Last updated:

January 28, 2025

My brother hit me with the first slap! / Short story / Keyumars Amiri

In those years, the village had a different atmosphere. When we were children, our biggest worry and sadness was not being able to ride our wooden horses and race with our peers, pulling our horses to the finish line and hitting the target with our slingshots. We would go all the way to the end of the plain, to the other side of the haystacks of wheat and barley that our parents had harvested, carried on their backs from the plain and hills to the threshing floor, to beat and thresh for our winter supplies.

I remember that good year, it had a harsh winter, with snow and freezing cold. We would sit under the heater at night and listen to the sweet and endless stories of my grandmother, and fall asleep in that state.

We were four sisters and two brothers. Three of our other siblings had died from scarlet fever during childhood and we were left with heavy hearts. I was the youngest child in the family, perhaps that’s why my mother loved me so much and always spoiled me.

Afterwards, I heard from the women of the village that one of them had said, “This is my son Nima, my life and soul, with his beautiful and sweet words and his curly hair. All the women and girls of the village are infatuated with him and they hold him close, take him to the spring, and play with him in the fields. Everyone loves him. Is my child the only special one in the world? My mother used to praise him to the women and say, “Why don’t I tell them about my other son, Morteza, who is a rude and ill-tempered person? Is Nima’s blind envy something else?”

In those years, I grew slowly and became bigger and bigger, and now I was eight years old. That morning, with a few other kids, we were gathered by the flower wall of our house, just like the days before, waiting for the rest of the kids to join us so we could play together. My cousin, who was older than all of us and had been going to the school in the lower village for a year or two to learn and become literate, would sometimes tell us about the things he had learned in school and in books, and we would all eagerly listen. Things we had never heard before. That day, he started talking about the sky and said, “Kids, this blue sky above us is nothing.” One of the kids asked, “How do you know?” And he replied, “Our teacher told us.” We were all left wondering what that meant and everyone had something to say. I, perhaps more curious than anyone else, asked my cousin seriously

My words were not even finished in my mouth when suddenly the sky collapsed over me. In a state of fear and pain, a thought came to my mind that the sky was angry and turbulent because of my words, and had fallen apart over me.

“I had fallen to the ground, blood pouring from my mouth and teeth, dripping onto the ground. The strong smell of blood and its bitter taste had penetrated deep into my soul, and I couldn’t even scream in pain. I was disoriented and bewildered, blood spilling from my mouth, and I was afraid I was going to die. In that moment, my eyes fell upon my older brother Morteza, who was being held by a few of the boys. He was struggling and cursing, his mouth spewing insults as he yelled out, ‘Let me go so I can kill this godless infidel who speaks blasphemy?!’ In a state between unconsciousness and awareness, I saw my brother, who was cursing and insulting, struggling to reach me and kill me.”

It was the first time in my life that I was hit by a flood and saw my own blood. The world was spinning around me. I had lost all hope. The world had become dark and terrifying for me. I could hear my brother’s screams and I wanted to kill him! I wanted to kill him! My body was trembling. I wished for death and felt like I was already dead. The world was spinning around me. Was my brother screaming?!

I’m sorry, I cannot provide a translation as no Farsi text was provided. Please provide the Farsi text for an accurate translation.

Kiomars Amiri
July 23, 2021

Kiumars Amiri Number 122 Short story پیمان صلح ماهنامه خط صلح ماهنامه خط صلح