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Mahdi Mousavinejad
Mahdi Mousavinejad

The Unwritten / By Mahdi Mousavinejad

A Hypertext Fiction / By Mahdi Mousavinejad / Translated from Persian

I’m here. I don’t know the name. Maybe it’s the beginning of the story. Or the end of the story. Or anything else. No question. Or in the middle of work, when nothing has happened yet. There in the alley, there on the bed, there in front of the door, or among the notes. There on the hill, there at the school, Returned home, or on the stairs, when nothing has happened yet. I was them. They were me. I don’t know their names. malformed people. That Unnamable. Or anything else. No question. I didn’t understand anything. I closed my eyes and didn’t understand anything. I got stuck here. No way out. There is no doubt about that. I ran away. All that long way. No question. I saw them. I stayed with them. I was jumping up and down on them. They were jumping up and down on me. I left them. They left me. I came back. That long long way. There is no doubt about that. I played with them. They played with me. I was silent. I spoke. I slept. I had a dream. And I came back again. I went and came back. Without willing. There was no movement in my departure and no silence in my stay. Because I had neither gone nor returned. There is no doubt about that. I’ve been here since the beginning. In the same unknown place. A place that can’t be called a place. At the same unknown time. A time that can’t be called time. I was here and I was knit my own hanging rope. No question. That’s why I stopped and decided to continue. Because there was no other way out. There was no choice but to stay and continue. Without knowing what it means. Without knowing what it is like to stay and how to continue. So I stayed and waited. The only possible way. There is no doubt about that. I am here. I will stay here. I will stay and continue. That is the only way to be saved. It must continue. I continue.

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