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My Newest Short Story

THE CHRISTMAS CARD (A SHORT STORY)

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THE CHRISTMAS CARD Blaming what surrounds you is a great way to heal yourself. Seriously, I wouldn’t prefer running away in any other easier way. At least, this is what I learned from everything around me. A student would hold the professor accountable and assume they have no personal life, and link it to why he or she is torturing the students. A mother would name the child spoiled, considering she had no effect on the young one. A fan would accuse the players of not trying hard enough on the field and argues that they should be kicked out of the team. A writer would point the finger at his words and their inadequacy to express the feelings, instead of his lacking wisdom when he struggles to bring out a magnificent work. Me? I blame the two otters from your coloring book that you flawlessly colored on the first day we met. You colored them light brown, while they were orbiting each other, which I assumed was the color pure gold. When you are attracted to someone, you impersonate you...
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GRANDMA GAIA (A SHORT STORY)

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GRANDMA GAIA (A short story written for METU FLE Department's ecology themed 2025 short story competition.)   Our family has a fine lineage. I wouldn’t say our ancestors were recognized or that we are related to a celebrity, but I have never seen a day without the smell of freshly baked wheat bread. Like a child of a working-class of many, I had my babysitter when I was younger. No, it was not a beautiful young maid in her prime with whom my father would cheat on my mom. I had the chance to be looked after and raised by a fine lady who could not be compared to any being else in this world. Beneath her regular grandparent she was also an expert with her knitting and baking. Grandma Gaia used to read me stories and make me believe that I could be a hero to save the world.  We used to live in a small house with a garden that wouldn’t host a dog because of its size. Our home was located in Willow Wood. Based on the current conditions, living in a small house in Louisiana, which ...
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THE COUNTDOWN (A SHORT STORY)

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                                                        THE COUNTDOWN    A t dawn under the harsh spring breeze,  I was on my way back to a familiar place from a strange path made of cobblestones… I felt lost… So, I started counting… One, two, three, four… Every spark you’ve created in me resonated like a firework, leaving its gleam on each stone. The crescent just like the tattoo on my wrist had its diminishing moonlight, slowly leaving its power to the gray sky surrounding it. So, I looked at each glowing stone brick and assigned them a number, before losing each twinkle for good… With every pace, I started seeing two shapes on each of them. These marble-like cobblestones mirrored a couple, joking, bumping, snuggling, separating. Hence, I had to count backwards, to memorize each before losing them for good. Four…  Four was the ...
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THE EXHIBITION (A SHORT STORY)

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THE EXHIBITION  Colors are one of the first allies for an infant when learning. They all serve different meanings. To invigorate a sketch initially, they all fulfill the same purpose while appearing rather diverse. Each marvelously causes unique features of catharsis.    A noise coming from downstairs startled me. “Packed up yet?”. The force the green pencil took from me because of the shiver created a new tone to the half-colored grasses near the drawn building. A darker green tone probably seeded a new meaning because of the unsuccessful drawn smiles on the walking family. I knew from my classmates that a drawing minimum included three if it defined happiness. Mine was maybe lacking, yet not the joy.    Authority spoke once more. “I won’t duplicate my calls.”. It was precise to end the tea party with the colors. Not another second could be spent. I yielded and rushed downstairs. There she was, on her throne, with her giant reading kaleidoscopes checking what t...
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