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Automatic Lover



Automatic Lover



Ili Piskale


About Author


Ili Piskale lives in Istanbul, still writes a doctorate thesis on cinema and political philosophy. He wrote three books named Automatic Lover, Seven Hills One Death and Praying for Chaos published in Turkish and English. You can get their paperbacks via Amazon and Createspace sites.


You could even get the e-book formats in Amazon, Google Play, iTunes, Kobo, Barnes & Noble, Bol.com, Shakespir, Flipkart, Scribd, Page Foundry.


Wish you have a creative, exciting and winded read…



All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used, reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including recording, photocopying, or other electronic and mechanical methods, without written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. If you are reading this book and you have not purchased it, this book has been pirated. Please delete and support the author. Thank you for respecting the author’s labor and working that have took years.

This book is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, places, professions and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Author: Ili Piskale

Cover and design: Ili Piskale

Translation: Ili Piskale


Automatic Lover

Published by Ili Piskale

Copyright © 2015

All rights reserved.






Translated by Ili Piskale from Turkish edition.




1. Story: Automatic lover



The young woman shivered with waking up. Not due to her chill, it was a shivering she was used to. It was due to the appetite soaking her underwear fairly as summer months approached. Squinted, weltered, she rubbed her erogenous zones against the bed to stay her hunger. There was smell of food, eggs scrambled with plenty tomatoes and green peppers, coming from the kitchen.

She turned over in the bed; even the cracks on the ceiling were enough to seduce this woman at the moment. She reached out the laptop on a little table next to her and looked sexy men photos in the hard disk. The men she’d met thus far didn’t much excited her. It was why she herself was making pictures using graphic programs for watching when she masturbated. She could draw successfully pictures and images of impossible men haunting her dreams. She was able to add most proving face lines to the images, at her sweet will, and able to create eye colors and hairstyles enamoring her.

She just entered one of the files full with these and opened a picture that was her first love. “Plastic Fork” was the name she’d given to the man in this picture, who had blue and big eyes, pretty sharp-lines and two penises. When seeing him first after a long time, she took a deep breath, said his name three times and then put her hand on her puffed clitoris. Played an electronic music adorned with classic music instruments. She had her hand under the bed and felt with fingers a giant dildo. Without taking any trouble to clean this dusty plastic, she tucked it in her underwear. Her face got hot. She turned the music up maximum to drown her scream out.

The other girl’s name was Meryem; first time after months she had woken up with the desire of making a tasty breakfast and now was steeping tea in the kitchen. As soon as hearing the music coming from the room, she grinned; she had learned last month what this meant. After sneaking in her friend’s room, she’d found tens of those plastics. Now she gave a shout persistently to end the young woman’s joy, saying “Mavi!”

Mavi (blue) was the name of the young woman masturbating. Her eyes weren’t blue; her grandmother had given the name to her in the hope of having the baby with blue eyes, before her birth. Meryem who didn’t still warm to this name raised her voice once again now: “Mavi! Breakfast!” Scowled with rage, she hit the knife in force down to the plate as if hinting in her knowing of what the young woman was doing in the room, and then she continued to crash the tomatoes.

Mavi appeared at the door of the kitchen. Pretty sweltered, she hitched her sweatpants up. After once looking at Meryem’s grinning face she ran to the bathroom. Gurgle was heard through the open door.

“I pity you, really it’s a pity. So indeed I don’t know what’ll happen with you. Even your walking’s changed hahaha,” Meryem laughed over the top, softening her knife strikes, and then opened the cupboards that had surfaces with ladybug pictures on them, and took out two plates embossed of teddy bear. “Really, I speak the truth. It’s not going to get any better, girl.”

“What bullshit are you talking at this time of morning? You really shitted in my brain. You only talk away,” Mavi stretched her brows. With plucking the bread she attacked the eggs.

“I think you have your things unsettled. You look like thunder.”

“This tastes delicious, Meryem! How did this preparing breakfast occur to you at this crack of dawn? God bless your hands for this.”

“You mean you can change the subject in that way? I’m talking about the plastics, girl, the dildos! Or let’s buy a male sex doll for you. This will make you happier than dildos. Look, let me buy it for you as a birthday gift. Just as Sevilay.”

“Sevilay?” Mavi squinted, brushed the edge of the pan with bread.

“You know Sevilay. The girl from philosophy department at university. Other girls found a black dull man in her room. Do not ask me what happened then, just scandal.”

“I’m late for the class. I have to make my presentation. I couldn’t prepare any shit straight,” said Mavi, got to her feet, went in her room and began to put on. She had on a white t-shirt revealing her boobs fairly, the boobs were not quite so plump. It was “Jupiter” written with yellow letters on the t-shirt. She wore a bracelet on her right arm; it was made of horsetail and painted colorful. She put on the brown jacket with slightly short sleeves, then pulled on her claret red trousers. She applied some mascara that was slightly violet-tinged and making her brown eyes look blue.

“What you need is a strong beater, Mavi. Someone bulky who’s good in bouncing. Actually I know someone who is very you. A hooray henry named Ali.”

“You suck!”

“Look, I’ll introduce you to him that weekend. You’ll love it.”

“I bet it is. It’s blindingly obvious what your taste is, girl. I saw the man you deemed suitable of yourself.”

“Do you mean Fuat? What’s wrong with my man?”

“So gross! I’ll vomit on the mirror now. You have always terrible taste. Besides, you get that bod into your bed. Forget it, if I were you I wouldn’t let him come to the street. What a terrible face he has, oh God! This fellow’s face looks like my wallet.” Mavi looked at herself in the mirror for a last time after forming her face. She always was able to manage to break her roomie’s heart. But she didn’t much care at the moment. She just tried to match her body to the jacket her mom had bought for her, then tugged at the sleeves. Mavi knew that she wasn’t much beautiful woman to refuse all men in the world. She was one of short and ordinary women who was dying her wavy hair with red and sometimes with a lesser-known-color tone of yellow, and who was dealing with play of varied colors to make her eyes look big, who was adding provocative tiny details around her clothes, who tried to be cookie with having black tattoo done on her neck and fingers. However, she was so successful in doing this what she’d assigned to herself in this world. She put half of men of the literature department on her tail at university. More than thousand men in campus were dreaming her every night and ejaculated tons of times.

“I think you have to learn how to dress now,” said Meryem, out of the corner of her eye she studied the Mavi who was waiting at the door, “I think that’s why you always lose. What on earth is this jacket?” However, Meryem knew well that all women at university dropped everything, put aside the development of the culture what this world cryingly needed, and gave up in doing science. What they were all doing day along was speaking about this Mavi’s attractiveness. Meryem knew well that she could even find that plate-face man, her lover Fuat, under favor of Mavi’s attraction and of advantage of being around Mavi. She was envying her but on the other hand respecting her.

“I’m out, bye,” said Mavi and sent a kiss to Meryem through the door before coming down ladders. When opening the door of the building, all perverts of the street saluted the young woman. Without satisfying the need of spitting on the ground, she ran through them, stepped pavement on her high footbed, and with her folds getting young and old shopkeepers out of their places one more time, she walked in the streets of Eyup Sultan (a district by Golden Horn in Istanbul.) From mingled streets with tombs like labyrinth, she came to the historical mosque’s way. Then she bought a Turkish bagel from a little refugee Syrian child who was spread over the marble ground. She looked up at a digital watch hung on a signboard in the square, then hopped on one of the overcrowded Aksaray buses.

She sat down in a seat a young man left picking her out among the elderly crowd, and thanked him. Then she slipped a proof book out of her bag with writing “I Separated You from You” on it, and studied its cover.

“Well, you read Selim Hitchhead, don’t you? Oh God, this book’s just released?” asked the young man who gave his place to her. Mavi raised her head and looked up at his face. How familiar it was, she thought. He looked like the idiot man she met in the internet two months ago.

“It’s his new book. It’s not been released yet.”

“I love him very much. I read his all books. He is touching the words to my tongue, the word that doesn’t come to my mind. He is the person of love.”

“Touching the words to your tongue?” Mavi lifted her brows and looked the man in the eye. No, this is not the same pervert in the internet. “I’m an editor. Before publishing I check the book for the last time. Don’t worry, it’ll be published in the end of this month.”

“Oh, this is pretty pleasing news. I’m exactly addicted to literature. I can talk about Selim Hitchhead for hours. Where are you working?”

Selim Hitchhead’s books were all published by the same publishing house and this young man as a fan of the Hitchhead didn’t know which it was. But there was a symbol of publisher with snake-embossed on the cover right in front of him. Mavi had no tolerance for that kind of fool. Say the least, the pervert in the internet had a quick mind. The name of that man was Sava she’d contact with after being fooled with his Facebook profile. He was a Serbian man who established an electronic company and could speak in Turkish. As a brunet, Mavi always had a soft spot for Slav people with their lime-faces. However, this man was so ugly that just after seeing him through the webcam she’d had suddenly vomited on the keyboard of her laptop. He was so clever that he could estimate her age and birthday punctually by only seeing Mavi’s face lines and gesture through the cam. But you see, the state of the revolution obstructed the start of this intercourse. He was ugly like all clever people.

“ I guess you don’t like to speak that much. I don’t want to prevent you from doing your job, but… I’m writing a novel too, and you are an editor, so I want to ask you that: May I send my novel to you? @ismail_severci11. You can check my writings in Twitter.”

“Oh, so? What genre do you write? Of course, you can send it. After finishing your work, mail it to our address,” said Mavi, pretending taking care of it. In fact, her swearing culture was improving well as she read files coming from stupid people like him. She didn’t care of what he wrote, what he could write, of even his possibility of being a secret Kafka. She just answered her phone ringing.

“Where are you?”

“I’m going to school. I have a presentation.”

“Forget it. We have a job for you. Berna didn’t come here today. You’ll do the interview.”

“How come? I said I’m going to school. What interview you’re talking about? Am I an editor? Or redactor? Or cover maker? I want you to make a decision now. I can’t make any interview or so.”

“But once you did. I liked it.”

“No fucking way. I have my presentation. If I’m late now, I’ll bite the dust this term.”

“Suit yourself. If you don’t do this interview today, your job will end here. There are the ranks of the unemployed outside. The publishing house doesn’t need you. You know the boss is cruel.”

Getting so angry, Mavi put down the phone. Once again she faced the fact full with disgraces of the literature world. All those beautiful sentences, the infamies labelled as artwork, the fictions dazzling, the hopeless philosophical struggles, and these revolutionist books overpraising “the beautify” to human, all was being published by these disgrace publishers. Writers were sleeping around to publish their books and their dirt was being cleaned by literature students like Mavi.

“May you grant your name to me?” that laughy man asked and Mavi pushed him after saying “Fuck you.” She caught the tramway in the direction of Beyazit. The inside was full of Arabs looking modern. All together these men looked down at her t-shirt. As to her, she had her mind on the job. She remembered how many teachers she buttered up to for taking this job, to how many directors she gave hope for sex for it. All of sudden, she remembered all teachers and directors at a bound! She could not live even only one night in Istanbul without money. She did what she was supposed to do.

“With whom I’ll do the interview?”

“Guess whom? Selim Hitchhead. You know the Chapuller Café on the Istiklal Street. You have exactly one and half hour.”


  • * *


After the spring rain, Istanbul was fucked up again in the eyes of the world. Just to spite the image of the flood that blocked all the sewer system in the city, the sky was drawing its snowy clouds toward the historical silhouette. By taking refuge in the Chapuller Café, Mavi could keep her charismatic look, crossed legs, continued to ask questions she’d written on her notebook before. Selim Hitchhead leaned against the window with view of Golden Horn and beamed with his extreme happy face, had a sip coffee from his colorful cup engraved with balloons, then studied Mavi rakishly once again.

“What do I have to say my fans? Hmm… As long as this sky exists, people must keep believing in beautify. As long as these azans are heard in this unjust world, they must persist in loving each other, in loving people who deserve it. And of course, they must keep reading my books, hi-hi.”

Mavi didn’t listen at all to what this man bullshitted because she had her face red, her lips puffy, her eyes squinted. If she dared to stand up, she would feel dizzy and fall down in the lap of a perfect man three tables behind. That man…who appeared in the back of Selim Hitchhead, with blue eyes and symmetrical face, the man with perfect glance… That man was the most beautiful object she’d ever seen so far in this world. She ignored that chatterer writer for one hour and fell for the man she was ceaselessly winking at. However, even for once he didn’t look back and couldn’t take his eyes off another man across him. Was he gay or what?

Mavi raged, dropped the notebook down from her sweaty hands, bended and picked it up, closed it. Grabbed her phone recording the author’s sound on the table.

“What’s up? The interview ended? How was it, successful?”

