An Abandoned Beauty is from her £1.00 English Short Fictions collection. We hope you enjoy your purchase and thank you for your support.
از مجموعه دلنوشتههای من :)
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Showing posts with label short story. Show all posts
Showing posts with label short story. Show all posts
Thursday, 21 August 2025
An Abandoned Beauty
Discover "An Abandoned Beauty" on Jar of Words, where Shahireh's writing offers a new way of playing with words, weaving emotional and nostalgic narratives. 
Sunday, 31 October 2021
Red Tapes, Green Lights
The museum’s coffeeshop was busy but there were
still a few empty tables around when a couple sat at a table in a corner. The
man rested his walking stick on the wall next to their table.
“It’s good to finally sit down,” the woman said
as she hung her bag on the back of her chair and covered it with her jacket.
“We have been on our feet for a good few hours. There is no way we could see even
half of the galleries here in one day.”
“Are you saying that you’d want to come back here
another day?”
“Who wouldn’t?” But then immediately she
corrected herself. “I know, I know. But even you cannot deny the magnificent of
these mas0terpieces. They are breathtakingly beautiful.”
A young waiter whose apron covered part of his perfectly
ironed white shirt and black trousers took their order.
“Yes, it is marvellous here, considering …” The
man said as soon as the waiter took their order and left.
“There we go again! Please say no more. I know
where you are going with this conversation.”
The man sighed and shifted in his chair, put
his right elbow on the table and rested his head on his hand, but immediately
changed position and moved himself towards the back of the chair.
“More than 20 years of friendship is telling me
that you have to say it, go on then.”
"It’s hardly surprising Margaret, I am not
at ease here. These objects that have amazed us are practically stolen property.
They shouldn’t be here.”
"I know what you're saying, but don’t
forget things were different back when these artifacts were collected.”
“Even if, as you say, these artefacts were collected
(he gestured air quotes) in the past, what happens to our responsibility now?
Should we do differently now that we know better?”
“This is history. I think it is great that we can
come to a museum and see these objects as part of human heritage.”
“Do you ever wonder how some of these pieces were
brought here. A 20-meter-tall column for instance! Those limestone kneeling
bulls must weigh a few tons! These are the pieces which made the journey. How
many pieces have been destroyed for this many to survive the excavation and the
journey here?”
“I don’t know but unlike you I won’t let that
spoil my day. We’re at the Louvre for God’s sake and these artifacts belong to
everyone to enjoy, including us.”
“Don’t you find it interesting that every time there
is talk abound collective ownership of antiques, we are mostly dealing with
artefacts from countries in the third world.”
“Well, there is a lot of history in Africa and
Asia and a lot of countries in those reigns fall into the third world category.
Why is that even important.”
Their order arrived. The waiter was pushing a highly
decorated utility trolley.
“Wow, I love the trolley. Look at the wood
texture. The gold brown background with the dark patterns is majestic.” She looked
at the waiter and said, “We are in the Louvre after all.”
The waiter smiled and responded, “solid bocote
wood, you only see this wood in exclusive furniture. Everyone falls in love
with the trolley.” The waiter placed their order: soup, sea bass and sliced lemon
and a basket of olive and French bread rolls followed. “Enjoy.”
“It’s a pity that Betty had to stay in bed
today. I hope she gets better soon and can join us tomorrow. Imagine coming all
this way but not be able to visit the Louvre.”
“Well, we came here for our second holiday as a
married couple. Betty loved it and was as impressed as you are. “
“You are a man of good taste. Just tell me how
can you not be impressed with all these antiquities?” She poured a glass of
water for him when she saw him taking a blister pack out of his pocket and popping
out two tablets.
“It annoys me that the French went across the
world and looted everything...” He changed the topic of conversation abruptly when
two women passed their table. “I should have skipped lunch. My stomach hurts.”
“Try to control you nerve, anger works as
poison for your condition. Who would get angry over something that has happened
decades if not centuries ago? Besides do you think it was just French who did
the looting?” She took a spoonful of her soup. “Wow! It is hot!” She started
stirring the soup. “Tell yourself that at least these artefacts are safe here
and generations of any nation can see them here. They are shared history. Human
history and arts I mean."
