm down. I lower my hands to the ground, pressing the floor, hard, as if I am trying to dissolve into it, to transform into cold grey vapor--smoke and ashes. My body, my fingers, my back, feel numb, but still not as numb I dream of becoming
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LIFE
لوچیا، لوچیای بی آزار و مهربان، صدای خاموشان جهان است
لوچیا ارام و باهوش و بی سر و صدا و بی جنجال است. وقتی سرش را کلاه میگذارند، لوچیا خاموش می ماند و با دستهایش، با همان دستهای فرز و مهربانش تند و تند چیزی را تکرار می کند که من دقیقاً نمی فهمم و لوچیا نفس عمیقی می کشد و دوباره همان را از سر تکرار می کند و آنقدر تکرار می کند تا بفهمش. وقتی می فمهش و از آنچه بر سرش آمده خشمگین می شوم و فریاد می کشم، لوچیا نفس عمیقی می کشد و ساکت می نشیند.
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INJUSTICE
Victims of both discriminatory laws and punative and traditional discriminations
by Mahboube Hosseinzade
It is said that in the slums of Zahedan, there are many houses where several families each occupy a single room in a house. There was an opportunity for us to enter one of these houses. The mother, sister, wife, sister-in-law, father and two brothers of the man who has asked us to go in, as well as several little children all live in a single room. One of the women is 27 and has a 12-year-old son as well as a little girl who is only a few months old. When I ask her at what age she got married, she replies: "At the age of 10!" And later other people tell me that in some of the towns in this region 10 to 11 is indeed the usual age of marriage
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STORY
Azadeh’s spit landed squarely in the middle of the man’s face
Ever since he had caught a glimpse of Azadeh wailing over the body of her dead friend in front of the Mausoleum of Imam Reza, Sharif, like a hungry tiger fixated on its prey, had kept close track of her. He had followed her to the police station, wondering when she would be released from questioning, hoping he could approach her for a ride then. But for the two days that Sharif kept his vigil, he had been thwarted in his plans. Coming and going, Azadeh was always accompanied by an older woman. An older woman who struck Sharif as one he had seen before. Well obviously, she must be a prostitute too. These morally ill women stuck together after all
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