“Yes, it was quite successful. Thank you,” said Mavi. The man she fell in love doffed his purple-black jacket and caught Mavi’s eyes for a moment, by his neck showing up, he attracted her all attention. She wanted to fly at him and lick it just over there. Instead she gave him a name: Chilly Boy. Sadly, that Chilly Boy refreshing her mind once again gazed at the other man opposite him. Mavi got angry.

“Pardon. I have you here as a beloved of people. With your permission, I have questions I want to ask you.”

“Don’t hesitate. Here you are.”

“Sorry about that. Some stupid questions of a literature student like me…”

“Are you a student? Gosh. Ilir Publishing House has students do interviews? I thought they worked in a professional way.”

“I formatted your new book. Proofreading etc. It’s not just interview.”

“Look, it bothered me now. It annoyed me indeed. Moreover… I think of changing my publisher right now. Don’t take it personally. I don’t say that I dislike your working. If you don’t mind me asking that: How much they pay you?”

“Not come to much. Anyway. May I ask my questions?”

“As long as it’s off the record.”

“Of course. Between you and me. That’s what I wonder: How could you achieve all things? What is its formula?”

“Your bracelet… I loved it,” said the writer and stopped with an ego waiting Mavi to take off the bracelet suddenly and give him it after that sentence. “I grew in the public. You know there was no only one public in this country, but plenty. There are tens of enemy publics for each other. I’m a son of teacher. My dad had been relegated to posts everywhere and I’d been obliged to live in these enemy publics’ neighborhoods. That’s how I understood that people who were enemy for each other could become partners in a few things. I studied them well, got marks and kept diaries. I discovered the truth that they in fact aren’t so different from each other.”

Beyond this codswallop, she smashed her sexual organ with movements of her calves. She was approaching the point of ejaculation with looking at her new lover. But at the very time, she witnessed something made her burst with anger. Chilly Boy cavalierly put his hands on the face of another man.

“Come off it!” Mavi yelled. People looked back at her. She lowered the voice. “I don’t mean this. I wonder about that: How can you sell these terrible books to stupid people? Everyone knows this public is stupid. But I wonder how to sell them something, above all, to sell that silly love writings. I would say I insulted. Sorry. You understand what I try.”

Selim Hitchhead grumbled something by himself after these words. As a writer selling five millions per year he was actually irritated by this woman, by this worthless student who spoke up these words. But he relieved himself thinking on possibility of going to sleep with this young woman after the interview. Besides, he didn’t have to be nettled at this insolence that much. This was the care what all women he met had, wasn’t it? Didn’t the women want to learn what the source of this miracle he was creating? By using their beautify, they wanted to take answer of the same question: How can he be that much successful? Mavi asked it without hedging. The writer thought about it and had respect for the woman across him. For the first time, he positioned the woman as an individual apart from him and attempted to give the password of life to this literature student, who needed working for chickenfeed.

“You’re right in saying my books are awful. But I wonder that: What is the good literature in your opinion? Is it Bilge Karasu, Oguz Atay, Paul Auster? Or is it the revolutionist love adorned with luxuries words that revolutionist writers are polishing? What contribution to this world did these writers make? What contribution did Yusuf Atilgan make to this world? They made space shuttle? They found a remedy for the cancer? They carried the humanity a step further? Beyond these bullshits and their expensive words, what else did they do?”

“But Paul…”

“I didn’t stop my talking. You asked the trick and I try to explain it. There’s nothing as a good literature. Sedative and agitator literatures there are. What you call ‘good literature’ is the agitator literature. This literature is awe-inspiring for humanity, this provokes people to demolish and burn something. This kind of literature provokes a man to demolish his family, himself, his beloved, forms and everything. But another thing what people need, the people ready to kill each other, that: Calming down. You editors always speak highly of radical things. But radicalism always causes to bring men like Hitler to us. Maybe in the past the science-fiction was useful, taking the initiative in development of the science. But now even this area gave up in provoking. The sedative literature overrides the agitator one now because the narcosis is what people need mainly. If no narcosis, they can become very danger. Well, this is not kind of danger what revolutionists suppose. It’s not demolishing governments or powers, not the class struggle at all. The public’s danger is killing innocent people for religions, demolishing cultures and science.”

“But,” Mavi said and hushed, taking serious for the first time on what the write was speaking.

“No ifs and buts! The popular love writers like me make much contribution to this world. I’m teaching the love to people who are enemies for each other and who are actually criminal. I’m teaching believing abstract things, being quiet, being patient, loving after all, making them realize their dishonors, making them understand their valuelessness and making them keep their places and shut up in return. People have to shut up. If the writes like me didn’t exist, this people would join the terror organizations like El Kaide or ISIS. I restrain the wild. With fake love stories, cheap phantasies… What you call ‘good literature’ was composed of poems provoking all kind of extremism in World War 2. But I teach people keeping quiet. All of us are rascals. We do no shit useful. We even can’t cope with malaria, can’t develop science, can’t come up to the moon and return from it, we believe in silly religions, murder and die. We never leave place for breathing to the valuable persons who try to do something meaningful in this world. This is my secret of success.”

“I’m speechless. I lost my words after listening to your demolishing all literature,” Mavi said and collected her bag. Her dearie had gone out of the café long time ago with his sinister friend. He’s the faggot, forget it, she repeated this again and again in her mind. “Mr. Hitchhead. Thanks for the interview and for your efforts in bringing me to myself. The proofing of your books it is. I hope you’ll love it,” she said and went out of the café at the double.


  • * *


After several months, her exams finished and the weather hot up. Night time, with her roomie Mavi went out to Taksim for drinking, then was loaded with that bulky and handsome man who Meryem was always on his back. He looked cool as she’d said before and threw dust in Mavi’s eyes by both his humor and stand. And another man near him delighted Meryem. So, they all ended up in a lonely park by Golden Horn. Drinking ceaselessly.

“I think we at once must try group here,” said the other man.

“You said group?” Meryem lifted her eyebrows, bursting into laugh with understanding what the man she liked meant. “This is a Muslim neighborhood, sonny. Gosh, they would drown us in this shitty water of Golden Horn. Besides, what’s the hell is this now, group or so? You suck… Stupid.”

“We’d better be going home now,” said Mavi, bored with the two men who tried to bring the word to the same issue ceaselessly for an hour. “I feel sleepy.” She held her roomie’s arm and the two women turned their steps towards the exit of the park with leaving the men on the bench. However, these two men weren’t going to leave the women in peace. Running, they crossed the women’s path.

“But you’d said that we were going to talk about literature,” said the bulky one smirkingly, held Mavi’s arm and dragged her into most bosky area of the park. Pushing her on the shoulder, he rolled her on the grass, pulled down trousers and leaned his sexual organ against her mouth. Mavi vomited on the grass. And the other man laid Meryem down on a bench and tried to rape her.

The women screamed over and over. Some people approached with run. But these two men didn’t hesitate, kept stripping the women naked. Ten men gathered around the youth and instead of preventing the rape, they unzipped trousers and joined the rape without making any sound. At bottom of trees the two women hopelessly were calling for help and being punched in the faces.

At that exact moment came a rather noisy sound of “hey!” from a man. The men altogether asked “Who the fuck are you?” and turned toward this man. They swooped down on him. The man, who had his face unclear in the dark, tossed these twelve rapists around and pulled their heads to pieces one by one hitting them to the trees, discontented, then threw their corpses to the purple water of Golden Horn.

The women didn’t be pleased that much with getting rid of the rape because they were sure even this man would attack them. They came to the edge of the park with cry and ran buttoning their buttons.

A hot voice of “Mavi” came from the man. He repeated the same word four times. Meryem hailed a cab but Mavi wavered. She didn’t answer Meryem’s yelling, summoned up her courage and again entered the park, walking to the man. “Who are you?”

“Are you OK?” asked the man. The man’s face was becoming clear as she approached him. “How do you know my name, who’re you?” Meryem had already got in the taxi and escaped to the home. By the reflection of two lamps lightening up the huge park, it became apparent who the man was. Who saved her from the rape was that perfect man who’d driven the woman mad in the café.

“You… Chilly Boy,” said Mavi, stared at his face or couldn’t do it, then loosing herself, she fell down to the grass. Chilly Boy cleaned his hands with rubbing them against the tree trunks. He embraced her fainted body and took her in a lux Audi waiting on the wayside. Laying her in the back seat, he cleaned her dress. He ran the car and at full speed headed in the direction of the north of Istanbul.




As Mavi waked up she found herself on a bed as vast as a plain. So, she couldn’t calculate from which edge of it she had to stand up and how she could set her foot on the ground. The doors were full of electronic pictures taking shapes by 3D lines. The room was destitute of wardrobe, of drawer, and larger more than her entire flat in Eyup. How happened this? How could this room be possible from a to z like she’d dreamed and always wanted to have. Was she really in her dream?

To get to her feet, she weltered on the bed, picked herself up after rolling on the ground. She fingered a point on one of the walls taking geometrical shapes with drawing lines on the move and mingled with one another. The point she’d touched became a digital mirror at the moment. She remembered last night with noticing the purpleness on her face. And of course, she remembered Chilly Boy. She headed towards the door. There was a touch-panel on the door instead of a knob. The panel had four parts. She touched one of them. Instead of the door, a drape that concealed the huge window was opened. Outside the window was a forest. There was a little and clean stream flowing by the edge of the room. She approached the window, followed with eyes a narrow path extended to the depth of the forest. A little hedgehog was waiting at the end of it. At this moment she wished to go out and take this hedgehog in her hands. But a fox took the hedgehog away with instant movement.

With shriek Mavi turned back. She touched another part on the panel and the door opened. As soon as taking a step, she understood here was a villa. She descended ladders and came into a living room as large as a marketplace. The man she fell for was sitting in the lux and black leather couch, reading a book. At first sight, the young woman stumbled over, held on to the wooden railing of the ladder, gulped, drew a noisy and intensive breathe.

“You waked up?” asked the young man in a calm voice, put the book on the couch, came close to Mavi, “You must be hungry. The breakfast is ready. If you please, right this way…” He walked her towards the left end of the room, then came in a narrow, arched and long corridor. “You took a rest?”

“I’m fine. This place is yours? Where are we in?” Mavi asked. She gave up in counting the rooms’ numbers they past by; maybe it was more than fifty. This corridor opened onto pretty large another corridor. The rooms’ doors were all closed. “Welcome to my home. Some misfortune happened to you last night. I couldn’t just leave you there. You were fainted,” said the young man. Then turned toward the woman and kept going on his way after a little smile. They climbed a ladder with twenty steps. It was a floor as large as a wedding saloon they came in, and it composed of just kitchen and tables. They came close to the edge of a huge table where neighborhood residents could fit into it. And they saw a large number of plates that could fill the same neighborhood. Golden candlesticks, expensive ceramics patterned with odd figures, various organic foods.

“Who will eat these much things? I’m not so hungry. This is lot,” Mavi said but lied; she was hungry. She hesitated to attack the plates sitting across that perfect man. There was a TV as big as the silver screen on the wall. Pop music clips were turning on it.

“I got a couple of things to do. By your leave. Enjoy yourself. If you happened to need anything, you can reach me by using that button. It’s a strong receiver,” said the young man. What he left on the table was a gold-plating sleeve button.

After the man got out of sight, Mavi was stuffing herself. Through the panoramic window of the saloon, she watched the forest. The wind uprooted a few trees outside. The young woman took a few steps randomly. She wondered something else, couldn’t behave herself in anyway and descended the same ladders where she’d come to the kitchen before. She returned to the same corridor downstairs, approached one of the rooms and then intended to open it. Avoided. She took two steps further and this time opened another one. The inside was a sauna; she went back out. Then she opened another room next to it. There were great numbers of books a university library could fill with them. In contrary to the villa’s modern appearance, with stepping in she found herself in a saloon style of 18 century. In this room seeming to be limitless, she past the wooden and carved shelves composing partitions inside. She picked a book prominent and unsettled in the selves. It was Grundrisse of Marx, 1941 German edition. Why, Mavi asked to herself. She put the book in its place and tried to walk in. At this point she realized she got lost. Going out of the selves, from a distant she tried to make out where the door could be. Got spooked. She started to run in the one direction, then drew a breath and finally saw the door.

However, the door wasn’t being opened. It hadn’t any touch-panel contrary to the others. Mavi turned the knob and the door opened, but as if another human helped it. She went in. It was a room pitch-dark where no light was reflecting. She bravely walked in the darkness and had her hands touched something, kind of object made of glass. After taking a step the light sensors worked and it became clear that here was a laboratory. What she had touched was a glass pot with water that a dead born baby was in. She screamed and ran toward the other door.

