SHELLS RAINING FROM SKY WOUND EYES
When I started to understand how to live, I saw how I was dying.
This sentence I just came across, this sentence that tells me about me, awakened the mindless monster called the past and haunted me.
The past was moving along the so-called future with me, holding its head in your hands.
With two pairs of eyes in the middle of his head, when I come to the eye, his childhood, which I call a wound, was drawn in his eyes and created me. The eyes I met in a pair of eyes were staring at me crying.
One side of me, who wanted to say cry, burned the lighter in his hand and threw it on it without hesitation, the two pairs of eyes on the broken head of the creature called the past were gouging and eating raw raw. One side of me moving forward without looking back, burned the other side, the eyes he saw in his childhood had eaten raw, and he had a pain in his stomach that never went away. It was both half and painful now.
My steps were slow and sluggish as I made my way through the cobblestone road. I entered one of the busy streets and started to climb the slope. The printouts between my hands were squeezed like a wrist with my fingers, which were rolled, and the veins threw out of that wrist and showed itself in the lines on the paper, and it became clear. The thoughts in my mind flowed like ink on paper and painted the green of my eyeballs to black. I took my thoughtful gaze away from the stony road and turned it up the hill. Contrary to yesterday's air, today the air was covered with fog like a poisonous shroud, turning the sun around like a marble between its fingers, making its presence obscure.
Everyone was in a hurry and rush. The black stubby-haired woman, as I understood from the way her lips took to the bus she missed when she arrived at the stop, was swearing, she gave up on the bus and continued on her way with the taxi she found empty. A little girl took the child by the hand of her mother and tugged it into the ice cream parlor, the old man who saw the cat rushing onto the road, jumped on the road without caring about the cars and hugged the cat.
And at that moment a thought that fell into my mind ceased to be a thought with raindrops of various sizes falling from the sky and began to fall into reality. I tried to protect the papers I rolled from the rain with my knitted cardigan as I finished the slope and turned towards the straight road.
I could stay in the rain for hours. The rain did not occupy any problem for me. But I didn't want the prints I could hardly pull out to be executioners. My aunt had removed the location of a restaurant she went to to meet with her client, told that she was finished and that she would buy me a coffee. At that time, I saw that the position he had taken was near the stationery where I was taking the printouts, and I thought a coffee would be good. I wish I hadn't thought about it. When I stepped up and entered the cafe street, I was trying to find out which cafe it was with an unclear glance because of my hair.
And at that moment my world turned upside down.
A horn that I noticed coming from very close rang, the crackling sound from the radio echoed in my ears and swallowed up all the other sounds. My step fell into the void, and as all my balance was lost, my fingers wrapped around the paper I rolled loosened, while I was going to lose my balance and fall from the sidewalk towards the rattling cars, I was grabbed hard by my neck and hit a body of the same stiffness. My eyes widened in shock with the scent of salt water that wafted my nose. My body was froze, whether the burly man I was leaning on was stroking my neck with his hot breath, whether he was instantly hit by the impact or because of the fear of being crushed under their cars.
"The wrong way to commit suicide, boy," the misty voice mingled with the sound of the rain and froze as if it would freeze even more where I was. it was different, there was something in his voice that could distinguish it from the tone of most people. If I wanted to put a name on it, my words would get scared, my words from my word gallows would hang themselves and leave me without words against this tone of voice. I swallowed like a set, If I had roots, I would take root here, leave my roots on the ground beneath me, be one with it.
At that moment, with the heavy rain, the rolls of paper between my hands were scattered. At a time that seemed like a century to me, but could not complete half a minute, I left the built man I was mourning, commanding the last drop of power at my feet. I knelt in fear and tried to collect the papers on the floor, as my heart beats out of my rib cage and beats at my feet.
When my fingers grasped a piece of paper blown by the wind, the ink of the writings on it became smudged and unreadable. While I was squeezing in my mouth as if my teeth would be ripped out, overlapped and broken
I murmured "Wow…". It took me weeks to find and assemble them. There was nothing that needed to be brought up in such a hurry, but these articles, which I gathered by gathering a lot of research, took two weeks and disappeared within two seconds. On top of that, I forgot to copy it and returned the books that covered 75% of my research to the libraries I bought separately.