He pushed his plate away. “OK! I was trying to
avoid this conversation, but let’s carry on talking about our common heritage.
Have you ever thought why this common ownership doesn’t apply to, Em… let’s say
technology of food? Yes, let’s talk about the food industry as a better example.
Why do we let children starve to death because food doesn’t fall under the
category of human common resources, hey?”
“I have no idea, but I am sure there would be
consequences. If food produced belonged to everyone who was hungry and the
manufacturers didn’t have ownership over it to make money, they simply go bust.”
“My dear Margaret the same logic applies to the
artefacts and antiquities stolen
from the third world countries. Why shouldn’t they be the ones who make money
from their own artifacts.”
“But these items
have been brought here many years ago. Surely you don’t want the museums to
hunt for the original creators of items that they hold and make tombstones to commemorate
them.”
“Of course not,
but a percentage of the money taken from ticket sales can be spent on regions where
these artefacts are from. Can it not? NGOs or educational units can use the
money to support young artists with their education or exhibitions? What is
wrong with sponsoring a number of artists from those regions to visit louvre?”
“How do you know
these schemes don’t already exist.”
“They may exist.
In fact I know of a few exchange programmes, but I bet if there is something in
place, it is promoted as a charitable act not a cooperation, partnership or
payback.”
“I am sure if
the museums were to pay rent for the exhibited items, there is going to be lots
of disputes, after all the international borders have changed and countries
have divided. Who gets the ownership in these cases?”
“And you think
ignoring everyone’s right is a good alternative?”
She pushed her
shoulders up and the man continued, “Well, if equity is given a chance, we are
be able to come up with a solution. Provided the idea can flourish before highjacked
in the middle to make it a tokenised and demeaning gesture, that is.
“A nice idea but
not really practical. The world class museums wouldn’t buy it.”
“I think one day
it would be common practice embedded in all museum policy. To get there we would
certainly require changes in how we look at things. But first we need to learn
how to celebrate these masterpieces and also respect others rights.”
“I have finished my soup and you have hardly
touched your food.” She put the spoon into the empty bowl.
“It’s best if I don’t eat fish. I had some
bread.” He called out for the bill.
“Let’s go and see some more of what Louvre has
to offer and leave this discussion to those in the know.” She said as she put
her pin number in the credit card reader that the waiter passed her.
“Margaret, if this was everyone’s motto, we
would’ve still had slavery as a law. Everyone needs to push for initiating a conversation
to instigate talks for developing instruments and practical ideas for achieving
what we need to do.”
“Don’t you think there are more important causes
that people could advocate for.” She put her bag across her shoulder and passed
the man’s walking stick to him.
The man got up and held on to the table trying
to maintain his balance as he first stood up. “There is no shortage of what needs
to be done. But a framework for acknowledging the rights of the owners of the museum’s
pieces is one of them.” He stood straight and half pushed his chair in. “I know developing tools for returning artefacts
requires times and effort, and governments much rather focus on repatriating refugees!
But that’s another story. Let’s leave it for another day.”
“Yes, let’s leave it. Your creased-up forehead
and bent posture tells me it’s best to call it a day. What do you think?”
“My stomach pain is getting worse. If you don’t mind, yes please, I prefer to go back to the hotel.”
She put on her jacket. “I think
maybe Betty knew what was waiting for her in the louvre, and not feeling 100%
was only an excuse." They laughed as
they walked out of the coffeeshop.
© All rights reserved
Wednesday, 16 December 2020
The power of a lie by Shahireh Sharif
You can find the full short story text for 'The power of a lie' on the issuu platform by clicking the following link:
https://issuu.com/cultureword/docs/shots_202/s/11266245
Other stories in the' Shots in the Dark II' can be accessed by clicking the link below.
https://issuu.com/cultureword/docs/shots_202
Friday, 20 November 2020
Christmas comes early
2020 a strange and unduly harsh year is about to end. We do not know what the future holds but the prospect of a healthier and happier year is a good reason to celebrate. For those of you who would like to read, I have a gift. Using the link below you can access the recently published book by Cultureword, Shots in the Dark 2.
