Monday, November 21

Sepide

This was written by my friend Sepide. She lives in Tehran. I sincerely love her dearly.

the room down the coridor was entirely dark. a chair and a wooden table were beside the wall. the table was covered with dust and the walls were black.

with slow steps, she entered the room. darkness filled her eyes and passed deep into her bones.

she sat at the table and gazed forward. with wide, soulless eyes, eyes that might see things beyond this world, things that eyes are not supposed to see. she raised her hand. something glistened. there was a knife in her hand. she held the knife in front of her eyes and looked at its shimmer. then smoothly she brought the knife to her mouth, just like she was kissing it. slowly she drew the knife across her lips. blood poured down her cheek and a line of blood remained on her neck.

she raised her left hand and took a look at her fingers. then closed her hand and in a swift action, she cut her vein. deep. then she felt a slight irritation, blood flowed away with a weird sensation. as if it were imprisoned all these years and now it was free.


her eyes were growing heavy. how much she longed to sleep !! she felt drunk and relaxed, like in her mother's arms. she slowly put her head on the table and closed her eyes. Maybe now her eyes could see more things than before. Blood was flooding the table and dripped down onto the floor...

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