Kneeling on the ground, I forgot this man who was at my feet, who was both my savior and the executioner of my research. When I looked up to thank him, the shoes entered my field of vision, and before my gaze could climb up, they had already gone downhill and disappeared. I stared from behind as a hollow formed between my eyebrows and it was filled with rain water and flowing. Didn't he let me thank you? he had seen my papers fall to the ground and I knew he was waiting on my head while he was collecting it in a hurry, but why didn't he help me? For a moment I realized that I was growing it in my head. I noticed it at that moment as my eyes opened with shock. There was no way he was my savior. I was going to lose my balance and fall as it passed my bottom. And because of him, I was about to hit the road, it could result in injury or death, but this man had ruined my work on the bidet as if it was not enough to hold me by my neck by hurting me. If he was wise right now and he didn't disappear, I would declare his limits without paying attention to his size.
I got up off my knees and straightened on me. While my research was flying and crushed under their cars, I left them behind me and crossed the street, paying attention to the cars. My aunt stuck as I scanned my eyes through the glass-covered cafe. He was sitting at the table next to the window, playing a song that I know belongs to the seventies from the inside, and while my aunt kept rhythm with her head, she was texting with someone and sipping the coffee in front of her.
As I walked in from the cafe, the lean young boy I knew working here was collecting the thrown chairs. He did not look up from the phone until I walked in and pulled the chair opposite my aunt. With a shrill voice coming out of the chair, my aunt jumped and lifted her head. When he saw me, the stern expression on his face rushed away and replaced with a cute expression.
"Where have you been, my lamb?" he said in his voice of curiosity. "Don't ask, I was caught in the rain, can we have a coffee and get up, aunt?" My eyebrows frowned as my chest swelled with the need to inhale that scent after my experiences minutes ago passed like a film strip while he murmured. From what smell of hand to me? On top of that, I almost fell under their cars because of him. Her own skin could not have such a scent anyway. I am sure that she used the perfume to impress the girls and bought it from the best brands. Cockscomb.
He rolled his dark brown eyes around the table and squeezed my arm in a way that didn't hurt. "Don't call me a girl neither an aunt, a human in human being. They will think old," my lips curved upwards when she said.
He was on the ladder in his forties. He had gathered his chestnut-colored hair, as always, with a barrette, and made a ponytail. He had his white shirt off the lapels, and that gave him a different feel. Big almond eyes, a nose that fits very well on his long face that won't grin, thin but shaped lips curved upwards, in his eyes with that joy he was signaling that his business was going well with the client he had met before me.
My aunt was a good lawyer. Having analytical skills, he used to show his creativity in the most difficult cases he took, adding night to day. When he received a file, he would not leave his study for weeks, so sometimes I would leave his coffee in front of him and watch him in a corner. He would always examine that file down to the finest detail. For hours he would research and analyze previous decisions, jurisprudence and issues. I deeply admire him as I stare at his perseverance and patience.
My aunt was a good aunt as well as a good lawyer. She was not a woman in her forties, often in front of me, like a girl who tried to entertain me and often thrived. The more She talks, the quieter I was, the more she drank the elixir of life, the more I buryed the elixir of death she. We were like two different colored faces of a knife.
I took a sip of the coffee placed in front of me and said, "How was it with your client?" When I asked, the restlessness that appeared in his eyes made me swallow hard.
"It's a special case," she took a deep breath when she said. "Let's say I'm actually paying my debt to an old friend." An understanding expression sat on my face when he said.
"I understand" I muttered. It was warm inside, the cellar was already dry on me, the coldness broke off my skin and the warmth was tightly tied where it broke.
"Your grandmother was looking for you, you were not returning to the woman, you are unhelpful grandchild, the woman was worried and called me. I thought you rejected me from adoption until you were worried about you and called me." she said mockingly, my fingers on the wooden table rhythm with the raucous song playing in the cafe.
"I'm looking for him, but I think he's blocked me again by mistake," she laughed quietly when I murmured,
"Crazy woman, shall we go sometime? When my uncle calls as if my mother is not enough, you call me and says you are plucking my rose from me, what are you talking about, man, I plucked your rose, I planted your rose in my garden, it was still whipped…"
One
We had talked with my aunt for a while, our coffees were finished and stopped in the rain. My aunt had paid for the coffees before I let me pay, and we started walking to the taxi stand together.
