PENCIL

04.52 in Porto.

I was running my fingertips across the concrete floor of the window. Comets adorned the sky; they were fast, fiery and wild stars. The stars were decreasing one after another in the lightning sky; the storm was increasing.

The stars dotting the sky disappeared, and then the clouds passed by.

My eyes met with candlelight on the concrete floor of the window.

My thoughts ignore me; He was leaving me all alone in the darkness I was in. Roaring shadows appeared on the wall opposite my bed as the humming humming through the windowsill pierced my eardrum and upset my balance. Shadows, taking on different shapes, intensified with the storm.

My eyeballs met in agreement with the sky. It was reducing the storm intensity as if saying "I forgive you".

It's so stupid! I know.

The groaning sounds coming from the wall were increasing my heart rate. I saw the shadows coming together at that moment.

A tear was seeping from my right eye through my plump lips. A face appeared on the wall, with unified shadows, hidden in the depths of sharp gloomy black.

How was he doing that?

I don't know, it prevents me from running imprisoned with his gaze. He raised his eyes. In a gloomy and emotionless way ..

My screams were choking in my throat.

There was a snake-like pen in his left hand that he gripped tightly.

The howls were working as a guard and bringing my soul closer. I crawled near him with cowardly steps, the hums were leaving the room. I put my sweaty hand on it.

At that moment, the cold of winter stuck to my face like a slap.

I couldn't look into his eyes. It was taking hold of me. He captured my thoughts with his gaze. I could feel her every look. He opened his palm and held out the black snake-like pencil that he grasped in his palm; He parted his lips without looking at me: "Draw a picture on the wall."

"I can't draw--" in my shaky voice.

"He's drawing a picture!"

I had that different pen in my hand. I could not distinguish between my shaking hand or a pen.

I moved closer to the wall facing me. I started to draw a picture with the pen I grasped in my hand. There was groans on the wall every time I pressed.

I was lying to myself in secret and for a moment I imagined that I wasn't here. But once again I realized that this was real.

I tried to look better after taking a deep breath. Holding my breath, I looked into his eyes.

I was continuing to draw what he said without realizing what the painting I had drawn on the wall.

"Draw a picture."

I drew a little girl, about three years old.

I put my arms on my chest without fear. I was looking into your eyes.

I was moving like a bulldozer and I was playing the bad woman.

At the same time our lips parted: "The picture is your picture"

"Painting is my picture" spilled from our lips ..

The candle that served as a compass melted completely. My room was pitch black.

I was swallowed by the dark shadows.

Ah! I must be crazy pretty good.

"Run away now" was the quivering hoarse voice of my mind saying. I swallowed hard and shook my head quickly.

"Where are you, father?"

My screams were kicking my heartbeat, my soul leaving my bones to flesh as if to get rid of my body, from my flesh to the locked doors of my skin.

"Are you okay?" My father, whose silhouette appeared on the creaking door of the room. he asked, taking a deep breath.

"Are you okay, Misha"? I was having a hard time opening my crying eyes.

I could not speak to my shocked body. It was so annoying that my mind was acting independently of me.

"Shhh" he whispered in my ear. He leaned his cheek against my cheek.

"Okay, don't cry." I was content with just sniffing my nose.

I raised my head slightly, looking deep into his eyes.

"Dad, have you seen what I saw?"

I was wrapping my stiff body around my father's fearless hard body.

My timid soul was dragging the exit door of my body into dead ends. My blood circulating in my veins, taking the form of a clot at a standstill, causing my body to tremble from the cold.

"You're not fine. I'll get water, wait for me here, Misha." He turned towards the door and turned his hand to the handle of the door and looked at me: "I'm coming right now, Misha."

He was leaving the room and moving towards the kitchen. I didn't even have the courage to hope that I would be okay.

I looked at the wall in front of me; "Who was that? Who?"

My eyes turned to the door, which was ajar while I grunted. My father was walking up the stairs to my room with a glass of water in his hand.

My father had broad shoulders. This width is like a swimmer's body.

The waist-to-hip and waist-to-chest ratios were also decisive for being ideal. He had tattoos that traveled from his shoulders to his wrists. The original leather was replaced by the magnificent dark tones of green.

Since my father was a captain, his tattoos included many things related to his profession.

This tattoo, known as the Enso Zen Circle, the symbol of which I have been the center of attention since I was young, evoked the feeling of being drawn with a brush.

It is a stylish, elegant and simple symbol.

When I asked my father, "This symbol is the dark ring of the universe of betrayal, the completion of the past.

As my father turned his thoughtful confused gaze to me; "I'm a little clumsy, he's misbehaved unwillingly.

Now we'll get up and dress up. ”I pressed my shaking hand to his chest, and I just nodded.

I briefly looked around, puffing the inside of my cheeks.

It touched my hand. Mysterious, curious eyes briefly rolled around my wound.

Then it came back to my eyes.

"You're crying again, watery eye." he said in a straight voice. Then he wiped my wet cheeks with his long thin fingers.