It was another corridor where she came in this time. According to the calculation she made just over there, she soon was to arrive in the living room again. She was right but this room was slightly different than the other. It had white leather couches, not black. She sat in a couch and poured a glass of water from the pitcher on the marble table. After having two sips she remembered the dead-born baby in the pot and sprayed the water suddenly. Where was she? What was happening here?

She climbed the ladder of the saloon and guessed this time she would come in the bedroom she’d waked up before. But this room was different too. Instead of the geometrical lines, on the walls were images of wild animals on the move. On the ceiling was a tiger image running after thousands of gazelles. Mavi felt she got lost again. She’d forgotten to take the receiver-button the enigmatical man she called Chilly Boy had left. What would she do? She yelled; no one heard her. She ran, took in and out of other rooms, ran again and touched every point on the touch-panel of a room that resisted to be opened. This didn’t work either. Whoever was behind the door, he or she must have heard her, and this one opened the door from the room.

The inside was a wine cellar. This was a larger place than the library and where thousands of wine bottles were rowed. “Would you like to drink wine?” It was the same man who asked it.

“I thought I got lost. I’m afraid.”

“I see. Even I could barely get used to this home. I’ve just memorized its map.”

“Do you live here really? Solo? What for are these much rooms?”

“I’m alone here. Of course, sometimes I suffer loneliness, but I don’t complain about it,” said the young man, “By the way, I’m Chilly Boy. I know your name.”

“How come?”

“Red wine?” asked the man, opened a bottle as little as palm and filled the wineglasses. He sat down on the ground reminiscent woods of railroads. There was no other place to seat.

“Is your name really Chilly Boy?” the woman asked. She sat down across him and laid her back to the wood, “This is really odd.” The woman felt shame at saying why it was odd and couldn’t say how she admired him and just after seeing him she’d given this name to him.

“The day when I first saw you in café…”

“The day you even didn’t look at my face. Or I guess so,” said the woman. She had a few sips from the wine. She had no knowledge to understand the quality of the wine. It was just beautiful what she sipped. “I interrupted. Sorry.”

“The day, as soon as I saw you I heard that you gave the name Chilly Boy to me.”

“You heard?”

“Maybe it’s only one talent that I’ve earned for the life: Reading things what people have their minds at some special moments.”

“At some special moments?” Mavi watched the man’s puffy lips hungrily as if she’d wandered around desert for hundred years and couldn’t see only one man in the meantime. She gulped.

“At some special moments… I mean… In the front section of your brains, a stimulant named the nucleus accumbens was being active. Then your dopamine receptors was being active just after a fluidity arose in the movements of your striatum area…”


“Dopamine. I mean… It was the substance what made you sweat the notebook you held by your hands while sitting across me in the café, what caused to momentum in your breathing, and to hearing your pulses from three tables away.”

“Did you hear my pulse? I suppose not. This moment you were interested in another one. It was a man!”

“This man is my close friend. You envied.”

“I don’t envy at all.”

“Your pupils dilated and cramps on a small scale occurred to your fingers, your lips colored and became robust the way they even seemed obvious from far the street, not only from three tables behind. You fell in love.”

“You must be kidding,” said Mavi and hardly grinned. She didn’t want to hear anymore talks of the love chemistry and chemical terms like phenylethylamine and norepinephrine told in self-help books; she drank some vine and stopped. With an action of a frog swallowing a fly, she kissed Chilly Boy.

“You kissed me.”

“Make love with me.”

“Now? Here?”

“Yes…” Mavi bit her lip, soaked from the head to foot. To fulfill her duty, he immediately set to work, straightened up, stuck on her lips.

“When I saw you first, I fell to pieces. Kiss me now,” said Mavi. She closed her eyes not to open them anymore and settled her hand on the chest of the man. “Say you love me.”

“I love you.”

“Oh,” young woman breathed cattily. The man was sucking up her lips, sliding his big palms on the hip of the woman. Mavi unzipped his fastener and caught the man’s sexual organ. “You know what to do. Do it now. You are the expert of it, too.”

“I’m the expert of it,” said the man. Climbed on her, took off the trousers in one move, then had his organ around hers.

“I want you to make me shout. I want to burst all these wine bottles with my voice. Let’s paint ourselves with the wine.”

The man hit one of bottles to walls and broke it, poured vine to her naked stomach and attached his organ to hers. Just after touching it the woman screamed. It was the first for her. Her blood was getting muddy in the dark color of the wine.

“You are only mine now.”

“I’m only yours,” said the man, pushed it sharply.

“And I’m yours too.”

“And you’re mine.” He bit her tits and speeded up his sexual movements. Tears were draining away from her eyes, her nipples burning, her long and red hair sticking on the small lake of wine.

“Do not feel pity for me. Split my thing by your power,” she said this with shouting and screaming. Mavi was giving off her all demons she had been hiding within her for hundred years. “Put me up, dart me to the sky. Come on, now!”

The young man stood up without getting out of her, straightened her body and did in force what she’d wanted. Mavi was swaying 360-degree turn, couldn’t close her mouth because of pleasure; without controlling her arms, she took down all bottles she could touch just before the ejaculation.

They came. After relaxing they leaned against the cold walls, intertwined. The feet were all in blood with cuts of bottle glass and their bodies’ upper parts turned color with wine. Mavi put out her third cigarette and kissed her lover. “If anyone exists, you have to know she died.”

“I don’t understand you,” said the Chilly Boy. He was cleaning the glass pieces stuck on the woman’s foot.

“I say if you had someone besides me, I would kill her. I’m very jealous one.”

“I understand now.”

“So? You’re too clever. Then, kiss me again.” He did what she’d said.


  • * *


Mavi had been staying in this home for three days. Without eating properly. They’d been just making love and drinking wine. No room left they hadn’t ejaculated in. They’d been having sex in the library, in swimming pool, in wooden chairs, on counters, on walls and doors, on grass and on the top of trees, at places where they could lean their asses against.

With the third day’s end, she came to a point that she got weak and even couldn’t get out of bed. Exhausted, lost her appetite, she even couldn’t go to toilet; in a mood that she exactly desired dying in this house and being buried in one of the rooms. The morning of fourth day, her lover stepped out of the house after saying he had something to do.

No much time to the nightfall and Chilly Boy didn’t get home yet. He didn’t answer the phone, even didn’t give a busy signal, didn’t leave any message to this woman he had been living love with three days. However, this situation didn’t bother this woman at all. As if she was rolling over clouds. If the big earthquake expected for Istanbul happened at the moment and fifteen million people including her friends died in torments with iron sticks sticking into their lungs, she would be ready here to celebrate it with drinking wine. She was just interested in being with the god of her fantasies, with Chilly Boy.

After days, she stepped out of the house for the first time. In this most secret place of the Belgrade Forest, she saw tens of villas built around in the illegal way with dispensing bribes to the state. Rich people were living in this wild place, at the edge of Istanbul that was a concrete country. One of these rich was her lover. Mavi had occupied herself with this kind of injustice in the past. But in the recent years, she hadn’t been in the mood to busy her mind with those even if the world demolished.

Sipping from the glass she had in her, she drank some wine for her dead children and made her way in the path behind the house. There a hedgehog had waited for her days ago. She rushed on the path in the hope of finding and killing the fox that’d eaten the hedgehog, and then let the glass fall from her hand. Slippers were on her foot. She unbuttoned her nightshirt and began to feel cold in this depth where the houses got out of sight. The wind was not that much strong, however, to block it, she kneeled down at the bottom of a tree with thick trunk. Drew her legs to her stomach, adhered her trembling fingers into her face. She realized at this point that the little hedgehog had once looked at her from right here. However, when looking from where she stood there was nothing coming to sight like villa or so. Maybe I must take two steps towards the house, she thought and did it. As if the villa got lost. Was she walking in the opposite direction? Was she lost? She felt she turned into that hedgehog right now.

Came a roam from the depth of the forest. It wasn’t a lion but a pig. As the first reaction against this, Mavi just grabbed a big wood on the ground, dragging its branches against the grass, she walked up to the pig. Not one but four pigs, they were scratching the ground with their noses. They were scratching the soil so hungrily as if they found graves of the dead who’d been just buried there. Mavi feared, never left the wood. But she didn’t escape either, only was curious why the pigs were so desirous.

After approximately ten minutes the pigs disappeared. Without trusting her own visibility, Mavi narrowed her eyes and tested the silence of the forest with her ears. Even the leaves didn’t move. She ran towards the point the pigs left. She saw piece of metal at the place where the soil was scratched. With the wood in her hand, she cleaned up around. It was an iron cover that had its size 4×3 meters. There was a padlock on the cover broken by the pigs. She tried to open the cover. As the cover was opened part way, some icy fog rose from under it. This was a smell of meat coming from there. The inside was full of human body pieces. Hairs torn from heads, faces detached, legs and arms broken off from their bodies like manikins.

Screamed, the young woman moved away from the cover, continued throwing up around as remembering what she saw there. Sliding on the grass, she went forward and found the way seeing the villa. When entering the house and closing the door a memory occurred to her mind. A face part she saw was so familiar. It was the face of a famed fashion model who was loved by Turkey’s people. As soon as she came home she went on the internet and searched the name of the model in Google. Aykut Nese. He’d been seen in a bar on Friday last week for the last time, then being lost without informing anyone. His family thought that the young model was abducted.


  • * *


The same night Mavi couldn’t sleep till the morning, locked doors, closed windows, hid in the bedroom and waited for her lover. Chilly Boy had promised but not come. The young woman got mad at this. Moreover, she was scared. She wanted to leave this damn place. Should she have called the police and talked to them about the slaughter room she’d found in the forest? She even didn’t know what the address of the house was; describing this place was impossible. Besides these, she didn’t care about death of the model or anyone. These kinds of unjustness thoughts were the inheritance left from her father to her. She’d never felt sorry for anyone, not to turn a hair for poor people in this world.

Towards morning, just before the sunshine, she noticed that a headlight hit her window. Who came home was her lover. Running, she came down the ladder and welcomed him staying behind the door: “Where are you bastard?”

“Okay, okay, I’m really sorry. I can’t make good it, but… Would you like to eat some cream-cake?”

The man past the box he brought. As soon as opening the box Mavi started cutting the cake with cherry into slices, at the crack of dawn. Spoke spraying the pieces of the cake: “Your job was endless, I guess.”

“Don’t start me talking about it! I’m ruined. So tired. There were some problems in the buildings.”

“Buildings? I’m so curious on what your business is.”

“I’m an owner of a building society. My company built these villas.”

Between two sentences, Mavi already ate the half of this huge cake. After drinking wine till the morning and with effects of eating sweet like a pig, Mavi dozed off in the sofa without asking any further question. The young man embraced and took her in the bed, then snuggled near her.

Toward noon when waking up, she felt she was horny again. Wanted to have sex like a mad. Sliding her hands on the bed, she tried to grab her lover’s penis. But it was only the folded cloth what she held. Her lover was not in his place. She got annoyed at it and jumped to her feet. Running and shouting his name repeatedly, she came down to the living room. On the wall across the TV, there was a writing the young man did by using the game of light:

“I know you are angry. But believe in me, it’s beyond my control. I have business emergence. I’ll call you later.”

Opening the mini-refrigerator, she took a cold water bottle and finished it, turning around herself in the middle of the room. She looked down at a book that had its pages open and thrown on the armchair. It was the previous book of Selim Hitchhead, “My Broken Half Love.” Why was her lover reading this stupid? She got angrier and entered the narrow corridor in a hurry, then climbed the ladder going to the kitchen after passing doors. But at that very moment she noticed something: One of hundreds of doors was slightly opened part way. She hopped back and pushed the door.

The inside was a white room, not so big. There were washing and drying machines. She noticed another door in the end of the room. Behind this door was a small botanical garden. Breathing was so difficult in this room humidified by special airing system. Some tropical plants were being raised in this room, in the artificial tropical air. Walking on the sawdust sprinkled on the floor, she came in the end of this place. There was another door too, but this time she couldn’t open it. Punched the door, kicked, but it didn’t work in any way.

She couldn’t stand anymore in this humid room and stepped back to the laundry-room. She saw the necktie under the machine that her lover had worn yesterday. Suddenly, she reflexed like a housewife does and picked the necktie up, then opened one of the washing machines; it was full of shirts inside. She got curious, emptied everything, stretched all shirts one by one to seek some details on them, sniffed shirts to determine if there was any scent of woman. Not at all. But she felt her throat narrow just after seeing the last shirt. There was blood on the sleeve.