"I will need support from some of my friends for this case, my lamb, but if you say that I will be bored alone at home, I can go home with you and take care of my business from home." I turned my unconscious gaze to my aunt when she said. In fact, I wouldn't normally be so overwhelmed, on the contrary, he would leave me alone, make friends, live my youth, and encourage me to have lots of fun. But this day was different from those days. I knew this well as I knew that the words of sadness drawn in the water in his eyes carried concern for me on his back. He will understand the faintness in my gaze ...
"Okay, okay. I didn't say say," he entered my arm. "Then you go home, on foot on your butt, on foot, watch a good movie instead of me. I am not saying that I will come late, wait for me. You never wait anyway." When he said, I shrugged as I put my hands in the pockets of my knitted cardigan.
When we got to the taxi stop, we said goodbye to my aunt, and by this time she had forced money into my pocket. I got into the car with a laugh, he waved at me as he waved my hand, my hand remained in the air until the mustache and belly-man sitting in the driver's seat started the engine of the car, the smile on my face hung it on my face like a portrait on the wall.
When the car was running and my aunt saw that she was walking in the opposite direction, I wiped the smile that I had drawn on my face with a pencil, with a scratch stroke, with a large-bodied eraser.
My shoulders collapsed with the weight I felt on my shoulders. Years ago, he was orphaned, my father stopped filling my mother's absence, he added himself to that void, leaving me an orphan with his presence. My mother has married a rich widow woman with children after his death, his job had turned into one of amplifying the name frequently spoken in Turkey at the moment. As his fame grew, his heart, which beating in his bosom and gaining him humanity, diminished and ceased to exist.
When he stopped beating mankind with his heart, the greatest gift God gave him, instead of praying and asking God for a second chance, he turned his back on God, found himself in the house of the devil, making a deal with the devil, the moment he shook the devil's hand, hug him in the lap of rich life. My father found himself doing the dance.
What my father was unaware of was what the devil received as he gave in every deal. Under his heart was his humanity that was weak and voiced, but I knew he was there. As the devil plunged his sinful hands into his ribcage and pulled his heart out, his humanity was destroyed by the heart that he squeezed in his palm and turned it into ashes.
In my last moment when I prostrated with him, my lips were opened just for a prayer, and that was that I had a daughter like her mother, God accepted my prayer, he gave me a king with the presence of a clean and beautiful girl like a prayer, always stay like a prayer, my beautiful girl, I always pray. He said to be with you.
My father used to say to me my prayers, my father used to say to me, my father was not praying anymore, I could not stay clean and beautiful as prayer anyway.
When my father's prayers are over, all that is clean and beautiful is over. I wonder if he cursed afterwards, and my father couldn't do that much.
It's true, my father was no longer a good person to keep curses or prayers.
When my father turned into such a person, my grandmother took me with him, after staying away in the city for a while, my aunt took me with him for good, and my school years were spent with my aunt. My grandmother, uncle and aunt, all of them avoided my eyes and kissed my sore places after my mother. The value I felt towards them did not fit inside me, it carried me outside.
I was missing my mother. When I thought I was not missing my mother, I missed those who knew. Maybe he sips her longing with that coffee at the second sip of a cup of coffee, maybe he misses her in the word mother twenty-ninth that I deluded in my sleep, maybe in the ninety-ninth scratch that I threw on paper while drawing his face.
I had a lot of maybe, I had a lot of longing. It was also very common for my mother not to come and cover me on nights when I slept with my clothes off.
Already a very mother ...
The taxi was advancing slowly in the bosom of the night, conquering the night from within. I lean my head against the window and turn my tired gaze outside. The red Tofaş advancing in front of us was carrying the song of leaving, which Müslüm Gürses knew was booming and filling the interior of other vehicles.
The driver of the taxi I was in now, bellied and grunted at his bald head, which I think was in his fifties, which, unlike his bushy mustache, did not carry a single wire, stepped on the gas and left the red Tofaş behind.
At that moment, the telephone melody echoing in the taxi separated the silence in the car as a knife cut the bread into two. I took my phone out of my knitted cardigan pocket and looked at the caller. This number, which was not recorded, I did not know when it was memorized, but was memorized, caused my heart to beat in my mouth.