He squinted his eyes into my teary eyes for a while.

He kept running his eyes across my face.

My father brought his face towards my face; "Come on, don't cry, Misha."

I looked straight into his eyes. My voice was trembling. "I'm scared, dad."

His voice was thoughtful as he squinted "Don't Cry".

He pressed his chin to my scalp; "You smell just like your mother, Misha."

I sniffed my nose once more without a word.

"Just like my mother?"

I could feel his warm breath in the furthest corners of my scalp.

"Yes, little clumsy. Just like your mother."

He just watched me for a while.

He didn't say anything; but this silence would break the chains. "Let's do the dressing. The wound can get germs.

I swallowed hard.

"Does it hurt?" He hesitated. "It's impossible to feel pain if I do it, little clumsy."

He stood up, walked towards the heart of my bed, and pulled the drawer in his lower arch; While muttering "creams have to be here"

"I emptied that drawer yesterday before going to the grocery store, daddy. I placed all the supplies in the medicine cabinet downstairs, on the left of the hallway."

"Well then we'll go downstairs and do the dressing, little clumsy."

Taking a deep breath, I smiled softly. My eyes turned to your shining eyes, "Your daughter is not clumsy, daddy."

As I kept my eyes rolling over the walls, he continued to look at the wall and talk, "Anyway. Let's get off, Misha?" When I nodded positively, he squinted his eyes at my face.

"Come on, let's get off."

We were walking down the corridor towards the stairs. Our house, consisting of two floors with ceramic structures in different colors and a garden covered with olive trees, resembles a peacock with all its magnificent colors.

We live in Riberiya district, the city of Porto, which is very active both day and night.

Riberiya was a neighborhood that whispered happiness to me in the depths of peace.

While walking down the stairs with baby steps, I walked towards the covered winter garden.

Our indoor garden overlooking the Douro river passing through the middle of the city dazzles with its fascinating view.

The enchanting air seeping through the ring gaps of the tulle curtains in harmony with the white seats made this city fall in love again and again.

I rest my head on the headrest of the seat I was sitting on.

The rain, then the earth, left its smell.

My gaze shifted to the Douro river that stood before me.

Children running on the lawn, thoughtful and fussy people, moving vehicles and standing ceramic houses ...

The bridge that beautifies the Douro River, connecting the Ribeire and Gaia banks, connects the two sides of the city.

On the ground floor of this two-storey bridge, cars and pedestrians; On the upper floor, both pedestrians and trains pass.

I woke up from the scene I was in when my father said, "Oh, sorry! My daughter, I am late, I am aware" while I was diving in front of all these beauties.

He approached me with a first aid kit, left the bag on the table next to me, pulled the chair and sat down.

I looked at my palm, how did I manage to burn it?

She unzipped her first aid kit, taking out two different creams, bandages and a sterile container.

"Oh forgetful old man forgot to wash his hand, I'm coming right away."

He got up in a hurry next to me and moved towards the Sink. As my long brown hair poured downward, my gaze shifted to my slow aching wound.

A few minutes later the door opened. Softly he walked over to me, "Are you a little better? Misha!"

"I am a little weak and sleepless. If I sleep, it will pass, daddy."

I've been waking up and sleeping again for about two days, and the number of hours I've been awake isn't even two.

The bad feelings that gnaw me down don't let me sleep; restless melodies echoed in my chest.

She opened two different creams on the sterile bowl, poured it into the bowl, and then started to mix.

"Open your palm. First, let's clean the wound.

My palm was like crumpled flower petals. A long, intertwined burn scar.

"How did you learn to dress?"

"When I was a captain, we had a nurse employee named Ahi who worked with us, I learned from him when he started working with us for a short time."

He rubbed the mixture on my palms, then gently wrapped my wound with a gauze dressing.

I grit my teeth. "Ah! It's on fire."

"You'll be fine, little clumsy. It's over."

********

I remember the last morning lying on the sofa as I opened my eyelids, which I was forced to open from the impatient sun penetrating inside.

I was in my single bed.

I found myself grasping the soft quilt, dominated by black tones, tightly with the help of my nails. My eye hit the light night light on the dark wooden nightstand on the right side of the bed, which I forgot to turn off at night.

The wardrobe across the bed was in harmony with the motifs on the bed and nightstand.

My room, dominated by black tones representing the deep mourning, kept all its mysteriousness.

My eyes shifted to the clock hanging on the blue wall that expresses eternity.

As my vision at 7.32 o'clock brightened, I slowly got up from where I was lying.

I opened the window of my room overlooking the Doure river.

The fresh air that leaked inside was filling my lungs.

Voices were rising in the kitchen; "Oh, the witch Cara is back from vacation." I grimaced in dissatisfaction.

As the creaking door of my room was opened

"Good morning, little clumsy. You're early today."

"Good morning daddy. Yes, your early clumsy girl"

She sat on my bedside table, "I guess Cara awakened my little clumsy".

With the alarm clock ringing, "No or no, how can I be late? I have a piano course today."

