Facebook Activity

Teen Ink on Twitter

Report abuse Submit my work Share/bookmark Email Print Home

Tehran & Tears

Author's note: I am Persian but I was born and raised in Los Angeles. Growing up in a Persian household, my...  Show full author's note »
Author's note:

I am Persian but I was born and raised in Los Angeles. Growing up in a Persian household, my mother always speaks Farsi and cooks Persian food. I started to build a love for my culture. I wanted to be more connected to it so I decided to write about the Iranian Revolution. 

 « Hide author's note
Chapters:   1 2 3 4 Next »

Loss of My Loved Ones

As I walk home from school, I feel the harsh wind hit my face and my body starts to shiver. Winter just began, meaning we had a different dress code in school. I pass the liquor store, where they sold my favorite cheese puffs that my mom never let me eat before dinner. I stop there just to get one on my way home to hide in my backpack for later.
After a long day of school, I finally walk into my house. The smell of the khoresht makes me hungry so I put my stuff down and go to the living room. I sit down on the rusted Persian carpet. The table’s are made small and we can sit without chairs. The walls are painted a dark maroon. I feel the cold air coming from the window and the hairs on my arm stick up. I hear someone moaning in the kitchen.
“Hello, Hello, is anybody home?” I say loudly.
The moaning stops.
I slowly walk towards the kitchen and push the pantry door forward.
Ziba’s eyes are red and tears are rushing down her face.
“Oh my God Ziba, What happened to you? Are you okay?” I say. I try to sound loving and calm but my paranoia rises to the surface like water mixed with oil.
She clearly can’t move, frozen with fear. I try tapping her on the shoulder and waving my hand back and forth but nothing moves. Not a single bone in her body can even tremble.
I know Mom and Dad are at work and I have no way of communicating with them until they get home.
She finally raises her hand and points at the window.
“What’s wrong, Is it Omid?” I say.
She nods her head.
I quickly ran next door to Omid’s house. He always knows what’s going on around the neighborhood so I thought I would knock on his door.
I knock again And again
No one is answering.
I find myself pounding on the door now. I feel my frustration in my fist and I know I am trying to release some of my confusion.
“Hold on, I’m coming” I hear him screaming from the backyard.
He unlocks the latches and opens the door.
“Shirin, it’s so nice to see you, what are you doing here?” he says with shock.
“When I came home from school today, I heard someone moaning in the kitchen. I went to go check and it was Ziba. She couldn't speak and her eyes weren't moving. Tears were rushing down her face. She told me to go to you, do you know what happened to her?” I say while realizing how surprised I am at the monotone voice that I am able to use.
Omid stands there with his lips pouted. He wears a button down shirt with the three bottom buttons unbuttoned. He wears small glasses at the tip of his nose. His gold chain laying on his burley chest. He holds a cup of chai and I can see the steam rising out of the cup. His back was hunched and his hair was partially white. He seems to be years older every time I came to him for advice or news.
“Hello Omid, are you okay?” I say waving my hand back and forth in his face.
Now he is frozen.
He finally moves his eyes and says, “Shirin Joon, come on in, sit down and have some chai while I tell you what is going on.”
I walk into the house and step lightly onto the Persian rug. I enter the living room and sit on the old vintage tapestry that smelled like rose water. While I look around, I see lots of ancient artwork. They all have one thing in common, the unibrow painted on the canvas. The room was overly decorated with antique furniture. Part of me felt welcomed and part of me felt overwhelmed.
Omid comes into the living room holding two cups of dark chai. He places them on the table. The table with dates, nuts, and Persian cucumbers. I usually don’t eat anything with my chai, I like it plain.
He sits back in a chair across the room from me with no expression on his face.
“Shirin Joon, I have some really really bad news for you and I don’t know how you will take it” he says softly.
I sit on the edge of my seat.
I take a deep breathe, sigh and say, “What is the bad news? What could be so horrible?
Omid pushes back his glasses and says, “It’s about the revolution”. I nod my head.
“There is a lot of violence and killing going on. Many people have died today and these past days.” he says softly.
I lean back into the chair.
“I still do not understand what this has to do with me?” I say in a melancholy tone though I am eager to know.
“I’m sorry Shirin Joon but there is no other way I can tell you this. Both your mom and Dad died today during the War. They were working at the store and a random person was rummaging through stores and started killing people one by one. One of my friends reported to me that your parents store was broken into during the riot and killed your mom and dad.”
The words leave his mouth like a bullet leaving the barrel of a gun in slow motion. I sit there and watch the bullet pierce my skin and drive through my heart. I am shaking yet I am frozen. I assume that my body trembles but my mind is frozen. The wound slowly starts to bleed as tears come rushing down my face.
I keep telling myself this had to be a dream. But its not.
I run out of Omid’s house without saying goodbye and into my house, up the stairs, and into my room. I pull the sheets over my head and lay there quietly, pretending I’m asleep. I have school tomorrow but how can I go, I wondered.

Chapters:   1 2 3 4 Next »

Post a Comment

Be the first to comment on this book!

Launch Teen Ink Chat
Site Feedback