  • * *


The young woman tried to reach out her darling till evening. His phone wasn’t ringing anymore. The human pieces in the forest, the blood on his shirt, his goings and escapings without informing her and the probability of her being killed, all of these were driving nails into her mind. Just before the sunset, she made a decision: She was to go out. Her smart phone’s GPS didn’t point at the address where she was, but at least its compass was working. She walked in the opposite direction of the forest she’d gone before. She followed the dirt road blazed for cars and had no asphalt on it yet. Other villas all looked like empty; she approached a few of them in a hope of seeing someone. No car existed around. She made her way in the direction of the north, in the forest.

She’d been walked for two hours and finally came to a paved road where trucks were passing. Drivers stopped one by one and invited her inside. Mavi didn’t get on at all, just ran in the direction of the east; after one kilometer she approached a municipal worker and asked him how to go to Eyup Sultan where she was living. The worker said she had to walk two kilometers more towards the east.

Where then she came to was between Gokturk and Kemerburgaz, between two historical aqueducts. It was a busy street where cars were passing. She caught a bus that was to pass through Eyup. Just getting in, she called Chilly Boy again. It was closed. Then called Meryem. Her phone was ringing. She remembered that she hadn’t called her at all after that wildness night when these two women had been saved from raping. She didn’t care this. It was Meryem’s mother who opened the phone.


“Who is it? I’m her mother.”

“Mrs. Sebahat. It’s me, Mavi.”

“Ah, girl. Alas!”

“What’s the matter?”

“Meryem… Meryem…”

“Or she died?”

“No! God forbid! What are you saying so? She’s not fine, girl. She’d committed suicide. Thank God, she’s alive now. She is the village now, in Sivas, with me. She needs to get some fresh air.”

“I see. Okay, I’ll call you later.”

This news didn’t upset Mavi that much; on the contrary, it made her some cheerful. After years she would enjoy with being alone in that flat, would rummage her roomie’s belongings. Just after getting off the bus, she dropped by grocery and bought what she came along, junk food, nuts, chocolates, potato chips. The phone ringed when she arrived at her flat.



“Are you okay, girl?”

“What kind of friend are you, girl? After that night you haven’t called me at all.”

Mavi didn’t any noise, her phone was on her ear, just walked in Meryem’s room. There was a writing printed on the desk.

“Are you with me? I tried to suicide.”

“I know. I’m reading your suicide letter now.”

“Do not read it, tear. I was so alone. Fuat got rid of me, too. You too. God damn all of you!”

“You left the envelope to me?”

“What for do I leave envelope to you stupid? I just left it there. So that make them know that I’m not lost, not abducted or so. I went to that cursed park and cut my wrists. Anyone didn’t try to rape me this point. On the contrary, someone saved me.”

“I don’t know what to say. It’s complicated.”

“It was our mind what makes everything complicated, Mavi. It’s unworthy, really. There is nothing worthy in this world to kill yourself. I’m so regretful. I’ll begin to make my living again. You even didn’t act like a fool, did you?”

“You’ll begin your new life in the village?”

“Village or outland or I don’t know. They think that they can marry me a relative in our village. But the man isn’t here, works in Vienne. We two already had child marriage. I’m open up to this.”

“I feel glad for you.”

“You don’t fell glad for anyone, girl. Ah, meanwhile, I’ll be glad if you don’t call me again. I don’t want to see you anymore, not that damn Eyup, not its tombs, not religious…”

“Is he not a Muslim who’ll marry you?”

“It’s none of your business. I don’t want to remember anymore that awful night. Bye.”

Mavi read entire envelope once again. There was nothing about her. She put off her jacket and plunged her hand into the plastic bag and uncovered the first chocolate attached to her hand. She called the publishing house. They’d fired her after refusing answering their phones. She was utterly penniless now. Should she have taken refuge behind her mother like Meryem. She didn’t like Aegean shores at all, but did she have another solution? In the hope of her education credit being deposited, she again put on her jacket and jumped to the street.

The perverts of the neighborhood were waiting for her again. This time she stopped, asked for a cigarette from one of them, who had round beard, jelly on his hair and with white sport shoes. All of sudden, ten men took out the Marlboro Light packets of their pockets. She drew one cigarette randomly. After one second, ten lighters flamed up in front of her eyes. She used one randomly and thanked. Blowing, she walked in and saluted the old pilgrims who were rushing and asking God for forgiveness; then she sent kisses to cats, waved her ass to shopkeepers. As passing through one of the blessed tombs, she stopped suddenly. Something came to her mind.

What was Chilly Boy’s business in the park at that night? After the café, had he pursued her step by step? Was his office about Eyup? Most awfully, was he still following her at this point? She turned back rapidly and met the eyes of a few women wearing turban. She drew a deep breath and longed for a cigarette. Instead of this, she took a wafer out of her pants and bit it. Headed towards the Eyup Sultan Mosque and gazed about the crowd. At this point she understood once again how much she loved Chilly Boy. She still had change of going to that villa, however, she was scared.

At the exact moment, a tourist woman touched her shoulder. She asked her in English where the place of the Pierre Loti Hill was. Firstly Mavi described roughly, then she gave up in this, told her that she also was to go there. Causing the woman to follow her, they walked in narrow roads of tombs, then curled another tomb road, got on the cable car and peaked the hill, sat outside a café and ordered tea. Through here over the graveyard, they watched the deep purple view of Golden Horn.

The tourist woman was a Russian and she told she was an Orthodox believer. She came to Turkey to find her ancestor’s bones and took them back to Russia. In the 1877-1878 Ottoman Empire-Russia War, her ancestor had been a soldier in the Russian Army who’d come to the edge of Istanbul and established a headquarters here. After the war, he lived in Istanbul, kept living as an Orthodox but married a Muslim woman, then died in Eyup and was buried in one of these old graves by her son. It was the time when people who had enough money could have themselves buried over saints’ graves in Eyup’s cemeteries where the blessed people were buried.

“But the bad point is that: We don’t know where his grave is. I couldn’t reach out his grandchild or his great-grandchild. Except one,” said the Russian woman, took one more sip from her tea. “I found Turkish one who’s saying he is from the family. He says he can find the grave, give me bones but if there is any gold or valuable in the grave, he’ll take it. I accepted it. He called me yesterday and I came here by plane immediately. Do you know any place where I can stay here, a hotel or pension?”

“You can stay with me,” said Mavi, asked for one more tea.

“But I’m lesbian,” the Russian woman grinned. She was five or six age older than Mavi.

“So, I’m sexomaniac.”

They stood up, climbed down the hill past through the graveyard and again came to the front of the big mosque. As the woman was showing extreme interest in every food and drink she was seeing in the Eyup Sultan Bazaar, Mavi was thinking only one thing: Could they find the grave by themselves? She didn’t care gold or so. She just wanted to help someone for the first time in her life and felt its necessity in her bone marrows. For some reason, she received this woman as her full sister. If she didn’t lose her sister in a traffic accident, this girl would be the same age this Russian woman had. Without hesitation, she said all this to this woman. Her name was Neva.


  • * *


After Neva had settled in Meryem’s room, she immediately got used to Istanbul. It was odd but she liked Eyup and its bigot people. She was treating even the suburb perverts like a human, who never left the streets. She almost gave them permission to touch her breast. It didn’t seem she would be getting out of here. Neither the news was coming from that gravedigger nor any phone from Russia.

Mavi didn’t feel uncomfortable with this. She loved Neva very much. She scratched the Russian woman’s head every night while watching TV, gave her massages and crumbled her back. After her lover’s disappearance, she really needed this kind family relationship. However, this didn’t last further.

One morning the Russian woman disappeared without any message. Mavi cried all the day, she had found herself alone after long years. Luckily, she received an e-mail from the Russian woman after days. The e-mail started with excuses arranged in a row. Neva wrote that the issue of her ancestor and the grave were just lie from top to bottom, and that she wasn’t lesbian, that she had escaped from Russia after selling everything she had and came to Turkey for seeking job. Moreover, she fell in love with a Turk, was about to marry him, placed in Kadikoy, in the Asian side of Istanbul. She even wrote her phone number in the e-mail.

Mavi didn’t take offense any of this. She still loved her as a sister. Such a pitch that, she would even go to her wedding and accompany her happiness. Excitedly, she closed the e-mail page, then found herself entered a site of bourgeois news and ran her eyes around to find a catastrophe-news that would be make her happier. After seeing a little news at the bottom she startled: “Author Hitchhead gets married.” And the woman was Neva!

The first reaction of Mavi was to vomit on the couch close by her. This filthy man, this bastard who’d been watching her breast in the interview of two minutes was going to be her sister’s husband. With her shaking fingers, she hardly opened e-mail address again. Dialed Neva’s number.


“It’s Mavi. You can’t marry this bastard.”

“Hi, honey. How’s it going?”

“I’m not fine. If you marry him I’ll kill myself.”

“I don’t understand you.”

Sweat was dropping from Mavi’s hand; she tossed her hand around in the kitchen, to the cupboards. She continued to speak in English: “This bastard is pervert.”

“I don’t believe in you.”

“I opened up my house for you. Don’t you believe me? I know well this bastard. He’s pervert.”

“You’re jealous of me.”

“What jealous! I say he abused me indecently. I made an interview with him.”

“You’re tense. Look, first calm down and then we’ll speak again. If you wish, come and stay with me tonight. To Kadikoy, come to the pier.”

Mavi hanged up and cried long time. The name of her beloved was the only thing coming to her mind at this moment. This time she called him. Chilly Boy’s phone was ringing with no answer. Called again, called one-hundred-twenty-four times more. No answer. She threw the phone to the couch and opened the window; as soon as extended her head to the street she saw a pervert-head extending parallel to her on the ground of the street.

“I beg your pardon?” He asked.

“Throw a cigarette to me.”

“Throw? What a vulgar word! I couldn’t make this word go with you, lady. Please open door and I’ll bring it.”

“Fuck you!”

She closed the window and noticed the phone was ringing. Ran, tried to hold the phone but it slipped; she rolled few times on the carpet and finally opened it. “You?”

“It’s Neva. It happened to me what you’d wished. God damn you, Mavi.”

“What’s the trouble?”

“My love disappeared. You stole him?”

“I stole him?”

“I searched everywhere. No one has seen him today. We have marriage tomorrow.”

“I told you that bastard isn’t trustworthy, didn’t I? He’s the foremost of dishonorableness. He disappears for a month, then shows herself with her new girl at a door of a Turkish new bookstore in Europa. Then-”

“No, Mavi. It’s serious. Polis came just before. He seemed in a café in Taksim for the last time. Then disappeared. There is no any track.”

“Do not cry, please, for God’s sake, do not cry in that way. I’m coming to Kadikoy.”


  • * *


Mavi spent that night and following week staying in the flat the author Hitchhead had rented for Neva. On the one hand she was giving Neva consolation and thinking about possibilities on where the writer could go, and on the other hand she was mourning of Chilly Boy who’d stolen her heart and buried it. Days were passing but she wasn’t hearing any news from her beloved or Hitchhead. All the country was mobilized for the writer, started uproar and crying. As if it was not enough, Mavi also was penniless, didn’t find any job, moreover, they couldn’t pay the rent of the flat in the Kadikoy. Neva couldn’t stand anymore, giving up hope, she went back to Russia. The day she’s gone Mavi decided to commit suicide.

This night she was going to cut her cable. She couldn’t look out for Neva who she loved more than herself, had nothing to do but only watch with shedding tears her flying off. Mavi was going to jump down Golden Horn’s water with tying a paving stone to her neck. Calling Meryem didn’t pass through her mind either. She didn’t left any envelope or so. Firstly she went to the shop on her street and wanted a case of beer. Hadn’t enough money for it. Shopkeeper was a moral man and didn’t offer sex to her in exchange for beers, but didn’t open credit for her either. Luckily, she could get four beers from him in return for her set of dildo.

Toward to the night, she walked past through Eyup’s bigot streets, knocking the bottles each other in a nylon bag. She was to end up in one of the parks lied along Golden Horn. She waited for traffic light and crossed over to other side after cars stopped. At the very moment, she recognized the Audi waiting for the lights. It was her beloved one who sat in driver seat like a bust. There was another man by him. She waved her hands and arms but they didn’t notice her. As soon as the cars started, she hailed a cab.

The Audi came to the villa in the Belgrade Forest. Chilly Boy and the other man with him got house. The taxi man who was waiting secretly with the headlight turned off wanted the money. With understanding he wouldn’t take his money from her, in this exact suitable condition, he attempted to rape her. With a beer bottle, Mavi smashed her head, it was not enough, and she let his brain flow down through the steering wheel after hitting with second bottle.

The young woman got near to the villa silently. What the main problem was now how to sneak herself into home. However, it was easy because the alarm system of the villa wasn’t working. She could leak inside after breaking any window because she knew entire house and its rooms like the back of her hand. She followed the lights of rooms and calculated where the two men could be. From the farthest point to them she got into a room. It was dark, she moved ahead turning over something and opened the door, came in one of the corridors.