The name of my story is 'The Power of a Lie' which can be read using the link below:
If you are interested to read the complete book click on the link below.
ENJOY
سال 2020 میلادی سالی بس تلخ و پرمحنت را پشت سر می گذاریم. سال عوض می شود و صحبت از کشف واکسن کرونا نویدبخش است. دوست دارم که این خبر خوش را با هدیه ای شیرین تر کنم. کتاب جدید 'شلیک در تاریکی دو' مجموعه ای به زبان انگلیسی از نه داستان کوتاه است. داستان 'قدرت دروغ' هدیه من به علاقمندان به مطالعه است برای دسترسی رایگان به داستان من به لینک زیر مراجعه نمایید
کل کتاب را هم می توانید از طریق لینک زیر بخوانید
© All rights reserved
Friday, 13 November 2020
The power of a lie
Shots in the Dark II
Cultureword Shots in the dark II Launch event
12th Nov 2020
See the complete video in the link below
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1juIW-RzzHM
جشن رونمایی کتاب شلیک در تاریکی 2
داستان کوتاه قدرت دروغ از من (شهیره شریف) هم در این مجموعه چاپ شده
Thursday, 12 November 2020
Friday, 30 October 2020
A pre book launch event
I just took part in my first live session on twitter. Thanks @cultureword. It went very quick and at some stage I wondered if I could type fast enough to catch up never mind thinking about my replies. Follow @cultureword for all the responses. See some of my responses below.
برای رونمایی کتاب آماده می شویم. اولین تجربه ی برنامه توئیتر زنده بود. خیلی سریع گذشت. کتاب مجموعه ای از نه نویسنده با داستان های کوتاه است و حدود دو هفته ی دیگر رونمایی می شود. این جلسه فرصتی بود که خوانندگان و علاقمندان اگر سوالی دارند از نویسندگان بپرسند. برخی از سوالها با جوابهای من را در ادامه بخوانید
(The name of my story is the power of a lie)
What inspired your story?
When I was in secondary school a safe house was raided and all the house occupancies were killed by the intelligence officials but a baby survived. The baby was used to show how kind and caring the intelligence officers were to keep the baby alive. I guess the event left its marks.
How was the editing process for you?
The support was incredible. Thanks to Pete for all the comments and his time. It was an enjoyable learning process.
© All rights reserved
Sunday, 4 August 2019
اشکی از جنس عقیق - قسمت دوم
...دنباله قسمت اول
روز اول مدرسه همیشه برایم زیبا بوده. عاشق این بودم که ببینم بعد از مدتها گمانهزنی دقیقا کدام همکلاسیهای قدیمی باز هم همکلاسی هستند. دیدن چهرههای تازه و ارتباط برقرار کردن با آنها هم هیجان خاص خودش را دارد. گاه هم در گروهی که اساسا باید غریبه باشند میشد با کمی سوال و جواب به نسبتهای نه چندان آشکار فامیلی هم رسید.
