Chapter 1: untruthful

Chapter One: untruthful. 

 Within the pitch darkness and with a slight light hitting the wall softly, the sounds of his breath danced with the strange ringing of his ears that was only audible to him.

 Lying on an old bed, holding his phone and putting his whole body under the blanket, his breath getting sharper every now and then, stopping suddenly and coming back again.

 It was a wonderful feeling, an ecstasy, continuing to move his hands under the blanket and his shadow dancing on the wall because the phone light hit him.

 Despite the feeling of euphoria that he loved now, the feeling of regret he felt was disturbing, his heart was breaking, but it continued as if his lust had seized him.

 After a while, he was holding some tissues from which he wiped the semen that came out of him and threw them under the bed. He began wiping the search log and his thoughts were a little scattered, partly in support of what he had done, but the feeling that overwhelmed him was remorse, sadness, and remorse.

 The voice of his sigh trembled as he came out of his mouth, saying, "And here you have done it again. Are you satisfied with yourself? Did a minute of pleasure make you like an animal comfortable for you?"

 He came back and said in a shaky and faint voice, "Why?"

 After a very short time, an idea came to his mind, "What is the use of people doing all these sins?"

 His eyes had been awake long enough, and they cried, cried, and grieved.

 All he wanted was comfort until his mind accepted this idea and calmed his mind a little, the sounds of the wind outside were rippling to his ears, with that whistling that made him tremble.

 His eyes began to close so quietly that they felt a burning sensation.

 Only a few moments passed, and now he was embraced by blackness from everywhere.

 *Tuesday at 5:45 am.

 The alarm rang in a disappointing voice, though, but he was awake some time before the alarm rang, but he didn't want to move until it rang.

 Some sounds come to his mind, some of them prevent him from moving, some of them want him to move, and some of them want him to go back to sleep.

 He turned off the alarm from his cellphone after he pulled his finger to the right, got to his feet and wandered for a while, looking around into that small room.

 He stared at that stagnant, dusty fan on the edges of motion, at the washing machine he had put beside his bed because of the lack of space in his little house, at the chair at the table, at the old cupboard, at the wall, and then at that window and at the darkness outside, it was really lonely.

 He reached out to the washing machine, and took his long-sleeved blouse that was above it, touching its light fabric and feeling that he wanted to touch his face with it, he raised it to his face and the hair of his light beard penetrated between the pores of the blouse.

 He started to move as he put it on, heading towards that wooden door with his white fist, a slight creak came from him when he opened it and when he closed it gently, it was as if he didn't want someone to wake up now, he felt the cold wooden floor on the bottom of his foot, it was really annoying.

 He reached one of the doors, raised his hand to the light socket, and a white light spread from behind the spaces around the door as he turned on the socket.

 He opened the door and entered, it was a small bathroom, with only a mirrored toilet and a rusty shower in the corner.

 He stood in front of the mirror above the toilet. He was really annoyed by the cold floor, so he did what he always used to do, which was to raise both toes just so they wouldn't freeze.

 He went to the shower and turned on the hot water, which got cold for a while, feeling the water every moment to make sure the water was hot.

 “Why just put the heater away like that,” he said, annoyed, “from the morning they make you hate your day, even before it starts.” He got tired of waiting so he took cold water and washed his face.

 .

 .

 He turned off the water and then came back and looked in the mirror, which was a little dirty from its edges, because of the drops of water that fell on it and dried up until it left stains.

 He was staring at his face in the mirror, and for some reason he was more focused than before.

 His hair was untidy and black, which tended to dark brown in the intense light, his pin-headed pupils because of their small size, dark and light dark circles under his eyes, and his pale complexion.

 He raised his hands in front of his face and stared at them, they were dead from work and trembling a little, the ends of his nails a black color like dirt that had gathered there.

 He looked at his green toothbrush and was unable to clean them. Then he stared at that other red toothbrush that was next to his brush. It was an old and worn out brush, as if it had not been used for a while.

 He raised his head up as he put his tongue under his upper lip - i.e. moved his tongue over his upper teeth - stared at that little spider web beside the paint that had started to fall off because of the moisture, then suddenly shook his head a little as he lowered it, with his eyes wide open and then back to normal after they both closed Several times in a row and quickly.

 He let out a light sigh from his nose without opening his mouth as he said, "Get away from those thoughts, now turn off the light, the bills have never fallen short with me."

 Turn off the light with his left hand, leaving the bathroom door open.

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 The quiet in the place was really lonely, but it was the only thing that made him feel comfortable, "I don't know why people don't like this beautiful quiet, heh..people?..they are just idiots trying to live with stupid goals." He said as he spoke to himself in a light voice.

 He completed his light steps heading towards the kitchen, after the place started to be brighter than before, so he turned off the light that was illuminating the place, and looked out the kitchen window and the leaves of the trees were moved by the light wind from afar, with the orange color beginning to spread within the cloudy sky.

 He grabbed two decorative plates and a frying pan under it that was full of fat and black because of its many years of use, went to the bathroom again, but this time without turning on the light, he just went in and opened the shower water, which started to run warm water, "Really?.. Now you go down" he said. Sarcastically.

 Washing the two dishes in the beginning and then washing the pan, moving them with the air back and forth to get rid of the water on them, the water drops that spread from the two dishes and the pan sometimes touched his fingertips and other times touched his face.