Heard some rumble, she hid herself in one of the rooms, leaving the door ajar, listened to voices raising, calmed down and came to the corridor again, walked in and arrived at the living room with white leather couches. Censors lit up. Hopefully, her rumble unheard and no one noticed her. She stepped on the stairs, entered another corridor and went down another stairs. It was the kitchen she came in now. No one existed here. This time she climbed down the backstairs extended to this kitchen, and stepped in the narrow and arched corridor that was going to the living room with black leather couches. The human voices were coming. It was something like “do not stop talking!” or “do not stop kicking!”

Mavi went forward with millimetric steps. Room doors were all closed. Without arriving at the living room she opened the laundry-room’s door. The washing machines were working in force. Just after opening the other door and stepping in the botanical garden, the same voices became clear. She heard clearly slap voices and roaring like crying of a begging man. Everything was coming from behind that door, the door Mavi hadn’t been able to open before. She leaned against the door, placed her ear on it and listened to the voices.

“Hit me, mate! Crash me, fuck! Do not have mercy for me! Bang me!”

This voice wasn’t Chilly Boy’s. Mavi turned the knocker silently and the door was being opened. Now the voice was heard sharply.

“Oh! Tear me up, my ram! Oh! Fuck my grave!”

“What’s the fuck happening here?” shouted Mavi and entered the room. Vomiting was the only one thing she could do in response for what she saw. The inside was a small movie house with fifty seats. There was a man on the movie screen and this man had his mouth wide open, was holding on to a seat with his two hands and just screaming. The other man behind him was… her beloved.

“Whoa! What the fuck are you doing here? And you?” Mavi asked.

Two men were buck naked and settled behind the seats. Chill Boy stuck his penis in the other man’s anus and was making him scream. What’s more, there was a camera by them recording their position and synchronously reflecting it on the movie screen. The man was watching himself on the big screen and finding pleasure in this.

“You…” Once again Mavi vomited. The man before Chill Boy was the pervert she’d met in the internet but refused, the Serb named Sava. She said nothing and didn’t understand anything at all from this. Leaving them alone as they were, without dropping any tears, she turned back toward the corridor and came in the living room with black leather couches, then let herself stick in a couch. With the remote-control device, she turned off TV and threw the device to the geometrical lines turning on the wall. Suddenly she started to cry.

“How did you get inside, Miss? Who are you looking for? Why do you cry?”

It was Chill Boy asking these. With hearing these Mavi sobbed. “God damn all of you!”

As Chill Boy was unbuttoning and the Serbian man stepped in the room with his burnoose. “I didn’t expect you to come here tonight. Do you remember me? You’d said ‘God damn all of you,” to me before exactly when you’d seen me first through webcam and spitted in my face.”

“Of course I remember you. Who doesn’t remember your damned face?” the young woman continued to cry. It was this man across Chilly Boy in that café where she’d seen first her beloved. Now she remembered everything.

“Are you mad at me?”

“Why I have to get mad at you? I don’t get angry about that bastard either. He put me aside like a dog but… Never mind. I spoiled your good mood. I should have known before that it would be a miracle that such a man like him was with me. It’s better not to overdo anything. I’d better be going.”

The young woman was about to open the door and Sava tied her burnoose and sat down in a couch. “Do not get angry about him. He does not know what he’s doing. Everything happened in this way because of me.”

“How come?” Mavi knocked at the door, stood.

“It could be found odd but… The person who you see isn’t a man.”


“A robot.”


“Yes, he’s a robot. Inside is mechanic, outside is human skin.”

“How on earth! What are you talking rot?” With one action Mavi cut the flow of her tears and stood over Sava.

“Mr. Pusher. Show her.”

“Mr. Pusher?”

“His name is Mr. Pusher.”

“What the fuck kind of name is it? What kind of disgusting man are you?”

“He pushes it the good way, right?”

Mr. Pusher buttoned his shirt and his chest separated as square pieces of meat from his body. Iron parts hung down. Mavi couldn’t stand anymore, let herself fall on the ground and did what she knew how to do best in this life: Vomiting one after the other.

“Enough. Don’t cause more indigestion anymore. You can sit down, Mr. Pusher.”

“Chilly Boy?” It was the only word out of Mavi’s mouth.

“I programmed him to say this name and steal your heart. Remember we were writing to each other in the internet for hours. You used to talk everything of you to me, on what kind of man you wanted to be with, who you wondered at, all the face line of the man you would marry with. Moreover, you even told of ‘Chilly Boy’ to me.

“It was a song: ‘What street are you in/ You’re in frostiness, why? / With who are you on to/ Chilly Boy, is that you?”

“Yes, the late Ercumen Santurk was singing it. It was the singer who you’d listened in your adolescence. You were sending the Youtube links of his old clips. You were saying you’d regarded him as a divine in your twelve. You liked his face lines, his hair, his voice, his everything. Is it reminding you something?”

“Reminding what?”

“Look at Mr. Pusher once again. I made this robot for you, Mavi. I tried to resemble it to the singer. Did I achieve it?”

“Not at all. But…”


“You made it more beautiful than him.”

“I did it to make you happy,” Sava’s eyes became watery. He barely spoke in a crying tone. “I loved you very much than everything in this world. Since the day you refused me I haven’t taken offense. I’ve just wanted to make you happy.”

“I don’t know what to say,” said Mavi, “I have to thank you now?” She settled in the couch the robot sat.

“There is no need for your thanking.”


“Because he doesn’t belong to you anymore. He is mine.”

“No! He’s mine!” Mavi yelled, let her tears flow and approached the robot, combed his hair, kiss him on the mouth. “He is my Chilly Boy. Darling…”

“I beg you, don’t touch him again. Please,” Sava jumped to his feet, held the robot’s hands, licked her chin and hid the robot behind him. “From now, I can’t give Mr. Pusher to anyone. Everything changed. I fell in love with this robot that I’d made for you.”

“I don’t leave him to you! He is everything of me! I lived most beautiful moments with him in this world.”

“Is that so? Well, what the heck did I live with him? Do you know about this?” Sava’s voice was becoming fairly hysterical.

“If you don’t give me him now, there will not any mean left for my life anymore. I know that you try to take revenge because of my refusing for you.”

“Revenge? I don’t take revenges. I guess I couldn’t explain this to you: I love him. If I give him to you, it will be exact me who’ll not have any reason for living. I can make the same robot for you. The exact same with everything.”

“No! I want him. Make the same for yourself.”

To bring crying to an end, Sava took a deep breath. This problem wouldn’t be solved with these opposite ways, he noticed it. “Okay, let’s ask the robot. Whomever he wants, let the robot make decision. Mr. Pusher, what’s your answer?”

“You’re talking nonsense! He’s under your control. You brainwashed him. You broke his psychological situation!”

“Robots don’t have psychology. He’s designed to give logical answers and count all possibilities. What’s the answer, Mr. Pusher?”

“My answer,” the robot sighed, took a few steps in the image of a confused philosopher, “the answer is: Superhighway.”

“Superhighway?” Mavi yelled at the top of her voice.

“The only one possible solution of this paradox you presented to me is this word: Superhighway.”

“Bullshit!” Mavi got to her feet, took a bottle of water from the refrigerator. She hardly could let the water flow in her throat.

“How can you do this? How could you make this marvelous robot? With the same human image and impulses… I’ve kiss many men in this life, but never seen one like him who could kiss in his way. I’m curious, really curious: How happened this?”

“Grundrisse! Sava shouted, holding, he waved the book of Grundrisse German edition that was hidden among the pillows of the couch. “This book is exactly source of inspiration. You can find in it whatever you seek. But you must know how to read it.”

“Karl Marx? What’s the connection the communism with this business?”

“This book isn’t about the communism but on the human-nature relationship. The mutual change between human and nature. The dialectic of technology-human. And finally, the mutual dialectic between technology and nature.”


“Just a minute, I’ll read a passage to you,” said Sava and opened a marked page of the book and read something in German from it.


“So, Marx said that: A worker or a human, while he or she is running into a trouble called ‘production’ to make another human rich… While he or she is attempting to product things to make someone rich, then he or she is being dragged into the place kind of whirlpool, the whirlpool of metamorphoses, finally he or she is turning into a machine. Or speaking by words of Marx: Human becomes the system of automat of machinery. Human, in this world where everything turns into money, earns his movement from the automats. So, the power of movement, that gives itself its own motion, finally comes to the scene. On the one hand there is a mechanic, and the other hand intellectual organs; then these two constitute the thing what we say ‘automatic.’ Thus, workers themselves become the joints of this automat.”


“All activity of workers is arranged and determined by movement of the machines.”

“So? I don’t understand any shit of it. What is workers’ business in all of this? Pardon, I don’t have enough intelligence to understand this.”

“Mr. Sava tries to say that,” the robot interfered, “the human who tries to product something for someone walks in a path where he loses his nature and turns into something utterly different than him. Into a robot or a machine. Mr. Sava tried to product me for you. And in this way, he became something completely different. He thinks now he’s controlled by me.”

“That’s why I love this robot!” Sava shouted once again in his hysterical voice. At the exact moment, something occurred to him that he hadn’t expected. Mavi, who was waiting for the right time for minutes, split Sava’s head by using the strong chair with thick wood. She walked over Sava, who was suffering on the ground, and then turned toward the robot.

“Sava is about to die. Even if he survives he will live as a stupid. Even if he lives he will not be of help to you anymore. The person who’s nonfunctional is needles in this world, you know. Therefore, his dying now is the most logical action. Calculate this rapidly and approve it, then kill him.”

Just after saying this Mavi went away toward the door. The robot did calculation and approved it nodding his head. He hit and broke the glass bottle he took out of the refrigerator and calmly cut Sava’s throat.

“From now, you’re mine. In this world you have no one but only me. Am I right?”

“You’re right, Miss.”

“Don’t call me ‘Miss.’ You and I are lovers now. You are Chilly Boy. You are mine.”

“I’m yours.”

“And I’m yours.”

“And you are mine.”

“Raise this corpse. Throw it into that freezing compartment in the forest. Let the cover open. Pigs are so hungry. Then clean up around, wash yourself and come to me, to my bed. I’ll be waiting for you.”

Mavi didn’t say it as an order but a request in a soft voice. Chilly Boy did everything she’d wanted, then cleaned and came to the bed. After weeks passing with longing, he had the woman taste another incredible night. After intensive sex, Mavi couldn’t seize her legs and barely came close to the window. Drew the curtain, kneeled down, lit a cigarette and got lost in her thoughts watching the depth of the forest.

“If I happen to ask you a question, you would say the true, my love?”


“Is it you who killed that fashion model? You took his face out of his head?”

“Which model? I killed many models.”

“That… Aykut Nese.”


“What about the author? Selim Hitchhead. You also killed him?”

“Yes. I tore his face and body to pieces and then threw it in the same place. Now the pigs are eating him.”

“Ah, poor Neva. Oh my sister… Well, why did you do all this?”

“Sava wanted this. He was going to use their faces and bodies to make robots of them.”

“Disgusting! How many people have you killed?”


“All of them were so famous people, weren’t they?”

“Yes. Sava took aim at famous people. He was thinking on making robots of some people loved by the public.”

“Did he make them?”



“To rule the nation.”

“Okay, apart from ones the pigs eat now… Is there any robot left?”

“Yes. Nine.”

“And you know where they are?”

“I know.”

“Good night, my love.”







2. Story: The Confabulation Master and His Love Letters



Letter No. 1



Coughed. Now I coughed powerful the way a lion with cut-ear roars in pain. I didn’t cut my ear or so. Wetting my wooden pen with my lips, I stuck it into the first fly I encountered. I’m writing to you in this way to make you dream this and me alive, meaty and slobbery; I couched once again. Are you disgusted? You haven’t been disgusted at cleaning oily asses of your children, but disgusted of me? I guess not, because I had coughed in this way at your face the time of this night exactly eleven years ago.


Now I wish to write about that night in details with its luminosities of stars and its very green meteors falling down, with our fire of sixteen old, with your shine of eye and vibration of my face. But it’s in vain, do you say? I’d better take the hills and gather my gang and make a surprise attack at your home? So you say that I have to array your husbands and set them on fire in front of your kids? Or are you trying to say to me “Do what you wish to but keep your mouth shut”? Isn’t there any fork or scissors or so on to stick into your palm? Don’t you remember how we escaped from demons with rolling down from the hill at a coal-black night covered up with cloth. How your apparel was torn under the moon… Don’t you remember we reached up a cliff with stomping on bones of animal at the night? Remember nothing?