آن روز هم هیجان تنها حس غالب بر روز اول مدرسه بود. در برگشت به خانه اولین باری بود که فرصت پیدا کردم و به گنجینهای که آن روز صبح در باغچه پیدا کرده بودم فکر کنم. کولهپشتیم را از پشت برداشتم و داخل جیب زیپدار آن به جستجو پرداختم. سوزش خفیفی در نوک انگشتم مرا به بررسی دقیق اشک زرد واداشت. گوشهی پایین اشک بریدگی کوچکی داشت. اشک را دوباره داخل کولهپشتی گذاشتم و کلیدم را درآوردم. دم آپارتمان به یک جفت کفش ناآشنا برخوردم، کنارش هم دمپایی صورتی بچگانهای با برچسبی به شکل کلهی خرگوش جفت شده بود. همینطور که پیش خودم حدس میزدم که مهمان کیست، در را باز کردم و داخل سالن شدم
آن روز هم هیجان تنها حس غالب بر روز اول مدرسه بود. در برگشت به خانه اولین باری بود که فرصت پیدا کردم و به گنجینهای که آن روز صبح در باغچه پیدا کرده بودم فکر کنم. کولهپشتیم را از پشت برداشتم و داخل جیب زیپدار آن به جستجو پرداختم. سوزش خفیفی در نوک انگشتم مرا به بررسی دقیق اشک زرد واداشت. گوشهی پایین اشک بریدگی کوچکی داشت. اشک را دوباره داخل کولهپشتی گذاشتم و کلیدم را درآوردم. دم آپارتمان به یک جفت کفش ناآشنا برخوردم، کنارش هم دمپایی صورتی بچگانهای با برچسبی به شکل کلهی خرگوش جفت شده بود. همینطور که پیش خودم حدس میزدم که مهمان کیست، در را باز کردم و داخل سالن شدم
مهمان خانم رفعتی، همسایه تازهمان بود. خانم رفعتی برخلاف اصرار من و مادرم برای دست دادن با من از صندلی بلند شد. دختر کوچکش خود را به پای مادر چسباند و در جواب سلام من بیشتر پشت مادرش پنهان شد. گویا دختر بزرگ خانم رفعتی همسنوسال من بود و به همان مدرسهی من میرفت. آن شب با حنا رفعتی، هم مدرسهای جدیدم هم آشنا شدم. متوجه شدم که او در کلاسی متفاوت "هفت-الف" است ولی قرار گذاشتیم از فردا با هم به مدرسه برویم.
آن شب، قبل از خواب، اشک زرد را با کف صابون شستم و بعد با حوله آنرا خشک کردم. در نور سفید مهتابی درخشش غریبی داشت. شیشه درعین مات بودن در مقابل نور رگههایی نامنظمی را نمایان میکرد. گویا با من به راز داستان میگفت. داستانی که تنها شنوندهی آن من بودم. اشک پر از راز را روی میز به دیوار تکیه دادم و تا زمانی که چراغ اتاق روشن بود به ان جسم مرموز چشم دوختم
فردا صبح با حنا راهی مدرسه شدیم. شب قبل وقتی اسمش را شنیدم به نظرم خیلی عجیب و شاید تاحدی مسخره آمد. تا آن روز حنا پودر بدبویی بود که مادربزرگم روی موها و ناخنهایش میگذاشت. برای چی، نمیدانم. مسلما خواصی داشت و ماندگاریش از لاک ناخنی که من گاهی در عروسی و مهمانیها اجازه داشتم تا به ناخنهایم بزنم بیشتر بود. همسایه و دوست من اولین نمونهی غیرپودری حنا بود که شناختم.
خیلی زود با حنا گرم گرفتم و در راه مدرسه از همهچیز صحبت کردیم. جدابودن کلاسهایمان عملا این فرصت را میداد که کلی هم حرف برای تعریف در مسیر بازگشت به خانه داشته باشیم. آن روز بعد از اینکه کلی از ماجراهای کلاس گفتیم به باغچهی با گوجه فرنگیهای سبز و زرد رسیدیم. دستم را دراز کردم تا یکی از گوجهها را بکنم. حنا دستم را گرفت و گفت اینها را کسی کاشته، شاید راضی نباشد. خجالت کشیدم و دستهایم را در جیبم فرو بردم شاید برای تغییر جو و در سکوتی که احاطهمان کرد از منزل جدیدشان گفت. سپس آهی کشید و گفت گردنبندش را در اسبابکشی گم کرده. دست کرد زیر مفنعهاش و زنجیری بلند را از بیرون کشید. به زنجیر قطعهای فلز تخت به شکل اشک با گوشههایی برگشته آویزان بود. گفت این گردنبند را مرحوم پدربزرگم بهم هدیه داده و در واقع مال مادربزرگم بوده. یک عقیق بزرگ کهربایی که حالا نمیدانست کجاست.
