Burning energy of Shadows

2. A normal person

Bodrum / Turkey

When sefa opened the door, the black walls of the room welcomed her. Black was the colour she hated the most, black was the colour she had to tolerate.
"So my dear is sketching something"
She said to her daughter whose black hair was extending down her back. Esmeray nodded, still engrossed in her work. Sefa sat on a bed beside her table.
"Show me" she offered
The RULE is : the things you are not able to tell anyone are the things should hide. Subsequently, there would be more things you are hiding than the things you are telling.
If it was not sefa who suddenly came toward her she was sure to hide the sketch.
A bald child having many dreadful scars, scars boldly opened and curled from the edges.

The sketches were always like this filled with an unknown misery. The more her sketching abilities improved the more her sketches became dreadful enough to become a nightmare for sefa for various upcoming nights.
"It's startling, just so real," sefa said, not hiding the terror in her tone.
Esmeray gently tapped her hands and held her head on sefa's lap. Sefa began caressing her hair.
"You can also try something else like Cinderella, Bella and you can also sketch my face, your fathers face as well." She said knowing not to whom she was cajoling, her daughter or herself. If it was in parents control they might mould their children in the best possible way but the reality is, every child is born with its own flaws and skills making them the real them. They fill the colours on their characters by themselves, making them who they are __a different person __it's what people call them but they are not they are normal person 'cause they are whom they are...

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Sitting beside sefa was Mustafa who was gently stroking her hair telling her it was all normal --the sketches made by their only daughter, her frequent staying out of the house particularly at nights, her silence, the sprinkles of her blood they saw on her sketches it was just normal and now that, everything is changing in this world the meaning of normal should also be changed 'cause there is nothing like the word normal in this world.

*******

All around she could see was ambiguity, certain that every person resting in the grave must have their own story. They must have smiled, laughed, cried and most importantly they had once lived
"Who are you?" Esmeray heard someone calling her form back she craned her neck to see
"And who are you?" She counterattacked
"I live here," the man in a loose white shirt and corduroy trousers beckoned toward a small room in front of them "part of my job."
"Great so we are the only alive person in this graveyard."
"Girl, you should go" he threatened . she bent down on one of the graves, gently touched it, sniffed the rich earthly odour of earth and looked toward him
"Dead person or alive it doesn't make any difference" she was about to say something else but she remained tight-lipped "I'll stroll there for few minutes then leave. Don't worry, have rest"
"I can't leave you like this " he said hesitantly
"Then walk with me," she said casually
They both were sauntering silently when the sudden thought came into that man's mind what if that girl was the devil or any ghost. She on other hand was covering the distance with a usual lull and a torch in her left hand, the same hand which has experienced death years ago, which is consider irreligious for eating and drinking purposes and the hand which is more naturally active than her right hand. She was sinister-handed.

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I hope that you have enjoyed reading it 'cause I have enjoyed writting it 📜🗞