To remind you everything, do I have to write finest sentences these stars would witness to? Eleven years past and you gave birth to a few babies after aborting ten-thousands of them, and you’ve now turned into a veined tree. What beauty you still seek? Wouldn’t you remember me, if I sacrificed your new-born child for gods, or no matter what I do? What do you mean? Have you lived till now to mean some things to me for this much time? No! Stop! Do not answer me; I’m not ready to hear at all any negative thing. I seem to know what your answer is. It always is the same answer what a blond jumping rope like you gives. Blonde women who always jumped rope in their childhoods give the same answer, always say “likely…” or they mean even this.


Anyway, better stick our pens into flies.


In that sea-black night when I’d coughed at your face, I didn’t let go of your hand. I knew well that you were to leave me, so I wanted to remove your hand to hide it in the pocket of my school jacket. Would you believe in me if I said that I’ve not handwashed since that night? Who knows how many times I touched you with that hand? When you fell sleep after stamping with that your fucker, it was my evil-smelling breathe I gave a tour on your back and it was my hand dirty with counting money what I petted your hair. You had many husbands and all of them saw that. Having respect for my steadiness, what they only did was keeping quiet. In fact they shut up after my threatening them to sell your all children to Indians.


Are you disgusted? You’re afraid of nobody but disgusted of everyone in this world. You were disgusted of me in your sixteen, you were disgusted of everyone kind of me in your seventeen; so you’re twenty-eight and now you are even disgusted of your own children. How do I know that? My eyes have been hung at your all doors. I’ve been peeping you as a family; I’ve been writing something with a notebook on my hand while watching you through the door holes.


Don’t you believe it? You’ve believed in all devils and gods but not me? Wouldn’t you believe in me if I said I saw you in a market as a painting drawn with oil color? I even don’t know what money you took in exchange. I don’t accuse you and I see you get paid delayed what you deserved after breeding that much. An arrow got stuck at your door on a feast day last year and I’m the man who shot it.


Better you stop now, get some rest, drink water or do whatever you do in your life with no me. The life you created by stringing on a longish rope with all those damned possibilities what I’m afraid of calling back to my mind. Take steps now, count your cards, restock your knifes. Just rip this paper. And what’s more, you even don’t know who wrote this. Or you remember the name behind the envelope? You wonder which blighter of you I am.


If you didn’t tear this letter, I’m damn sure you remembered me. However, you moiled, you couldn’t guess a single one what I would say to you after that much time; you griped now, got curious, started crumbling your wrinkled fingers because of the thrill, you nibbled what you put into your mouth, then sipped your coffee and calmed down now.


I would say that you already ripped this letter. The moment when you ripped it you couldn’t stand anymore for smelling that familiar scent demolishing your order your state your hometown, accept it! Yes, it’s the same perfume. It was the perfume which you separated me out from the other adolescents in entire high school. The perfume which caused you to follow me at roofs after walking streets and climbing stairs. Even though you put everything in the schoolyard and stamped on the ground to prevent it from being a hollow for any memory in your mind, you couldn’t forget this scent. I knew it and let the paper absorb this perfume. You used to ask me where I had bought this scent from. You loved it to bits. Moreover, you gave this scent a name: Green Button. But it had had a navy blue cap. What shop I bought it in was the cologne-vendor behind two blocks where your home was on. However, I’m not going to lie: When someone says “green”, my eyes still take shape as button and fill with tears.


In this paragraph of the letter, you must have lost consciousness now with the scent; felt dizzy, held on to the chair tightly that you sat, and my name surname school number banged nails on your brain one by one. And the first picture that came into existence in your mind now must represent my dotted neck. In the sea-black and cold night when I hid your hand in my pocket like a kerchief, you had kissed my neck. I was dumfounded. After taking two sips from the whiskey, you even kissed my shoulder. After three sips you mentioned the man whom you were marry to, and then you threatened me to throw me down from the edge of the cliff. You were so serious about it.


I’m sure you’ve deeply regretted that you didn’t roll me down. No need to regret: You really sent me in that night into the darkness of a hollow that was cold like a dungeon and had its edges soft like a pillow; you left me by myself lonely in my sixteen. With your face turning into a mirror under the moon, you laughed at me with watching my desperation. Then you spitted at me, gave a kick, sworn at devils.


No, I don’t accuse anyone. Don’t worry, I’ve accused you million times and forgiven billion times all these years. You were a very young girl, and to forgive you, I’ve been with all girls in the world, with who resembled you. Then you grew old, and to understand your new mood, I’ve listened to all women in the world. Because you had a child one day, I’ve bought gifts for all children in the world. Because your child was going to die one day, I’ve killed all children in the world in a moment. I’ve loved, I’ve rejoiced and then slaughtered.


Don’t you still believe in me? You think I’m still one who can’t do what he said? A jackass in your classroom had sworn at you and I couldn’t beat him, moreover I had got beat up. Do you still think that I can’t change anything in my life? You say I can’t be a man? How? I’ve killed all men in this world. You’re widowed in this age, but don’t have any idea about it. Your husbands are all dead. If you don’t believe me and have courage, then go to your bedroom and see it.


No, I’m not talking nonsense. I just bullshit, don’t I? I’m “The Master of Confabulation”, aren’t I? You gave me this name because I couldn’t turn the trick but only speak. In fact, after you, I’ve not spoken to anybody in my life, I’ve made no any sentence. All my works I’ve had someone by using my gestures. You can confirm that by asking anyone in the world.


The night when you showed me the door as if I was a fly, I took an oath not to speak to anyone any more. And it has been so. But I nearly broke it today. And that’s why I’m writing this letter to you after years.


What happened today? I was lying down under a tree and thinking of you as usual. I was making my day dreaming your high-school mood. I was waiting in that way for turning of the tree branches into your arms and of the tree hollow into your belly. Then, suddenly something weird happened. You didn’t come to me, but a pen-legged gazelle sat down close by me bending her knees. She passed her neck under my arm and put her face on my belly, then closed her eyes in imitation of your aspirations in my dreams. I didn’t know to do. If you were her, I would have things ready to do. But patting this gazelle didn’t come to my mind at the moment. On the contrary, with a weird motive, my appetite was whetted. It seemed that I could eat this delicious gazelle as a repast at one sitting, and make a swing from her bones. At this moment I wanted to make a huge fork from the tree, uprooting it; I felt desire to place this little animal with the fork in my stomach.


In response to my disgusting fantasies turning into sweat drops on my face, the gazelle suddenly opened her eyes, stretched her neck and intended to be a sacrifice for me. Luckily, I had no knife on me. Only sharp objects around me were my nails. Firstly, I walked my finger on her ears, studied the folds of her face, scratched her hair and then touched one by one on her spots shaped as buttons. This animal who squinted like sheep to the slaughter, who knew what happened at the point, suddenly came alive and got free from my arms with one action. She ran and ran, stopped on a little hill with a very green ground but no trees and no bush. She turned her head toward me, winked at my appetite one more time. I got rolling on grass in the instinct of a townsman who mooched free food, and I came to stop at the distance of seven steps to her. She went down from the other side of the hill and again measured the distance of seven steps and waited. I pretended to run, sprung myself toward her and she ran again. Then she entered a forest with high trees where I’ve not taken a step on since I first came here.


There in the forest, it seemed darkness in the daytime. I saw huge leaves falling down on my head, and ladybugs as big as punch were waiting on them. Who knows what kinds of bodies buried under the dropped leaves? The gazelle found a shallow stream, drank water like a mad. I came close to her, plunged my hands to cold water. At the very moment she smiled at my reflection in the water, instead of turning her head to me, she fixed herself at my reflection, opened her mouth and closed then, did the same thing four or five more times as if trying to speak to me. I waited for the mouth movements of the animal reflecting in the water and for her growls close by me. It was the first time that I wanted to speak so much with desire after eleven years. I have to admit that I forgot the oath I took for you about speaking, and attempted to take out two or three words rusted in my mouth.


But it didn’t work. I’ve completely forgotten how to speak. “I love you” was the last thing what I said in my life. I had difficulty in speaking like a baby trying to shit the first word in life. Then suddenly I left myself in the cold water, closed my eyes. As soon as opening my eyes, voice of birds were riddling my ears. In fact, I envied so much their cheeping and gossips and what’s more I went crazy. Slapping myself in the face, I exerted myself to speak. After it, I flipped the gazelle off, I did something meant swearword, got into a rage, kicked the ass of her. In a mood losing my direction in the deep of the forest, I waited for a while. For a moment this poor gazelle seemed to understand my misery, then turned her neck in another direction and dragged slowly toward the back of a huge rock. I ran after her. It was a mossy, wooden and little bridge behind the rock, it was reaching out beyond the stream. I was told that there was no human settled here before. The bridge was standing so botchy and mistrustful as if it was a work of the animal here.


As soon as taking my steps on the other side of the stream, the gazelle rushed again as if getting stung by a bee. And I after her. All around us are trees arranged on a straight line. As we were running, the trees were being a greeny tunnel. What’s more, it was a shadow that occurred at the point of tunnel. The gazelle gently stopped without knocking anything. At the point where the trees became walls, she found a door. She couldn’t open it and innocently bended her knees sitting down in despair, counted my steps sweating off and winked at me. It was a kind of door fallen in between two trees from high like a guillotine, and was stuck in there. To open the door wasn’t too hard. I saw I came back to my home’s garden after walking back and forth in the forest, I noticed it as taking my first step behind the door. That’s how I discovered a secret door going to my home, thanks to the gazelle.


As to my home… Remember that one day at school you had said what home you wished to live in and I understood nothing about it. Then you sat down along the lesson and drew a palatial mansion in detail on a notebook, what you had in your head. With eight doors and a hundred-five rooms. You even designed all the rooms one by one. If I bought this home for you, you would live with me forever, you swore for it.


Here it is. I have this mansion now for you. “The Master of confabulation” kept his word. It’s a giant mansion placed in an area as vast as your neighborhood. It has a tower just the way you wanted it, that is embedded in the north walls. Yes, you have a photo inside the envelope in your hand; it’s the mansion on the photo. I know you look at the photo now one more time. I feel you appreciated me and hated to do it.


“How are we going to furnish inside?” I’d asked you before. I’d been dead sure I would build that mansion one day.


“It has to be quite empty inside. Just with basic structure. I want to furnish it for life,” you’d said, and suddenly your coal-dark eyes enlarged hungrily.


The home has been just completed now, and roughly, stuffless, it’s waiting for you. I let no one touch it. Moreover, even I don’t stay inside and the doors are all locked. I’ve been living and breathing under a huge tree placed a hundred-three steps away from it; I’ve not even approaching one step to the mansion. Three gazelles rushing around me, sometimes I hear voices of wolfs. With my shaky body that lost its all voice and in a pride of killing your husbands, I wait for you, darling. Come.



Letter No. 2


It’s been a month. You haven’t come here yet. I’m on the farthest edge of that geography folding like a warp finger toward sea, where the west of the province written on the envelope is. Due to my demand, there is a postman coming here once a month. But you’ve not written anything.


Because of you, I’ve started to eat butchering the animals here! Because of you, I ate many shits in the world! I tricked people as poor as a church mouse. I insulted all soft touch people I came across. I didn’t lend a hand to people who’d had their ears cut right in front of my eyes. I didn’t do anything but only watched children dying of starvation. Only for you and for filling your damned appetite, I’ve drawn my morality lines again and again and erased them for eleven years. For you I sold weapons and accepted bribes, smuggled people, made everyone applause me, then I ate what they put in front of me. As I was stuffing, you were watching me on TV and you thought all of this was a film. I put money on terrorist organizations, made intellectual contribution to armed attacks. Who knows how many states I divided and how many families I ruined. I polluted seas and melted mountains, beat workers and burned flags. All sorts of discords I sow among people without obligation to say any word.

I’ve done everything only for you and for making your pompous sickening dreams come true!


And you’re not coming to me, so?


That little gazelle… She still runs around our home. Did you like her so much, didn’t you? You always loved little things like this. Don’t you want something to happen to her, do you? If you don’t come here in a month, I’ll be eating butchering her! I’ll make toys from her bones and give it as a gift to your children!


Letter No. 3


It’s been two months and you haven’t been here. So that make you the first who’ll touch this mansion, I haven’t still entered it. The gazelle? No, I didn’t eat her. Because of the indecision whether to eat her or not, the poor animal died a thousand deaths and left me alone. That thin-necked, sneaky-faced postman… I’m so doubtful about him. I’ll chase up him today.


Letter No. 4


I killed the postman yesterday and then handed his body to my bear friends in the forest. No, he hadn’t anything snakily, he had sent my letters to you. It was another thing what made me this much angry. As I rushed him asking what happened to my letters and speaking of my love, this bastard used bad language and chatted something hinting at touching your perineum. First, I took off his shirt, and then I pressed a tree branch into his hand. Finally, I cut his neck by using obsidian glass.