خیلی زود با حنا گرم گرفتم و در راه مدرسه از همهچیز صحبت کردیم. جدابودن کلاسهایمان عملا این فرصت را میداد که کلی هم حرف برای تعریف در مسیر بازگشت به خانه داشته باشیم. آن روز بعد از اینکه کلی از ماجراهای کلاس گفتیم به باغچهی با گوجه فرنگیهای سبز و زرد رسیدیم. دستم را دراز کردم تا یکی از گوجهها را بکنم. حنا دستم را گرفت و گفت اینها را کسی کاشته، شاید راضی نباشد. خجالت کشیدم و دستهایم را در جیبم فرو بردم شاید برای تغییر جو و در سکوتی که احاطهمان کرد از منزل جدیدشان گفت. سپس آهی کشید و گفت گردنبندش را در اسبابکشی گم کرده. دست کرد زیر مفنعهاش و زنجیری بلند را از بیرون کشید. به زنجیر قطعهای فلز تخت به شکل اشک با گوشههایی برگشته آویزان بود. گفت این گردنبند را مرحوم پدربزرگم بهم هدیه داده و در واقع مال مادربزرگم بوده. یک عقیق بزرگ کهربایی که حالا نمیدانست کجاست.
دیگر به خانه رسیده بویم با اظهار تاسفی سرسری خداحافظی کردم و داخل آپارتمانمان خزیدم. با عجله به اتاق خودم رفتم و اشک زردرنگ را از روی میز برداشتم. آنرا بوسیدم و با تاسف در جیبم گذاشتم. حال میدانستم که گنجینهی من عقیقی کهربایی است نه اشکی زرد و مالکی دارد که پبش از اندازه به آن وابسته است. چندبار در سالن بالا و پایین رفتم. به ماجرای چیدن گوجهفرنگی فکر کردم و به خودم گفتم حتما که راضی نیست که عقیقش پییش من باشد.
بدون اینکه پاسخ درست و حسابی به سوالات مادر بدهم و فقط با گفتن "میرم تا خونهی حنا" از در بیرون زدم. دستم را در جیب روپوشم کردم وعقیق کهربایی را در مشتم فشردم. گوشهی پریدهی عقیق در دستم فرورفت
بدون اینکه پاسخ درست و حسابی به سوالات مادر بدهم و فقط با گفتن "میرم تا خونهی حنا" از در بیرون زدم. دستم را در جیب روپوشم کردم وعقیق کهربایی را در مشتم فشردم. گوشهی پریدهی عقیق در دستم فرورفت
© All rights reserved
Saturday, 3 August 2019
اشکی از جنس عقیق - قسمت اول
در خنکای زودتر از معمول مهر ماه، حضور بیرمق صبحگاهی خورشید عجیب دلچسب بود. در آیینهی تمام قد دم در خودم را برای آخرین بار ورانداز کردم و پلهها را آرام و باوقار پایین آمدم. برخلاف معمول جرات دوتایکی کردن پلهها را نداشتم. نه اینکه شهامتم را از دست داده بودم یا میل به پرش در من فروکش کرده بود، نه! نگران بودم که مبادا جست و خیزهای معمول به کفشهای ورنی مشکی و روپوش آهار خوردهی خاکستریم آسیبی بزند. همیشه بهایی را برای خوشیهایم میپرداختم و نامرتبی در روز اول آغاز کلاس هفتم هزینهای نبود که با رغبت آنرا بپردازم. شاید هم به همین دلیل وقتی روی خاک باغچهی دم در گوشهی زرد رنگ جسمی شفاف به من چشمک زد بیاعتنا کولهپشتیم را روی شانههایم جابجا کردم و به راه ادامه دادم.
