Faith No More

By Afshin Mohammadi

There's nothing more heartbreaking in life than finding out that the one beside whom you could find peace, searches elsewhere for serenity.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris UK
• Release date: Sep 21, 2010
• ISBN: 9781453577769

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Copyright © 2010 by Afshin Mohammadi.

ISBN:          Softcover                                 978-1-4535-7775-2

                   Ebook                                      978-1-4535-7776-9

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

This book was printed in the United States of America.

To order additional copies of this book, contact:

Xlibris Corporation

0-800-644-6988

www.xlibrispublishing.co.uk

[e-mail]

300964

Contents

Acknowledgements

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

for my mother and father

Acknowledgements

I AM GRATEFUL TO my lovely family, for their unwavering support during doing this; and to those friends of mine, whose encouragement inspired me to do my utmost. I am indebted to Mr. Ali Sabetipoor and Dr. Gholamreza Sami, my professors at English department of the University of Kashan, for their resourceful help-though I alone am to blame for any inaccuracies or unlikely details.

There’s nothing more heartbreaking in life than finding out

that the one beside whom you could find peace,

searches elsewhere for serenity.

1

Confusion

SUDDENLY, I FOUND myself on a rough surface, surrounded by some damp papers, on which lots of vague sentences were written recently. Some days ago I had been knocked unconscious and I had no idea about the events that had happened during this period. I had partly lost my memory, so I watched around deliberately, exploring a clue to remember something. That was very strange. I had a strong sense of déjà vu as I saw him, leaning against a marble stoned column with a pair of swollen, bleary eyes. His lips, parted with surprise, were frequently pressed together with anger. It seemed he had cried so much and was also in great need of sleep. Yet, he was as motionless as a sculpture, with eyes wide open. He didn’t look at me at all. Even a small grey mouse, running here and there, could not distract him from what he was obviously contemplating about for a long time. A knife, with a sharp shining blade, not very far from me, was put beside a continuously ringing cell-phone, to which he paid no attention. A burlap sack, on which a cute red, silk heart was embroidered with black threads, sat in the corner, next to a heater. He looked at it in a way that I imagined he deeply hated burlap sacks, or perhaps at least this one. His stillness was broken in the blink of an eye, as he savagely attacked the sack, holding a lighter in his right hand. Now, I was not only confused by the bizarre stuff around but a growing fear was also struck into me, for he looked like a real psycho. He fetched a metal container viciously and threw the sack in it, but suddenly picked it up again, as if he wanted to dive into it and take something out: a birthday card.

He opened it and silently read the inside. It sounded like he thoroughly knew the content but wanted to check the handwriting for the last time. The sack and the card were respectively dropped into the container and the next moment they started to burn, as he lighted them. The place was becoming too hazy but he was just staring at the burning, unwilling to put the fire out.

I was scared stiff. Witnessing this dangerous situation, I decided to try my best to recall something and find out where I was. While being unconscious, I had dreamed many times of a chain of incidents, which was possibly my past. Yes, those disorganized flashbacks-trotting in my head like motion pictures-were my past. They merely needed to be arranged chronologically. That was the only viable solution to perceive this chaotic situation, before it was too late. Nonetheless, it kept worsening rapidly. I closed my eyes and concentrated on what I had seen and felt in my dreams . . .

Buenos dias, Señor Lopez. Said his neighbor.

Here we go. One more fascinating day is about to begin. One of my hands said ironically.

We ought to be patient. There’s light at the end of the tunnel. Another hand of mine, always labeled as sensible, said to show sympathy.

I kept silent, passively looking at Mr. Lopez as he was talking to his friend, with a lock in his hand.

It was another windy day in autumn in Valencia, and I was watching people who were walking in front of our place, some of whom stopped to take a short look at my counterparts and me for a minute or two and then continued their walk. Seasons were coming and going and I was still unwanted. I felt a void inside. Once