No longer, you can’t seek any pretext my love. There is no one who we have to accuse and kill anymore, except us. On fire, I’m waiting for you.


Letter No. 5


It’s been a full year and I couldn’t wait for breaking the lock. I settled in the mansion. The weather got cold here. There is nothing like your fumy and humid body in this world, my love. I slept with every animal I met in the forest, but neither of them could give your heat to me. So, you’ve been still able to warm up me with your sight of star wanking from far away for twelve years. Another postman is appointed here but he hasn’t come here at present. The road is closed by snow.


Letter No. 6


Just now, I broke my pen with thrill and fixed it with jamming it in my palms; I’m writing you with bleeding my hand. Years passed and you should have thought that your letter hasn’t been delivered to me yet. It had arrived long ago.


In fact, I’d wanted to write to you just as reading yours. But I couldn’t. Let five year pass, I said; in order to digest your sayings well and to meditate in depth on what I would write to you, I didn’t want to hurry up. However, I exaggerated a little. It’s very late now, I’m sorry. It has been exact sixteen years since I got your letter. It has dead serious reasons why I’ve waited that much time to write to you.


“I don’t know what to say. I wish instead of me you used your determination for a woman who really deserved you. I hadn’t wanted to agonise you that much. It was a childish mistake I had done in high-school times: Giving you hope. You were the one who was my first mate in my life and I could believe in. But not a lover.”


You said these at a point of your letter sixteen years ago. I agree with you, I’ll give you that, but I couldn’t make contact with the end of your letter:


“To award a gallant and successful man like you for keeping the word is really proper and valuable action for a woman like me who’s junked with impunity. And I already now started what I have to do. In this morning what was the first thing I did was to pick up all my nineteen children from school and to pack their bags. If you still think that mansion belongings to me, I want to place with my children there. Your love, yours to the core…”


You said. It’s been sixteen years since it, and your children must be grown and you must be a grandma now.


Frankly speaking, with reading your letter, the issue of placement your children here planted various doubts in my mind, and as you may appreciate, it didn’t be easy for me. This issue, how for want of a better word, would damage the purpose of the mansion building. Without shifting: You and your children threatened me all the while. After your eating my life with spoon, plus your nineteen children… On top of that, I know well what you wanted do with that children, what vengeance you were in, what point you wanted to prove in this world. Beyond all these… If you all happened to come here, you would break our constitution law. I debated with my folk on your condition, on allowance of your coming here. As a result I’m sorry.


Speaking of the constitution law… Things have been changed here after my last letter. This place surrounding with a virgin and wild forest… This place is a country now. Here is a country of people unmarried and childless. Named “Green Button.” Except animal, the population is seven hundred and two.


I have to say that… I came across with the woman of my life in this forest years ago, and I established this country with her. We wrote the constitution law of Green Button country together. According to this:


1-Having children is forbidden. People having children have no entry permit to the country.

2-Marrying is forbidden. Married people have no entry permit to the country.

3-The citizens of Green Button consist of people who made anyone happy in this life and couldn’t get in return for it, and of animals.


I can guess more or less what came to your mind after reading these. But I have to say that: All of this is my only serious consolation for my poor life that lost its all colors in its sixteen, and is spent for you.


You must have already read the news of my country in the newspapers. We produce the finest perfume of the world. By using new essences explored in the depth forest, we grant the most beautiful scent to humanity, what they don’t deserve it at all.


Have you ever used our perfumes? I dipped this paper into our last miraculous scent. Did you like it? I’m so curious about it.


Here is now so chirping. When we discover a kind of different and unknown scent after sifting particles of meteors around and revealing the essence, suddenly we young and old alike lose our consciousness and hold sorts of wildest religious ceremonies.


You see I’m the human of scents now. I’m the attendant of my country, love. The human has never been that much happy since the coming into being!


What do you think about this most beautiful flower in bloom beyond you and the ball of trouble filled with seven billion people? I’m really waiting for hearing what would you say about our country.


Your “confabulation”, your “master”, even if we got old and rejoiced…







3. Story: A neck corroded by tears



There was a man named Akay. He was in his thirties. He was walking on the streets of Taksim where workers ornamented their dreams saying “Come on, let’s suck some brew” after the break. Little time to sunset and that was something with alcohol what he was sipping from a little bottle heated in his pocket, under the vernal light. He barely could gather his legs open like a draftsman compass, and got into an old building past through the fish market. With feeling the ice-cold marble that touched his shoe’s thin footbed, he heard an annoying resonance from the non-absorbing walls. With discontinues voices, hundreds of children were whispering “give money.”

About to climb up the stairs but he could not stand this noise anymore. As if rising against the jinn shadowing him secretly, he yelled in a kind of forgotten and childish courage: “What the hell?”

“Give me some coin, bro,” said an eight-year-old child in the face of Akay. He asked for this money by raising his forefinger this time quietly. The child’s apparel seemed new but his face was slushed up. Some people bought the clothes for this refugee Syrian child with their compliments, but no one washed his hands and face.

“Bug off. Neither coin nor lira,” said Akay and prevented the child from opening the arms and giving him a hug, he elbowed the child aside and gave up climbing the ladders. He was about to step out of the door but stopped suddenly with the child’s voice: “Bro!”


“Give me one lira.”

Instead of dropping the word “fuck you” from his mouth, Akay lit a cigarette and passed another one to the child. On the stair where Akay had just wiped the shoes’ mud shortly before, the child sat down and watched Akay with his big eyes shaped like a tear.

As to the man, cotton candies shaped tear were flying in his mind. While walking on the Istiklal Street a short time ago, did he see someone familiar beyond the cotton candies spinning in some people’s hands? Akay recalled a familiar and pretty image that was taking some liquid inside him out from his mouth. He took a sip from the bottle and put his feet on the sharped-sided pavement on the street. He almost twisted his ankle. Tumbling down like a fruit case and hanging on whoever was in streets after twisting of ankle had occurred to him many times before. He remembered three or four shameful memories roughly and walked lamely.

The person beyond the workbench of cotton candy on the Istiklal Street was his beloved Lelala. It was the time both she saw her bandy-legged lover’s running towards her and heard his voice. “Hey! Who are you waiting for?”

“Whom do you think I’m waiting for?” asked Lelala. An old pant with floriated pattern mutated to turtles was on her, and a strange shirt-apron, something buttoned. If you didn’t regard her feet, she would take the shape of a bust of Ho Chi Minh, right across you.

“You aren’t waiting for me. It’s clear. You saw me just now but didn’t wave your hands. If you waited for me, you would come to me and give a huge. If you waited for me in front of that door, at least you would raise your hand. If you waited for me, your face wouldn’t be blank like this. If you-”

“What’s on my face?”

“What could be on your face, after all! You’ve never painted your face for me for months. You haven’t cleaned your black stains, Lelala.”

“I wanted to make change today. Did I goof up? Didn’t you like it?” The young woman lifted her head gently and blew up her cheeks under sunlight. Cheered up suddenly.

“With me…” Akay got really angry but swallowed his rage in a lump like a child trying to stop the hiccups. He randomly shook his arms and hands, then swung around himself with a desperate smiling on his face and put on the jacket he hid under his armpit. “Do you poke fun at me, girl?” he asked this time gruffly.

“Do I have to poke fun at you? Why does a person poke fun at another person? That’s story has not been told to me yet, Akay.”

“Do you want to listen to stories? I mean, are you trying to tell me that all of this going-on is motiveless? So, am I only one who has perception problems here? We have been lovers for a long time and at this moment you behave as if we already drew apart!”

“People do like this when they draw apart?”

“Yes!” Akay shouted. Without paying attention to the hateful glances flowing toward him from some feminists who were startled by his voice, he shouted the same thing again and then unfastened his necktie. “Who are you waiting for, tell me!” He could not stop his chin’s vibration in any way. “You got all dressed up for whom?”

“For myself. You know, today is a special day.”

“Special? Which day is today? 8 May it is, am I right? What special is there today? The day Nazis lost the war? The day chemist Lavoisier had been guillotined? There is nothing special to us for today, Lelala.”

“I’ve told you much times that: 8 May is special for me.”

“I’m sorry but I don’t remember it. What happened on that day?”

“Nothing. I just love 8 May very much, as a day. And my memory confirms that I told you this twenty-seven times before.”

“Ugh!” Akay removed his jacket again and tucked his shirt out. “Why are you smiling?”

“Because today is 8 May! I’ve smiling since 00.00 last night,” said the woman; the more smiling, the more her eyes shrank.

“If you cared for me, on the contrary, you would sorrow, worry or fuck knows you would swear at me! Because I didn’t buy any present to you for this special day. Skip this, I even remembered the day! Besides, you have told me this time and again.”

“Twenty-eight times. With the last.”

“Aren’t you going to be vexed with me because I didn’t remember this special day?”

“Why I have to be vexed with you because of this? You are so into vexations.”

“Never mind. Okay. Would you like to drink something with me? How about?” Akay began to hold his chin by his hand and his making long sentences gradually got more difficult.

“Well, I don’t have much time left.”

“For a half-hour, girl!”

“I have exactly thirteen minutes and nine seconds. Averagely.”

“God damn it! Can I not sit a half-hour somewhere with my darling? Aren’t you going to tell me who are you waiting for?”

“All right, let’s go,” said the young woman suddenly. With a single action, she caught the man’s left hand and passed through people at a trot, didn’t say another word to her lover who she dragged like a balloon in her acceleration. After passing by the historical Turkish bath she went down ladder, took ninety-three steps parallel to the Istiklal Street and went up another ladder directly away. With no hesitation, she entered one of the streets she came across, then took another ninety-three steps in the direction of the east. She was about to enter a downhill street, but:

“I’m dead, enough, stop it!” Akay was all sweaty. He unbuttoned half of buttons of his shirt. “Stop, I feel dizzy.”

“We’re almost there. There is a breezy café,” said the woman in a rather fresh voice and coolness preventing her from having her make-up running.

“Where did you take me to? Why did you walk around insomuch? For God’s sake, what are you doing?”

“According to my calculation this is the best place to sit. If we take account of a possible terrorist action, of wind direction, of human population… I know that you don’t like crowd, my darling. Besides, bugs…”


“Here is most buggy place in Istanbul. In the cafés of intensive buggy building, the playing music and the quality of drink are always high.”

“What’s it got to do with bugs?”

“Statistics indicate this.”

“Why don’t you unbutton your buttons? Do you have to walk about like a Kung Fu master in this heat?”

As soon as hearing this Lelala smiled once again, opened her four buttons at once and revealed well her tits. After straightening her belly up and making her tits erect, from eight building located at positions asymmetrical to each other, eight masculine heads popped out in different ages.

“I think, there is no need to open this that much,” said Akay. Coming close the young woman, he buttoned up one button, and closed second button with licking the woman’s dry lips.

“Let’s enter?” asked the woman. After translating the randy vibration unveiled on Akay’s face into a possibly positive answer, she entered a building the café was in. Inside there was really both calming and cackling music in the café. There were seventy-eight tables but all empty. They sat down at place where the wind was blowing most powerful and vibrating tables and chairs. Akay looked around. Even the café workers didn’t appear around. “Someone steals the whiskeys!” he yelled but no one gave out a sound. He stood up and prepared two icy whiskey glasses.

“I don’t want to drink today, thank you,” Lalela said and smiled in her most sexy mood. Her hair looked like Medusa’s opened hair in the wind.

“You are perfect,” said Akay and sipped some whiskey across the beauty of his darling. He relaxed a little and started asking the questions again he had in his mind, with elastic sentences. “Do you cheat on me, girl?”

“No. Have you ever cheated on someone in your life?”

“Well… Now, if I say I haven’t…”

“I haven’t, but I wonder very much about it. How kind of process is it?” Lelala asked and emitted nine smokes in rows taking out her e-cigarette from her mouth. “But I have to say that: my time is going down. There are people I have to meet today.”

“Not one but plenty? People…”


“Who are the people? Will you make a group?”

“Technically speaking: Yes, we’ll make a group. We’ll do it as a group.”


“Did I say something bad, Akay? Why are your eyes so swollen?”

“I’m sorry Lalela, I’m so sorry that…I don’t know what I couldn’t give you in this life. What is you wanted and I couldn’t give you?”

“You’ve given me things very useful, Akay. With you I’ve been learning many things. Thank you.”

“I’m not your teacher, girl! I love you. I don’t want you to learn with me but love with me, making love,” said Akay in a soft voice. Lit a cigarette and left his one leg on the other, raising them hardly by using hands.

“We’ve made love, we’ve fucked…”

“Fuc… What a bad word is this? Today you’re so weird, girl.”

“You were saying like that in the bed. Did I use wrong word?”