 He stood and faced directly in front of the cook, lit the fire after he kept turning the gas control knob, put the frying pan on the fire and waited for it to dry and get hot until he put the oil in it, white smoke rising from the evaporation of the water, which was making a sound like a bee had passed by someone's ear He bent his back and went down and opened one of the drawers in which he was putting all the spices, which in turn began to run out.

 The spice cans were a group of empty cans, including tea and coffee cans, and even a small pickle jar, except for the small bag of salt he had brought without even placing it in a place designated for him.

 Next to the bag of salt was a plastic bottle with oil in it. It almost ran out, so he said to himself audibly, "Huh.. I should have done the shopping yesterday before I came back."

 He took the oil bottle and started putting everything left in it into the frying pan. There was no sound from the frying pan, even though it was hot, but the only sound that came out was his thumb pressing on the plastic bottle, which was almost empty.

 He put the bottle in a small black bag that he had put next to the cooker instead of the trash that was broken earlier.

 He went to the refrigerator, which was also almost empty, except there were some eggs on the door and some apples from last week, and two boxes of cheese, one open and the other not.

 He looked a little while contemplating the refrigerator, took a deep breath and held three eggs, two with the right hand and one with the left hand. He turned his back and closed the refrigerator after pushing its door with the back of his foot.

 He stood in front of the frying pan and to make sure that the oil was hot enough, he put his hand on one of the plates that was still wet, raised his index finger and touched the plate until its tip became wet.

 He made a loud crackling sound, and thus he knew the oil was ready.

 He broke the first egg with the edge of the metal cooker, the metal got dirty a little and a drop of egg poured down, he lifted the broken egg almost in front of the oil and then opened the peel and split into two parts, and the white and yolk fell together inside the oil and the oil started making its usual sound, then repeat the process with the other two eggs.

 He took a spoon which he forgot to wash, so all he did was quickly and tensely wipe it with his shirt before the eggs burned. "How did I... forget to wash it."

 He began to stir the eggs and their fragrant smell began to hover in the corners of the place, a voice came out of his stomach indicating that it was time to eat, and inside his throat he felt that it was narrowing, he wanted to reach out now and eat, “salt remains.” He lowered his body and opened the small spice drawer, looked across and then He took his thumb and forefinger to take some salt, raised his body and put the salt in a circular motion and then continued mixing inside the pan.

 He began to hum with a strange and slightly silly melody, turned off the cook, clutching the handle of the frying pan, and then let go of it suddenly.

 Hold the two plates by their ends and hang a little salt on one of the plates, because the salt has stuck to his fingers and has not completely fallen off.

 He spread a small rug on the floor that he had taken from between the space between the cook and the empty drawers. It was square in shape and two meters long in every direction. He put the dishes on it and stood with his left hand supporting himself to stand on his feet.

 He started walking on the cold wood until he arrived in front of a worn-out door. He opened the door slightly, "Mom?.. Are you awake?" He said in a soft, gentle voice, still pushing the door little by little.

 He looked at that little room and contemplated it, for some reason he started smelling the place to make sure there was a strange smell or not, well it seemed he didn't smell anything.

 He looked toward the bed. He stared at that bed, the only thing in the room, no.. Next to it was a chair rusted at the edges with plastic wheels that had some dirt on it.

 She was lying on that bed with her eyes wide open, "Breakfast is ready, um.. I guess I should have turned you the other way, does your side hurt?"

 As the doctor told him, he should have turned her over every few hours, so that the pain would not begin to spread without his knowledge all over her body.

 He smiled a little... but there was a kasra on his face despite the smile, because he didn't hear the answer from her.

 He approached her and slowly lifted the cover off her, moved the little curtain, letting some of the light that was so faint softly hit her feet.

 He let out a hoarse breath as he held his mother in his arms. He had some difficulty with his hunched back, but he felt some sudden vanity, so he continued until he raised her to the level of his stomach.

 He started walking... through the door, moving sideways.. Then he corrected his gait after crossing it. He got down on his knees while still carrying his mother in his arms, and then began to gently lower her until her back was on the wall and face against the plate.

 He stood again, after making sure that it was stable and would not fall. He came back and grabbed the handle of the frying pan and carried it as he headed in front of the plate to sit.

 Taking that spoon as he poured some eggs into both plates, he looked at his mother a little and then smiled in a calm voice, "You know, after I held you, I felt your hands became more solid, my massage seems to have worked as well as I expected."

 A simple voice came out of his mother, it was a very faint "Ah.." It was like a faint sigh.

 He started feeding her before he ate. He raised the spoon under which some eggs were hung to her mouth. She could chew well, that is, her lower jaw was working more than they say is a little good.

 "After I get back I'll go do some shopping, and then I can rub your hands and feet well." He turned back strangely and came back and looked at her as he moved his other hand up and down repeatedly and strangely while keeping his elbow attached to his body, then came back to his knees, "So... hehe... why don't you raise your hand and eat yourself?" He smiled strangely as he stuttered but at one point He was about to cry, it was difficult to smile at that moment, he moved his thumb around his nose in a circular motion as he turned strangely to the left, trying not to show his features that were changing quickly between smiling and sadness as he gasped loudly and intermittently, he was trying to move away this form quickly while laughing Oddly enough, "I was... joking."

 Chapter without modification and with machine translation.

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