I took quick steps towards the wardrobe

"Do you have a class on the weekend?"

Ah! It's beautiful. I forgot my mind at the scene last night. I watched my father standing where I was for a few seconds. He looked at me waiting for an answer. "Dad, isn't it Friday?"

"Cara has set up breakfast. Let's get off."

Weekend, how can I forget. She's going crazy beautifully. I have a scream right now.

"Sir, little lady, breakfast is ready, please," as the scent of ricotta and pumpkin jam rose from the kitchen.

"Okay, we're coming Cara. Wash your face. I'm waiting for you downstairs, Misha."

As he was leaving the room, "Dad, have you forgotten my dressed hand? I can't wash it."

"Sorry little clumsy, I forgot."

With his smile he was bringing the rooms of my heart to peace.

After helping me to wash my face, "I'm coming after you make a phone call in Misha."

I put my wet face against his chest, "Thank you daddy. I'm waiting for you."

While I was distributing peace with his smile, I left the room. The smell of hot bread and fresh tea once again circulated in my lungs with all its presence.

You were walking down the wooden-brown stairs towards the kitchen.

"Welcome, little lady." The loud voice seemed to poke my ears.

When I got down the stairs and glanced at the long corridor, I realized that Cara wasn't there. Guessing that Cara might be in the kitchen, I turned the handle of the kitchen door and made me startled when I opened the door, Cara wrapped her arms around my waist like an octopus. He looked into my eyes for a few seconds, "I missed my little bird so much."

"Welcome, Cara. I missed you too."

As I kissed Tonton's cheek, we saw the kitchen door open quickly and my father walk in hastily.

"Miss Cara, did you see the keys to my car?"

Her tone was fussy. "Dad, what the hell is there?"

We were looking at each other in surprise.

"My daughter, I have an urgent job, I need to get out."

"Sir, I'll bring your key in the study right away."

As Cara opens the kitchen door ajar and leaves, "Wait; Cara, I'll get it. I'll take my glasses."

He strode towards the study room. We looked at each other with caramel, glances that did not understand anything.

"I am going out. Cara, Miss Misha, I will come to you late, do not worry."

He jogged down the long corridor. I was looking at my dad with wide eyes. There is something he is hiding from me. And that was making me nervous. He put on his shoes and quickly turned the handle of the exit door and opened the door. "

"Dad, you haven't had breakfast."

She looked at me on her shoulder "girl, I'll have a snack outside."

"Cara lady, Misha is entrusted to you."

"Don't worry Mr. Hannan. Watch out for yourself."

Quickly he left the house and walked towards the car.

He opened the car door and settled in the driver's seat. Immediately after, he fastened his seat belt. With frowning, he looked at his phone, started the car, and began to disappear.

I was watching him go hectic at the outside door as all my muscles contracted.

Things were happening that I didn't know, and that bothered me.

"Little lady, the teas are cold."

With Cara's shouting, I took my eyes off the road and closed the outside door.

"I am coming."

I walked with waddling steps towards the kitchen. Cara was stalking the teas on the table again.

As I pulled up the chair and sat down, "What do you think, little lady?" Cara asked.

I lied "never".

There were so many things I thought about.

He left the teas on the table and pulled the chair right next to me and sat down.

"You like ricotta and pumpkin jam. Won't you buy my little bird?"

As soon as she took scissors on my cheek, she took the bread basket and held out the toasted fresh sliced bread. "

For a while, I looked at the Ricotta and pumpkin jam placed in front of me.

"My dad also likes fresh ricotta and pumpkin jam," I muttered.

He lightly stroked my cheek with his thumb; "Shh, I'll do it tomorrow, my little bird."

I gathered my arms over my chest. I smiled slightly.

I was in my room a few minutes after the barber had breakfast.

I sat down and leaned against the purple sofa on the side of my window.

I ruffled my forehead.

I remembered what I had in this room yesterday.

Why are you so cowardly? ”My inner voice insisted.

I did not know what the name of this feeling was but it enveloped my body like a black shadow.

I took the bottom drawer of my bedside table and bought the photo album in gold.

Crossed over on the seat, I sat down and leaned my back against the headrest.

My eyes slowly shifted to the photo album.

We didn't have a family photo. I lost my mother, whose face I could not even see, at a young age. My gaze shifted to the photograph we took while lying on the grass with my father, and I smiled bitterly.

It was impossible not to hear the sound of creaking crackling on brown-toned laminate flooring.

I slipped slowly and sat on my knees, a sensation that felt familiar to me felt in my body. The pen I reached out slowly and picked up was the pen I touched last night.

I could not understand my experiences.

I wrinkled my nose and closed my eyes.

My heart was looking for a body to beat out of my chest.

For a while I looked at the pen blankly. I could see my chest rising and falling rapidly.

I swallowed hard.

With large eyes, an inscription engraved on the pen caught my attention.

"The past chases the future. The future is hidden from the past. The past seizes the future.

"Midwife, you are the midwife ..."