Sinan gibi Babası Adnan Cemgil de bağımsızlık için bedel ödüyor
Bir gün Kadıköy de Terzi Andon’un kızı sokakta ağlarken “ Ne ağlıyorsun maymun gibi “ diyerek hır çıkartmaya çalışır. Kız da “ Sana ne burası bizim memleketimiz” diye karşılık verir. Bunun üzerine Adnan Cemgil “ kahrolsun venizolos! Kahrolsun Rumlar! Yaşasın Türkler diye bağırır. Terzi andon, elinde makasla Adnan Cemgil beyi kovalamaya başlar . Kaçarken ayağı takılıp yere düşen Adnan Cemgil “i yakalayan bir İngiliz askeri, onu kırbaçla bayıltıncıya kadar döver .
The Test Scores
My breath catches. They’re about to announce the torcs.
I watch as the trio of judges confer for a few minutes in a tense huddle.
Viviane is pulling out papers, pointing to them.
I swallow hard.
At last, Viviane turns to the arena, and the wind whips at her blonde
hair. “Tana Campbell,” she bellows. “Silver!”
Darius grabs my arm in a death grip, grinning. “She’s a knight! She’s a
fucking knight.”
“Serana O’Rourke,” Viviane calls out. “Silver!”
I feel the grin splitting my face from ear to ear. “Holy shit. This almost
makes up for the fact that Tarquin and Horatio got gold.”
“They’re going to be insufferable. Well, they didn’t earn theirs, did
they? Tarquin lost to you. But these torcs actually make sense.” Darius is
bouncing in his seat, and he reaches down to pick up a blue paper bag. “I
knew it. I fucking knew it. I mean, I didn’t realize it would be silver, but I
knew they’d pass. Obviously.”
Burning with rage, I pull at my magic, and it fuels the hot crimson
inside me. I don’t bother searching for a weak spot. I hurl my magic at the
veil, my teeth grinding together. To my right, the veil mage stumbles, then
falls flat on his back. The buzz of the veil sputters and dies, and silence fills
the hall. I hear only my own pounding pulse.
When the mist is completely silent and no longer buzzing over my skin,
I stride inside.
Pearly white fog wraps around me. My foot kicks something, and I hear
it spinning across the floor. I reach down for the wand and grip its gnarled
wood.
I march out of the veil and toss it at Wrythe’s feet. It clatters noisily.
“There you go,” I say. “Your wand, sir.”
The veil mist slowly dissipates, and the mage seems to be unconscious.
Bazı hikâyeler tam tahmin ettiğin gibi ilerler. Bazılarıysa son sayfada tüm bildiklerini sorgulatır. 🤯
Ters köşeleri seviyorsan, seni sonuna kadar merakta bırakacak 3 kitap önerisini keşfetmeye hazır ol!
Lord Cull
“Slade…”
The whisper splits from my lips.
He walks past a pillar, the open doorway spilling in grayed light behind
him, making me squint. He’s dressed in all black, save for a red wrap of
fabric tucked into his collar like blood spilling from a slit throat.
I start to go forward, to get to him, my mouth opening to call his name,
because he’s here. He’s here, and he found me somehow and he can help
me and—
And.
One heartbeat, I flew.
The next, I plummet.
Or maybe it’s the world that crashes around me. Because when he comes
into better view, so does everything else.
His stature was similar, but…
He has a slightly different stride. Differences in his muscular frame. His
black hair is trimmed so short it’s not even half an inch past his scalp, and
his beard is thick. The look of threat on his face is familiar though…except
the fact that he only has one eye.
The other socket is covered. Leather strap hooked from his forehead to
pointed ear, an onyx stone set over the spot where his eye should be. Lines
in his pale face disappear beneath the eyepatch, the skin around it a dull
gray color.
Not Slade, not Slade, not Slade…
The relief I felt turns into horrible, churning anguish.
Because everything clicks into place with shattering, dizzying, terrifying
awareness.
The room. The broken floor. The rumbling noise. The wrongness of it all,
and…
“Lord Cull,” a guard greets.
The other Oreans are lined up against the tattered wall beside me, the
Hymn to BeautyŞiir
Do you come from Heaven or rise from the abyss,
Beauty? Your gaze, divine and infernal,
Pours out confusedly benevolence and crime,
And one may for that, compare you to wine.
You contain in your eyes the sunset and the dawn;
You scatter perfumes like a stormy night;
Your kisses are a philtre, your mouth an amphora,
Which make the hero weak and the child courageous.
Do you come from the stars or rise from the black pit?
Destiny, bewitched, follows your skirts like a dog;
You sow at random joy and disaster,
And you govern all things but answer for nothing.
You walk upon corpses which you mock, O Beauty!
Of your jewels Horror is not the least charming,
And Murder, among your dearest trinkets,
Dances amorously upon your proud belly.
The dazzled moth flies toward you, O candle!
Crepitates, flames and says: "Blessed be this flambeau!"
The panting lover bending o'er his fair one
Looks like a dying man caressing his own tomb,
Whether you come from heaven or from hell, who cares,
O Beauty! Huge, fearful, ingenuous monster!
If your regard, your smile, your foot, open for me
An Infinite I love but have not ever known?
Do you come from Heaven or rise from the abbys,
Beauty? Your gaze, divine and infernal,
Pours out confusedly benevolence and crime,
And one may for that, compare you to wine.
You contain in your eyes the sunset and the dawn;
You scatter perfumes like a stormy night;
Your kisses are a philtre, your mouth an amphora,
Which make the hero weak and the child courageous.
Do you come from the stars or rise from the black pit?
Destiny, bewitched, follows your skirts like a dog;
You sow at random joy and disaster,
And you govern all things but answer for nothing.
You walk upon corpses which you mock, O Beauty!
Of your jewels Horror is not the least charming,
And Murder, among your dearest trinkest,
Dances amorously upon your proud belly.
The dazzled moth flies toward you, O candle!
Crepitates, flames and says: “Blessed be this flambeau!”
The panting lover bending o’er his fair one
Looks like a dying man caressing his own tomb,
Whether you come from heaven or from hell, who cares,
O Beauty! Huge, fearful, ingenuous monster!
If you regard, your smile, your foot, open for me
An Infinite I love but have not ever known?
Sayfa 41
Evet. Beni anlayamazlar çünkü beni anlamak istemiyorlar. Az önce Deguy’in “Felsefeye karşı nefret” metnini andım; bana kalırsa hastalıklı bir yanı var. Bu metin kültürün yol açabileceği ve sosyoanaliz anlamında analizin yol açabileceği acı üzerine olağanüstü bir belge: bütün kültürlü insanları lanetleyen kültürle olan ilişkinin analizi. Deguy’in çektiği tüm acıyı ben de biliyorum.