“Humph! Are they those brunet boys? Luis and what’s the name of other? Spanish?”

“Luis and what?”

“Are you going to meet with those Spanish boys? Last night you all were so sincere. You danced and sweated madly. You forgot my existence,” said Akay and lit another cigarette, forgetting the other one.

“I never forget anything, Akay.”

“You also can’t forget Luis, of course!”

“I think he’s a good man.”

“Good in bed? He has a big dick? Does he make you shout?”

“No, honey. Why does he have to make me shout? He has a big dick, yes. But I don’t know whether he is a good man in bed.”

“Does he make you happy?”

“He doesn’t have to make me happy, Akay. I don’t understand you.”

“How do you know he has a big dick?”

“I’m good at geometry. I had guessed right yours’ size, you know.”

“Ugh! Forget it,” Akay threw down the cigarette packet on the table and stood up. “I took all money in your case, thank you!” He shouted but there is no one to answer it in the café. He felt he was as hungry as a bear. As seconds passed, her face was wrinkling farther across this beautiful woman.

“Did you drink today? Lelala asked with her laughy face. Not to make Akay sadder, she buttoned her last button after seeing a man watching her tits from the opposite building, and again created her Ho Chi Minh image.

“A little. We celebrated a friend’s birthday at work.”


“How did you know that?”

“It was her birthday. I know.”

“So what? Do you hold a grudge? Haha! How did you know it was Aylin?” Akay’s face smiled.

“Did I have to hold a grudge? I’m sorry, I think I made a mistake again. The first Tuesday in the last month you had influenza and I finished your job via internet. Aylin said it then.”

“You finished my job? How dare! I can’t deal with my job, can I?”

“It required that way. Otherwise you would get fired. You know that.”

“I know, of course! With this minger, with this useless man working for peanuts you can’t do anything.”

“I couldn’t calculate it could make you sorry so much. I’m sorry.”

“The main problem here is not whether I sorrow. The problem… Never mind.” Akay started to drink from the defrosting glass he had prepared for his darling. Opening the arms, he sprawled around on the large seat as a bench.

“I have to go now,” Lelila said and tied her hair.

“Why?” Akay discomforted himself once again.

“It’s time for…”

“For what? What kind of wet woman you are?”


“Where are you going to?”

“My parents is about to come.”

“Of course, I see! I should’ve known it. Your parents are coming and you are avoiding meeting me with them. Even if you died you would not do it. You feel shame at being with me. ‘I go with this wretch man, mom,’ you can’t say that.”

“I can’t do it. You know well the reason, Akay.”

“Yes! If I caught your parent’s eyes, I’d not see you again in this life, right?”

“Unfortunately it is. I can’t help it.”

“What a kind of cur I am! I couldn’t deserve your parents’ love.”

“I didn’t set up the rule. I’m just processist.”

“You’re what?”

“I process the rules.”

“Of course! I’m the one guilty. I’m the one lawless. I’m the reason of everything!”

“You had wanted that way. You accepted it in advance. This is my sore point, you know. You cannot meet them.”

“Okay. Go, then. Come on, bug off!”

“Bug off?”



Lelala waited one full minute and five seconds to get a positive or negative answer from him. Then interpreting the brow movements of Akay to something, she stood up and swiftly went out of sight. Akay went to toilet, after doing it and coming back he wore his neck tie again. Opening the whiskey bottle, he filled his little bottle in pocket. About to take a step out of the door, he heard a voice saying “You have a hundred-twenty lira debt.” However, he didn’t see anyone around, just put the money on a sizable table.

“Give it a rest, enough!”

As soon as Akay went out—

“Alright, stop it! Do not speak for me anymore. Who the hell do all of you think you are? Of what shit are you? Whose representation are you?”

Akay by himself was judging and making someone’s representation a problem—

“Okay!! From now on I don’t want to hear any off-voice or so. I’m able to state my trouble clearly. Yes, well, Lelala was right. We had hashed this issue over with her at the first date and I had agreed her condition. I wouldn’t ask any question about her parents and not say any word hinting at that.

In return for all beauty what this miracle woman has given me till now, who has removed my brain from its place since the day I had been honored to meet her in the Wind Energy Symposium, it has been only issue that I’ve had to be careful: No asking about her history. But now, all potential realities as to her one by one are digging my inside. What does her important history compose of to require hiding from me? Of cotton candy? What does she hide? She is a murderer? Street walker? All of family, they abscond secretly? Or this woman is an enquiry agency? This latter overbears in all reason. What job a clever woman like her has must be agency.

Since the first meeting with her, everything has been processing punctually and my days have been in so marvelous harmony that a possible tiniest problem would be engulfed suddenly. This woman hovering around me like a goddess has been making all my things right, without my knowledge. In any case, I have taken pleasure with this odd state. I’m not a man who couldn’t work a buttonhole and then bewail it. I’m the one who had prayed for years to have everything go like clockwork, and sacrificed his life for this, and finally has been made happy.

Nevertheless, I can’t help demolishing my eye-scratching and sinister curiosity! In the recent days, my ignorance about the enigmatical history of this brilliant woman has started to eat my mind in pieces. For the last one month, I’ve tried to reach out a set of information belonged to her, without arousing attention of this intelligence-monument woman. In vain. Everything is so arranged studiously and so finely engraved that I even couldn’t reach any minor detail.

Until today. What she’d calculated before went wrong today. She could estimate time when I would get off work, but couldn’t guess that I would catch her childishness waiting for her parents. I interpret her rare stupidity to the importance of today: 8 May. The day so important for her. On the previous 8 May, I had witnessed to how important was this day for her. On the last 8 May, she was so happy that she had changed all my furniture in the flat I still live, and in the night she had gave me sexual pleasures that I’d never experienced in my life before. What is 8 May? Who knows? And it is forbidden to query. Maybe it’s her birthday.

In fact, I was telling a lie when saying I didn’t remember this day. I know well of today’s existence and the importance for her, for us, so I was planning something special. A wedding ring I had ordered months ago is the pocket of my jacket now. As soon as coming to the flat I am to pass the ring to her and make a proposal. Not for I want her to give me that incredible fantasies once again, not at all for being possessed of her, but for making more sincere life and making her tell all her story with all her heart. Maybe this time she would speak. However, she had another kind of plan for today with her parents.

And now. From these labyrinth streets she took me dizzying, I don’t know how to go out. Finally I ended up in a grocery, asked how I could go to the Istiklal Street again. After getting the description I lapped my jacket and started to rush. They weren’t there! I went in and out two or three streets. Again they weren’t there! Then I rollingly went down a street near by Galatasaray High School. And while apologizing from a tourist again and again for hitting him, my eyes were stuck on a shadow. On one of the streets going down Tophane, I saw Lelala’s jetblack wavy hair.

“Hey!” I shouted and stopped her. Her parents weren’t that much old people. As if they whitened their hairs by painting. “Hey!” Lelale stopped. My name was the only one thing dropped from her mouth. I saw her so agree for the first time.

“You know what are you doing now, right?” She asked.

“I don’t care anymore! Tell me everything, my darling!”

“Do not call me darling! Go!”

“What makes you say that? It’s about two year. Besides, I…”

“Even if it passed hundred years you wouldn’t do it, as you had said before?”

“I would not do it, but… I can’t understand anymore, Lelala. Besides…”

“Besides what?”

I couldn’t do the truest movement in any way what I had to do exactly that time; I couldn’t take out the ring from the jacket, and while my father-in-law and mother-in law were present, I couldn’t make wedding proposal. I just froze and waited like that cat that was nonplused in the face of the appetizing folds of a little sparrow, in the corner. Moreover, her parents were ignoring me, wore their sunglasses, they were just grinning.

“Hi, I’m Akay. Of your daughter’s…”

“Don’t bay the moon! They even don’t see you.”


“You won’t force it. You messed everything up. You won’t see me again. You know this, don’t you? Goodbye.”

“Hey! Lelala! Hold on a minute, stop,” I said and barely could take out the ring box by my sweaty hands and finally I could open it with my trembling fingers in front of Lelala, who turned her back. “Will you…”

“I won’t marry with you. Because…”




“Because I’m a robot, Akay!”


“You heard it.”


“A robot. If you wish I can prove it right now.”

“No!” The ring fell down from my hand, my knees hit on the ground. Do not prove it, I said the same thing again and again, don’t dare to do Terminator effects with removing your head!

“You won’t marry to a robot, will you? Goodbye, my love.”

Do not say that! She did but couldn’t help looking me in the eye. Serenely, she was waiting just as a cotton candy wriggled by the wind in someone’s hand. This woman I’ve been doing everything with her for one and a half year, this woman I’ve kissed her every points, is a robot! Suddenly I felt like my penis broken from the middle when its most rigid form, and I yelled like a gorilla due to the pain.

“I loved you very much,” Lelala said and started to cry. In an urgency expected from only one who was a robot, she turned her back again. While her tears she produced in her robotic mood were dripping on the ground, and my stomach traded its place with my intestine, and I threw up where I was. Lelala went after the creatures who she called “parents”, then took out two hooks from the skin of her hands and removed the manhole cover on the street. And I threw up once again. At the moments I barely breathed, I looked at her for the last time, at her hair, at her perfect face and big eyes. The parents went down underground and in the hole she turned her head toward me and smiled for the last time, then went down.

My tears got mixed in the vomit and at this point I understood how much I loved her. I could barely find the ring mixed with dirt, and running, I arrived near the hole. As looked down at the darkness of the hole, I breathed the real air for the last time. My love left the door open for me. This must be an invitation, a call-up. Where is she calling me to? Without thinking at all, I jumped down the hole.

In this darkness that started turning to navy blue, I moved along without thinking what I stepped on now. The moment when my foot slipped, I saw that my fear of death immediately could override my love of Lelala. I was scared shit! I understood the value of my old body I had wanted to get rid of for years, and understood how beautiful was my mind engraved by bad memories. Then saw the possible death manners special to me waiting in the future, I mean I understood how much I loved everything belonged to me. What about Lelala? Again I felt that famous liquid heating my body in an instant, and forgot my fear of death momently, then I went on toward Lelala. I shouted her name several times after her. Didn’t they use flash lamps? Could they see in this darkness with no light? What if I go back home now? Is seeking my darling while living more rational than dying here while going after her? Is there really important situation needed my dying right here?

In my unstable state, in this navy blue sea, I looked up at instinctually where I’d came from, like fishes jumping up to the sky to breathe. In order to see some cloud, I turned to the sky circled by the cover. What the hell is that? You… Don’t close it, stop, do not close it!”

After the manhole cover was closed, this world didn’t hear Akay’s voice once again. Did he die or turn into a robot? Would Lelala forgive him? Akay’s destiny was now a bunch of possibility in the darkness waiting for turning into an original decision that only he could make.

It was the Syrian child who ended this young man’s indecision and closed the cover. Did the child do it because he could not take one lira before? Was he angry? Was he taking revenge? Contrary, a kind of maturity settled on his face that the child was really conscious of the thing that finally he done what he had thought he must have done in this world. This thing he done was to force someone to make a decision, someone who the child made an emotional bond with. If he took that one lira, he would do the same thing again. It was the case indescribable, it referred to something that sociologists would never be able to explain: A limitless love feeling for more powerful someone than the child, and a kind of affectivity from his little heart.

Everyone had his or her own poor person in this world. Even a dirt poor person had a poor person to establish a bond. So, Akay’s poor person was this child. It was not a kind of master-slave relation. It was a foolish form that the in-species-solidarity took, which was caused by the evolution progressing in this weird human culture. Poverty was a pressure that speeded up making decide of wealthier people.

Or, to put it all in simple terms: The Syrian child loved this disgusting man and helped him.

What’s more, this child was as clever as could understand what 8 May meant for Lelala. There was no other way in his short life but had to develop his mind to learn most weird things in this world, the things that seven-billion humanity didn’t know or hadn’t to know. And the humanity who this child had to carry on his little shoulder.

In the knowledge desert where this child being sand by smashing, it was one of million things that he learned: A special day was determined for every robot. On their special days, instead of serving humanity, the robots would do whatever they wanted by using their free wills. This was so because of the producers’ anthropocentric ideas: The free will would provide development of the robots to serve humanity much better. Democracy was a kind of thing created for slaves to develop themselves for serving much better. And democracy was reflected on the world of the robots in this way. You see, 8 May was such a special day for Lelala.





Thank you very much for reading my stories. Wish to read your precious comments on the site where you bought this book. If you have anything special to say to me, please make contact via this e-mail:


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Automatic Lover

  • ISBN: 9781311754752
  • Author: Ili Piskale
  • Published: 2015-11-10 13:05:11
  • Words: 22661
Automatic Lover Automatic Lover