I let go of my breath as the melody of my phone faded with its light. Sa
Then again, when the melody of my phone filled the inside of the taxi, when the driver looked in the rearview mirror and started grunting again, I answered the call and held the phone to my ear.
"Alyadua?" When I heard his full and harsh voice, I snapped my lips and my gaze shifted to the girl sitting in the back seat in the black jeep advancing in front of us. The little girl's blond hair was draped over her shoulders, her red bowed hairpins with two snaps were attached to her hair, and when she turned her excited and curious gaze out of the window, I saw her face. The inside of his big almond eyes was home to a clear blue, he was watching vehicles passing by excitedly and counting the vehicles as I understood from the shape his lips took. In a dress that looked like a glamorous red wedding gown outside of her white shirt, it looked like dolls decorated and embellished. When he turned towards the vehicle I was looking at, he saw my gaze and paused. As my lips curled up, her blue eyes rolled to my lips, her eyes touched my eyes as a smile would form on her face, and the smile on her face froze at that moment, her face grimaced and she was thrown at the blonde woman I guessed to be her mother in front.
For a moment I shook my back with a whip, and stared at the little girl. Yes, no one thought to have a loving expression on my face, but I smiled. He was afraid of me when he softened the expression on my face for him. While I was scaring a boy, he slap me in the face and whip blows on my back. My aunt told me to open glass in front of my walls and decorate the front of my windows with flowers, although sometimes I could not lift the walls on my face. But I built such walls that I made the bricks from iron and the plaster from fire. Now I could neither tear down those walls, open windows, nor make flowers, even if I wanted to.
"are you there ?" There was a few crackles from behind when he said. He was probably sitting at his desk, taking advantage of the whole day at work, writing down what he found missing, and formulating a plan to complete them.
I knew him better than him.
"I'm here, dad." The thorns on my throat blew both my voice and my words with a dry voice.
When he said "how are you?" his tiredness was caught in both his voice and his words.
"I live. You?" When I said, I listened to the sounds on the end of the phone. His back was leaning on the chair, he was rubbing his neck. Usually when things went wrong, he would rub his neck and scratch and fry it all day.
"I'm having some trouble at work. An important person will come tomorrow who can help me overcome these troubles, and I want you to be with me as my own daughter." He said and added. "You will wear the outfit that your sister has specially arranged for you. Come early, have time to prepare." Was he aware that in every word he scratched my heart with burnt scissors between his words?
"father?" I swallowed with difficulty when I said "Dad, do you know what is from today?"
When I said, my voice was more than a whisper, my voice was painful, my voice was in pain.
For a while, neither my father nor I spoke. As I listened to their regular breathing, my irregular breathing seemed to be in order. Today was my mother's birthday. I know you know that. I knew this as well as I did. He also knew I knew that. This silence was our architectural knowing. He built the past of silence, which he was architecting. We were the leading roles of the past that he built.
Until my mother came back from work, my father and mother tried to make their favorite chocolate cake, and when we couldn't, we would buy that cake from his favorite pastry shop. Maybe it would be difficult for my father to remember this, or he was already throwing this memory out of his head and filling his head with new memories with his new family. But every time we encounter the disconnected monster called the past sitting on the sofa next to me, the memories fall into my mind in the warmth of yesterday, playing in flames where it fell, the game ended in the fire that broke out and now swallowed the fire and brought me upside down to this moment.
"Don't you have any respect for my father and mother?" I continued without paying attention to his trembling, "Dad… is there no respect for father and daughter, you can call me for those meetings, not for my mother on a day like this?"
I could tell from his troubled breath that he rubbed his neck while saying "Alyadua". While I was digging into my head every detail about him, he was tearing off every detail about me at the expense of his head, but unfortunately there was one thing he forgot, I was his daughter. I was my mother's daughter, and my father, who suffered me whenever he saw me, was also suffering with me when he spoke. Because when she saw my mother's face, voice and smile in me, she betrayed her perfect family, she loved me. My father's love for me betrayed both his own dictionary and himself.
"When you will wipe that past from your head and stop being a little girl and grow up. You cannot be stupid, you are my daughter."