دو کوچه پایینتر وقتی چشمم به گوجهفرنگیهای سبز و زرد بوتهای که دم در خانهای نوساز کاشته شده بود افتاد، دوباره به آن جسم زرد رنگ که تا نیمه زیر خاک باغچه فرو رفته بود فکر کردم. یک مرتبه روی پاشنه، بدون اینکه به احتمال ساییده شدن پاشنههای پلاستیکی کفشم فکر کنم ،چرخیدم و به سمت خانه روان شدم
خوشبختانه جسم زرد رنگ هنوز همانجا بود. دوزانو کنار باغچه نشستم و آنرا از زیر خاک دراوردم. تکهای شیشهی مات زرد رنگ که به صورت اشک برش خورده بود. توی جیب روپوشم دنبال دستمال کاغذی گشتم که البته چیزی پیدا نکردم. به ناچار گنجینهی تازه کشف شدهام را با قسمت داخلی پایین مقنعهام پاک کردم، سپس آنرا با احتیاط در جیب زیپدار داخل کولهپشتیم جا دادم. دستانم را چند بار به هم ساییدم و سعی کردم تا تکهی گلی که زیر ناخنم نشسته بود پاک کنم. بلند شدم، شلوارم را تکاندم و کفشهایم را با مالیدن آنها به پشت ساق شلوارم دوباره برق انداختم. در همان هنگام درب ماشینرو خانه باز شد و پژو سفیدرنگ همسایهای که پریروز به آپارتمان طبقهی سوم اسبابکشی کرده بود، بیرون آمد. دستی تکان دادم و سلامی کردم، آقایی که پشت رل بود با تکان سر پاسخم را داد. به ساعتم نگاه کردم و دوان دوان به سمت مدرسه راه افتادم
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Friday, 6 June 2008
The Lying Shepherd with a modern twist
Inside the car was hot and humid. Despite it being early evening and all four windows wound down there was no breeze. The car was standing still as the traffic had been brought to a complete halt by an accident in the motorway. He was furious and kept on imagining himself being chocked by his tie even though he took it off some time ago. For him, in that moment, there was nothing more agonizing than being strapped into the seat of his car which was condemned to stand motionless despite its engine running. Time lingered; his blood boiled over and over. His eyes were constantly scanning in all directions for a sign of movement as if life itself depended on that.
He decided to phone Sara and let her know that he could not meet her in the restaurant at 8:00, as planed. He reached out for his jacket which was on the back seat of the car and took his mobile phone out of its packet. The battery was exhausted. He recalled the annoying interment beeping sound of the mobile as he set off earlier. At the time, he wished that he could turn it off. Of course, that idea was soon abundant, as reaching out for his jacket whilst driving was silly. Instead he turned the radio on to mask the irritating beep of his mobile; but exactly when the warning sound stopped he could not remember.
His mind started to wonder; how would Sara react to him being late again. Would she forgive him on hearing about the state of the road? He had no control over the situation and Sara was a reasonable girl; but the memories of last night’s argument made him doubtful. Today’s meeting was meant to be his final chance to prove that he was not as unreliable as Sara said.
He felt unsure and angry. In his mind he started searching for a solid reason for Sara's low opinion of him. He might have told a few little lies, but Sara calling him a deceiver was taking things a bit too far. "Women!" he said to himself "irrational!". He recalled someone telling him that in the original version of Cinderella, "the ugly sisters" cut their toes and heal off to fit into the Cinderella’s shoe. "Irrational" he said to himself again. He could not let go of his prejudice and his degrading view. . Women wear shoes that even looking at them makes your feet ache, he thought, wearing those does not fall too short of chopping your toes off! At least in the Cinderella story females were making sacrifices in order to get the prince and live "happily ever after". The efforts made by some women today seem so aimless, though. They just want to live up to certain expectations which are dictated by some and followed rather sheepishly by others. He was still busy thinking when he realized that the road was gradually getting unblocked as the cars started to move. "Thank God!" he said loudly.
Eventually he got to the restaurant; but he was over half an hour late. He parked his car somewhere near the restaurant, on a double yellow line, and rushed into the restaurant. Sara was not there. He tried phoning her from the public phone, but there was no answer. He went back home thinking that he would ring her later to explain as she might still be driving back. On arriving home he was exhausted and fed up, the first thing that he did was to check his messages on the answer phone; there was none. He put his mobile to charge; he noticed a text message from Sara “we are finished”, the message read.
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