Waggish Picture

by: Fozya Soltanbagi

translated by: Kurdistan Hajbi

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till now I’ve thought about my death several times and sit beside my corpse and sobbed and sobbed.

I’ve tried every kind of dying, I don’t want to talk about suicide that I’d have a handful of cyanide or hanging myself. The last tool was a bottle of petrol and a matchstick, in the bathroom my burning odor filled everywhere and I got to ash then peopl felt it.

Another time I’d come down with cancer and after six months pain,torment, ache and chemotherapy I will give up. The other time I’d face with strok, I don’t know wheter it is infarct or apoplexy one but I will kick the bucket before arriving to hospital, uh I remember it was apoplexy one because when doctors disappointed they donated those organs that were alive. I remember my heart was donated to a twenty-year-old girl, as young as me, then she got in love with my boyfriend, wow I enjoyed it because my heart was still beating for him!

Once it was late and both of us were late for school, Hiwa would wake up by the alarm of phone, he would realize it is 9:00 a.m and wonderd if why I haven’t woken him up. He feels I’m still asleep on his arm and my straight hair is towhead on the pillow, his arm and shouldr. ” oh girl why haven’t you woken up till now, it is near noon!” he calls me, shakes me very fast, checks my breath, listens to my heartbeat. I’m cold. I died.

I haven’t come back from my travels several times, my red manicured nails are left on the steering wheel, my blood is flowing on the road, in the sky I’d  fall on the planes with several passengers into the black sea and sighing to hug my corpse by my mom. These day I got into No15 train of Mahabad-diyarbakr and haven’t got out for always.

believe me I’ve though about every kind of dying but I’ve never thought about that once upon a time one knocks the door, I open the door with glasses, unkempt hair and a pen in my hand, many times I say who’s that? but there’s no answer, I look at the outside, there’s no one there but I see a picture written ” I Love You” on the apposite wall, I laugh at this joke I think it’s just a joke such as those joke of world!

I close the door, I’ve forgotton what I was reading or writing, so I will be busy with something else.

Believe it or not I believe my dying but there is no one to believe it, in a week I’ll remind  this picture again and think it’s just a joke and repeat again and again in my mind.

Again he knocks the door, I make up my hair and face and quickly open the door, I look at the outside but there’s no one there then a picture written ” I Love You” smiles at me on the wall. I’d like to take it out but it is as far as I can’t take it out, the more I get closer the more it goes far away.

I’d come toward you but wouldn’t reach you, I’d pave the way of every allies, cites, countries, I’d go so away from my home that I can’t find the way back of there. I wouldn’t dare to ask anyone, because neither me nor people believe that I’ve thought about that.