"Dad is my mother whom you call past!" The taxi driver with a start, turned his gaze to me from the rearview mirror. Waste
"Will you stop here?" When I said, the vehicle stopped at the roadside, I squeezed all the money my aunt gave me in the hands of the man and threw myself out of the taxi.
With my ear leaning on my phone, "your mother was my wife too, stupid girl. If your mother saw these states of you, she would spit on her face. Do not force me to threaten me, do what I say without doubling at once, come tomorrow if I say come." she said with a snarl. At that moment, I stopped with my crippled legs without taking myself to the sidewalk with my crippled legs, and I was so quiet that my voice had escaped in me and I couldn't find it. As the phone went off the line, I stood where I got off, my gaze on the asphalt, and fell silent.
If anyone could see me now, if he wasn't standing, he would have thought I was dead with my eyes open. I was stopped, still and speechless. But was it like that, inside of me was a place of judgment. Armageddon carried its place in me, my back was bent under its weight, and I was hunched around. He knew, however, that once he straightened his back, he was not hunched. He knew that he knew, but he had hunched himself inside to keep my exterior upright.5
Even more upright attitude with my shoulders. As I was about to stand up straight and step onto the sidewalk as if swallowed a stick, my heart began to beat with a sudden sound of braking, as if it were about to come off and fall on my feet. I took my breath away, as the asphalt below me slipped away, I was now in the void. I fell rapidly from the void beneath me and hugged the rope. This rope was the rope between life and death, and I was an amateur acrobat on that rope.
The rope broke, my hands let go of the rope, and as I fell out of the void again, I found myself standing on the asphalt on my feet now.
My gaze shifted over my shoulder as I dropped a different color on the painter's palette, mingling with horror and fear, a black Mercedes stood two steps away, I could feel behind the black glass, though I could not see the person, his uncomfortable gaze was upon me.
My chest was rising and falling rapidly, the breath I was trying to take caught on my gasp and left me out of breath. As I was trying to get over the shock of the incident, Mercedes' door opened.
The soldiers' boots, which I saw from the shop windows, entered my field of vision first. Then I saw the black jeans that wrapped around his long legs. Without haste, I raised my gaze, staring slowly and blankly, but with which I planted the seeds of wonder behind its walls. The leather jacket that wrapped around her thin waist made me swallow. His leather jacket, which looked like it would be torn as he went up in a baggy way, was zipped up to his throat, and the leather jacket was in a painful condition. His chin was quite prominent, and his skin was as dead and white as a corpse abandoned by the spirit. As my lips parted, my gaze shifted to her thick red lips, the color of which she sat on. Her thick and shaped lips looked flawless as if each line had been worked on for centuries and created it. My eyes were stuck for a few seconds in the steam coming out of her parted lips, and she started to climb upwards immediately afterwards. His straight and slightly raised nose, two pairs of eyes placed on prominent cheekbones caused my stomach to contract. When you look carefully into the eyes that the blue is intense, it makes me feel that I am in a riot of colors. His lashes, set over his eyes like arrows, were black and bushy.
As I took my eyes from the eyelashes long enough to cast a shadow on the cheekbones, my eyes shifted to the frowning eyebrows and simultaneously I frowned. Looking at his black tarry hair, my eyebrows furrowed further and a slit formed in the middle of my eyebrows. It was all black. If black were black, he would have had hair.
Upon the shock of the incident, the painter in my mind merged the color, which was the shock of this image but in different shades, into the tip of the brush and combined it. The color of his scratch was no longer shock but anger as he dipped the combined color brush and scratched the paper.
When the color on the painter's brush smeared on my eyes and the anger he painted, combined with the burningness in his gaze, it depicted Dante's work Hell in its roots.
While leaning his body against the car, he put one hand on the roof of the car, with the other hand preventing me from being closed.
"Wrong way to suicide boy." I felt breathless when he said. This sound was familiar, the phrase much more familiar. The man holding my neck when I was going to lose my balance and think about the road was definitely this man. The misty voice was penetrating the human mind, making it impossible for one to forget.
I pointed my finger at him. "Joyful?" A confused expression appeared on my face as I asked. Maybe it wasn't him, as usual my mind would be playing with me sobelemlessly and catching my neck. I could not find any color on his face that he knew me. He could have just one color and picture he drew on his face, the room could be the ruthless and secretive faces where the demons in Dante's Hell meet people who fall into Hell.
"Jumping in front of a stranger's car you do not know, with a stranger you do not know and a stranger older than you, in this isolation and desolate place.
Didn't they teach you that you cannot speak with you, child? "My eyes narrowed when he spoke in his thorny voice.
"First, I did not jump in front of your car, I am already on the road, second, I am not a child, but you may be old so that you almost couldn't see a huge me and hit me." Then I smeared the distance in my voice and the hardness in my eyes. Ignoring what I said, he looked around carelessly and turned to me.
"The fourth?" he said, ignoring what I said. "Is it supposed to happen?" When I answered his question with a question, this time his eyes looking carefully were in my eyes.
"You think when you get in the car?"
"Why should I get in a stranger's car?" When I climbed out with a harsh voice, his eyebrows lifted. Maybe he thought I was afraid of where we are now, that I will be thrown into his car. But I got off the taxi when I knew as well that my name was Alyadua, that this place is a secluded and desolate place.
"I will decide that," he said in his secretive voice, and added. When he said, "You may not have survived the shock of the incident, as if something happened to you and I don't want to be guilty while not guilty, because of a kid. So get in the car," every objection I will say was stimulating enough to step on mines in his voice. He was right, he didn't want me to be left to him. I thought as my eyebrows were rising. Yes, it almost hit me, but it did not hit me, I am not a child either. So he was a man who liked to secure his job, and there was some justification.
I walked over to the Mercedes, wrapped around the front hood, opened the front door's passenger door, and shut the door firmly when I breathed the salt-water odor that pierced the pillar of my nose. Mercedes shook slightly with his heavy weight, slammed his own door shut and started the car. The car was moving with a loud noise, and when I glanced at him out of the corner, I saw him following the road. As I was walking on the empty road with frowning, he turned on the heater, the ice melted in my numb body and was replaced by heat. I kept my gaze straight like my shoulders, taking care not to wring in my place.
As I was talking to my father, that endless pain in my stomach grabbed and smashed me like a fatal illness, now the room was torn to pieces with the cold, the biggest part of it was gone with the cold, and it continued to exist in my stomach like a weak pulse.
"Why are you like this?" his gaze was on the way when he asked.
"I do not understand?" my gaze was on the way when I whispered. I felt his uncomfortable gaze upon me, and if I took my gaze out of the way and responded to his gaze, my pupils were so disturbing and careful that I could put my hand in the doors behind my eyes and open my door-locked doors with the tip of his finger and see my soul.
"You were looking like a completely different person now, when you were a very different person before." his gaze was still on me as he muttered.
I chose to remain silent. The room answered my silence in silence. It was me who opened an umbrella to this avalanche as the silence was avalanche in the car and it rained on us. When I said, "I'll get down here," one hand moved to unlock the seat belt.
The car stopped by slowing down next to the apartment in front of my house, entering the street where my house is. His eyes seemed to want to analyze that he was fine when his gaze caught me. "All is well, I will live," I whispered hoping for him to hear,
I opened the door and threw one foot out so that when he spoke in his misty voice, I was left where I was.
"What's your name boy?" his gaze was on me when he said. When I looked at her over my shoulder, her sky sore eyes were pouring hail on me.
When my mouth was opened to speak, a violinist started to cry his violin in my mind.
"Alyadua Rosa Dal." Behind him, the street lamp illuminated half of his face, and the other half of his face was united with darkness, reminiscent of the coffin buried in the darkness as if it was always in the dark.
"Your?" I asked.
"Doğan İzhan Vuralkan." Maybe the crying violin in my mind was silent when he said, but the violinist would always cry about it, I knew.
As I slammed the door and climbed the asphalt road to my house, my gaze shifted over my shoulder to the road I had just landed on.
His wipers were turned on, his car stood there, where I left him, his annoying gaze felt invisible through the black glass.
My stomach pain grew when I saw the so-called head-off creature watching me with its head between its hands while my eyes were sliding to the garden door. His eyes were hollowed out, and he was sleeping in the hole left by his pupils, as a blanket he would come upon as a child. Doğan İzhan Vuralkan was no longer there when my gaze rushed forward again to find the car.
And I have been painful and half-hearted for a long time.
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