The \u00c7i\u011fdem and Hossein Dabir Award for Excellence in Short Fiction is an annual award intended for Bilkent students who display exceptional proficiency in the short fiction form. Current applicants were selected from ENG 312 \u2013 Introduction to Creative Writing through their submission of a single work of short fiction. The winners were decided by a committee composed of representatives from ELIT, COMD and ENG. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
The 2024 first-prize winner was Almira Balaban with her work \u201cLaurent-Perrier.<\/a><\/strong>\u201d Second prize went to Zeynep Serdaro\u011flu with \u201cGetaway,<\/a><\/strong>\u201d and \u0130pek Ayd\u0131ng\u00fcl won third with \u201cGenesis.<\/a><\/strong>\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n Sedil Salimo\u011flu\u2019s story, \u201cThe Roses in Your Name,<\/a><\/strong>\u201d was awarded the distinction of Honorable Mention. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u00c7i\u011fdem and Hossein Dabir were lifelong advocates for creative expression and student achievement. Both contributed generously to the design and delivery of earlier forms of the ENG 312 course. \u00c7i\u011fdem\u2019s love for short fiction and Hossein\u2019s love for students formed the genesis of this award. Their passing, in 2015 and 2020 respectively, was a great loss to the Bilkent Community. This award, in remembrance of their grace, serves to honor their memory by providing Bilkent students the opportunity to be recognized and share their artistry. <\/p>\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n \u201cPerhaps sweet wine today\u2026\u201d Carina whispered to herself as her fingertip slid on the shiny wine glass. The wine she bought every day, for Jean, somehow seemed a bit less appealing today. The shop owner glanced her way and smiled with a kindness Carina became less used to recognizing in people\u2019s faces. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cTrouble choosing?\u201d he asked, nodding towards the wine bottle Carina now held. She paused, both to process the heavily accented French and to consider her response to the shop owner. This was a good opportunity to practice her French which she desperately tried to learn in the past six months. <\/p>\n\n\n\n “I wanted to try something new,” she said, smiling at the owner, who was now putting some bottles on the shelf. She wondered if her accent sounded strange, so she tried to gauge the man’s expression for any hint of mockery as he turned his face back to her. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cHave you tried Muscat de Rivesaltes or Muscat de Saint-Jean-de-Minervois? They are both sweet.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n As she was looking for the wines the man suggested the usual Cabernet Sauvignon caught her eye with its typical black and white appearance. Carina envisioned Jean cradling the bottle, its deep, dark glass cold to the touch. It was dry, but most importantly, it was cheap wine. She imagined the crimson liquid on the tip of her tongue. The heavy, dominant flavor. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYes, I will have Muscat de Rivesaltes,\u201d Carina said, hoping to not make a huge mistake in the language she was trying so hard to learn within the past few months. There was not a person whom she would speak to in French, except for Jean, and she did not particularly like practicing French with her French husband, or maybe it was the other way around. <\/p>\n\n\n\n The man pointed to the exact place the sweet wine was located, and Carina smiled as she pulled it from the shelf. The gleaming, golden bottle seemed weightless in her grasp, and as she lifted it from the shelf. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThank you,\u201d Carina said, her smile glowing with sincere gratitude as she left the shop, already looking forward to the owner’s suggestions for other wines on her next visit. <\/p>\n\n\n\n As she walked back to their house, Carina mulled over the price of the bottle in her bag, knowing it was more than Jean would typically spend on wine. She could almost hear his voice. \u201cThis is how you become poor,\u201d he would say, whenever she suggested indulging in a more luxurious wine or item. The weight of the bottle suddenly felt heavier in her bag. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Humming a melody to herself, as if to drown out her thoughts, Carina recalled the tunes of an Italian pop song that had stayed with her since she moved to France for Jean. Her husband had been adamant that Paris was the city for their <\/em>future. Looking up at the buildings, she continued humming the melody that reminded her of her childhood. She wondered if she could ever speak French the way Jean did. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Once at home, Carina prepared dinner. Soon enough, Jean rang the bell, and Carina sat down with her husband, as they did every day, to talk about everyday things. <\/p>\n\n\n\n “How was your day?” she asked in French, her voice filled with enthusiasm, as she poured the wine into the glasses she had bought back when she had just moved to Paris. She remembered how Jean had thought they were a bit too expensive. Jean loosened his tie as he found his place on the chair. The weight of the day seemed to be on his shoulders. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cAlright, a bit tired,\u201d he replied in English. Pulling back the sleeves of his white shirt, he seemed confused at the liquid that was filling his glass. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWhat is that?\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n Carina raised an eyebrow, looking at the wine. She chuckled as if her joke had been misunderstood. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cIt\u2019s different. Sweet.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n Carina carefully poured the coq au vin from the pot onto Jean\u2019s plate. She had taken the time to learn how to cook it because she knew it was his favorite. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Jean’s gaze met Carina’s, his expression heavy with disappointment, tinged with another emotion she couldn’t quite identify. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYou know I never drink sweet.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n Carina sat quietly in her chair, pondering why sweet wine had become the focal point of their evening. She couldn’t help but wonder why Jean couldn’t indulge in a glass of wine of her choice, even just for one evening. Why did it always have to be that cheap, dry wine every single time? <\/p>\n\n\n\n “I like it. We never drink it,” uttered Carina, marked by a slight note of desperation. She hoped to share her passion for the wine with Jean, wanting him to join her, at least this time. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cAnd there is a reason why we don\u2019t,\u201d Jean said. He poured his wine into the sink a few steps away from the table. \u201cPlease do not<\/em> buy that again.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n Carina swallowed the words that rose to her throat, but they felt stuck, lingering there for the rest of the night. It created a knot that even her sweet wine could not wash down. She finished her food as Jean talked about how busy his day was. The dinner was accompanied by the music Jean chose on the radio, a French pop song. Carina did not understand any of the lyrics, and when Jean mumbled the words, she imagined that he was speaking the language of another world. <\/p>\n\n\n\n As they sat down in the living room, Carina continued to read The Little Prince<\/em> in French. She had been doing this after dinner, and Jean would be reading his daily news and later French novels of his taste. Carina realized she never saw him buy the books when they were together. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYou are into novels now?\u201d Carina asked, as she was going through the list of French words she had written down. Jean mumbled as a reply, not moving his eyes from the book he was reading. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cJean?\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n Jean lifted his head. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cAh, yeah. They are gifts. I would not want to disappoint my co-worker by not reading them.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n Jean closed the lid of his book, as though he didn’t want Carina to see something deeply buried in its pages. She glanced at the growing shadows in the room and back at Jean. She wondered when the lights had become so dim in their living room. <\/p>\n\n\n\n She felt an urgency to bring up a topic, as if to dispel the encroaching gloom. \u201cI got to practice some French today.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYeah, with whom, honey?\u201d Jean asked, as his glances went down to the book he was holding, almost too tightly in his hands. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThe owner of a new shop I discovered.\u201d Carina felt unsure about disclosing that it was a wine shop, as it would bring them back to that topic. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYou mean where you got that awful sweet wine?\u201d Jean laughed, putting the novel on the table next to his chair, and moved over to Carina to kiss her cheek. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Carina looked at Jean in disbelief, but Jean\u2019s back was already turned to her as he went into the kitchen. Out of Carina\u2019s sight, Jean\u2019s voice reached the living room. \u201cI am going to bed, love. I am too tired.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n Carina, standing in the kitchen, decided to light up a cigarette before going to bed. She would only smoke after she made sure Jean was asleep. Leaning onto the counter, her eye caught the sight of the sweet wine, which was shining through the trash bin. Carina reached out to the wine, but stopped. The ashes of her cigarette fell down slowly, staining the white floor of the kitchen. She thought about the novel and what could be hidden in its pages. The French words in it, a sea of words, in which she would become a drowning fish. <\/p>\n\n\n\n She pulled the Muscat de Rivesaltes out from the bin as though she was saving it from its fate. She put out the cigarette before opening the window for fresh air to come in. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Despite the events of the previous night, Carina felt drawn back to the wine shop the next day. As she entered the small, rectangular space, she exchanged a greeting with the owner. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cAfternoon. Here for more wine?\u201d The man chuckled as he was wiping the counter with a rag that adopted a yellow hue. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYes. Any good suggestions? My husband only likes red, dry wine.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n The man burst into a short laughter. Carina wondered if she said something funny. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYour husband is a Frenchman. Not much you can do with that.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n Carina stood there, thinking about the sentence. She wondered if Jean had come here often, or had come here at all before, as it was in the walking distance to their house, and priorly his house only. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cActually, I will just have Muscat de Saint-Jean-de-Minervois today,\u201d Carina said, as she reached out to the shelf. \u201cIt has my husband\u2019s name in it.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cMany men named Jean here in France,\u201d the man said as he welcomed Carina\u2019s choice of wine and placed it in the paper bag. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cNot many Jean D’Abovilles who are married to a Carina, I assume,\u201d Carina said as she showed the name on her credit card prior to pushing it onto the pos device. <\/p>\n\n\n\n The man stood still for a second. \u201cYou are married to Jean? He is a frequent customer here.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n Carina felt a strange sensation stirring in her abdomen, aching to be set free. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cAnd I was wondering where all of that expensive red wine was going, especially the Laurent-Perrier. Really good taste,” the man remarked, gesturing towards the wine he mentioned with a pointed finger. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Carina froze, her gaze locked on the bag in the man\u2019s hands. All of a sudden, the only thing that occupied her mind was the Italian pop song she hummed in the streets of Paris. She grabbed the bag from the man\u2019s hands gently. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cGood day,\u201d she said to the owner. \u201cSay hi to Jean for me if you see him.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n The plan was in shambles. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Somehow running became our only fucking option. The cracked asphalt of the pavement was blurring beneath my feet. They were supposed to be resurfaced a long time ago. A promise made by our dearest mayor. I could feel the open wound in my heel scratching through my old pair of white Converse. Itching with every step I take. Shit. It\u2019s been slowing me down. Fuck, the blood was gonna stain it, for sure. A reminder for me to forever remember our flee. They sure were not made for running, and I wasn\u2019t also. <\/p>\n\n\n\n At maximum, there was an inch away from my right shoulder to smash into a stranger\u2019s left one. Crowds and crowds of people were on Roosevelt Avenue. Busy as ever, the street pulsed with life, but now it felt suffocating, claustrophobic. No wonder some loud \u201cdipshits!\u201d<\/em> and \u201cscumbags!\u201d<\/em> were thrown at us, we were a frantic blur in a sea of motion. We deserved it. We were running too fast to fathom, swinging from left to right. Left. Right. Left. Right. Ran and ran, that\u2019s all we did for a good five minutes. The cop chasing us followed suit. Dodging him, ain\u2019t an easy task. You would think a fat pig like him would be out of breath by now. He wasn\u2019t. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Carrying a shit ton of weight didn\u2019t help either. This damn duffle bag, a heavy burden dragging me down. Far ahead of me, Ronnie was leading the way to God knows where. We knew these streets by heart, but now it looked all too different. Salvation Army had to be somewhere here, right? That street corner where Pete kissed me for the first time is probably miles away now\u2026 Did we already pass Mr. Kapoor\u2019s store? Were those Liam and Feng chasing each other again, running opposite us? Everything just became like those Dali paintings I saw in the commercials for MOMA on the M train. Unrecognizable, distorted\u2026 <\/p>\n\n\n\n Holy shit\u2026 The subway! <\/p>\n\n\n\n I yelled \u201c74th!\u201d, hoping Ronnie would hear it. <\/p>\n\n\n\n My feet were about to fail me. The thought of the never-ending chase was creeping up on me. Any minute the loud wailing siren of the officers could come and tear down my fucking eardrums. Fuck I hate that noise, I hate that noise! <\/p>\n\n\n\n James was still a no-show. That dumbass\u2026 <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cDo this and do that!\u201d he reminded us just a few hours ago in the morning before he drove off with our getaway ticket. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Fuck his so-called advice. It really is our fault for trusting him anyway. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Ronnie went to the subway station across from that Kebab place. The smell of the tomato sauce was the last that filled my nostrils before going down the subway hole. I could only think of not falling over like a fucking bowling pin as I was skipping three steps at a time. Skipping steps, but my heart was skipping beats second by second. Down the tunnel, we went. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Wait, was it the rush hour? Where did Ronnie go? Was the cop still behind us? Shit, shit, shit\u2026 <\/p>\n\n\n\n Right there on the turnstile, I saw Ronnie looking everywhere frantically. We caught each other\u2019s eyes. God, she looked just like mom. A sweaty, out-of-breath version sure, but her jet-black hair helped her appearance so much. I didn\u2019t even want to see how red I had become. She jumped the turnstile with such ease. The biggest crime that both of us committed up until an hour ago. Hell, nobody gave a single fuck here anyway. It’s New York\u2026 Queens out of all places, but I can\u2019t help but feel the eyes shifting towards us, every step we take on our way to the platforms. Still running, I was fixated on the tiny bag Ronnie was carrying. How that tiny death machine fit into our stepfather\u2019s even tinier satchel. How Ronnie pointed it against that old man behind the counter. Right behind his neck at first. She looked so calm and collected. Like she was hopping the turnstile. <\/p>\n\n\n\n I caught glimpses of the expressions. The flowing faces of the subway halls. They knew what we were running from. They knew what we had done. It\u2019s like they were seeing right through that satchel, my duffle, us, and right through me. The satchel, the duffle, Ronnie and me. The satchel. The duffle. Ronnie. Me. <\/p>\n\n\n\n We threw ourselves on the first train on the platform. I had no clue what line we took. Maybe the R train? It could be line 7 as well, Hell if I know\u2026 Passengers crammed into the car, the end-of-the-day looks of exhaustion and indifference. It was any other afternoon for them. A melting pot of the Big Apple. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Under the flickering fluorescent lights cast a dim glow over Ronnie\u2019s ice-blue eyes. I got a good look on my big sister\u2019s face. She was breathing heavily. Inhale and exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Focusing on her breath, I felt tears streaming down my face. Inhale. I had no idea what was going on. Exhale. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cGet your shit together Lily,\u201d said Ronnie. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWe fucked up,\u201d I responded. <\/p>\n\n\n\n As the subway car lurched forward, the wheels on the tracks created an alienating experience. Echoing the sounds of the loud brakes, the announcement murmur by the conductor was heard by many, but understood by none. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWe fucked up Ronnie, big time,\u201d I muttered, the weight of our actions settling heavily on my shoulders. It also could be the duffle bag carrying the green Benjamins. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Standing in the middle of the car, holding on to life from the handles. I looked out from the open subway doors. There it was, the sign that said Queens Plaza<\/em>. We were on the E train. <\/p>\n\n\n\n The doors closed again, making it even harder for me to breathe. It was as if I was diving into the deep ocean, taking in as much breath as I can. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWe\u2019ll figure it out,\u201d Ronnie said in a firm voice. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cLook at me,\u201d she continued, while I was too busy looking down on my feet. I felt like those gigantic trees I would see every time we would visit Central Park. My roots seeped into the tracks, anchoring me to Queens. Letting me grow in peace, surrounding all the chaos that is the city. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cLook at me Lily,\u201d her hand grabbed my chin, forcing me to look at her piercing eyes. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWe are gonna figure this out.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cNo, this <\/em>was supposed to be us figuring out!\u201d I whisper-screamed, words bursting out of my chest. <\/p>\n\n\n\n The loud noise of the doors opening made me shiver. I immediately felt the chills down my spine, prickled down my neck. 23rd Street<\/em>, the sign read. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Would the cop figure out the way we were going? Any minute the station could be filled with waves of blue, coming to get us. Any minute now, any minute. I felt my lungs shrinking, grabbed by the hands of force and squished beneath their fingers. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cGrow a pair of balls, Lily.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI-I can\u2019t breathe.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n My heart was racing with the train itself, who would make it to Lexington Avenue<\/em>? <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cLily.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n I was battling my own. My own blood, my own breath. <\/p>\n\n\n\n “You’re okay, Lily. Just breathe, okay? In… and out. Would you rather be back in Josh\u2019s place?” <\/p>\n\n\n\n The thought of our stepfather didn\u2019t help. I struggled to follow Ronnie\u2019s instructions. A loud wham. Flashing lights all around us through the tunnel. Relentless movement everywhere. Unclarity over what awaits in the next stop. The chaos that ensues on a random Thursday afternoon. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI don\u2019t\u2026 I don\u2019t want this Ronnie.\u201d my lips formed. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cDon\u2019t want what? What the hell are you talking about?\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWhat the fuck are we doing?\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYou know damn well.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWe are screwed, Ronnie. We are way over our heads.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWe are not!\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWhere do we go from here?\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWe\u2019ll leave at Penn.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWill we make it there?\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWhy wouldn\u2019t we make it there?\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cRonnie.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cLily.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n The doors flung open again, our gaze switching to them. Only to see a police officer come through. She looked off-duty, checking in on her phone. 50th Street<\/em>. Two stops to go. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Ronnie’s eyes flickered with determination, her jaw set as she was clenching her teeth. <\/p>\n\n\n\n “We keep moving forward,” she said, her voice ringing with conviction. \u201cAnd I ain\u2019t going back to Josh\u2019s.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI never said we should.\u201d my voice choked up. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYour face says otherwise, hon.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n I felt her gaze soften, but my vision was blurred from the tears and the panic, so I could have imagined it all as well. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cPlease Lily, let\u2019s leave them behind. Together.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n The sound of the subway metal groaned as the car twisted and turned. The smell of sweat, I have gotten used to by now. <\/p>\n\n\n\n I saw the cop lady from the corner of my eye. Still on her phone. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Between the muffled chatter of the passengers in the car, I told Ronnie \u201cI don\u2019t want to run away forever.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n 42nd Street<\/em>. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Ronnie looked as if she had nothing left to say. <\/p>\n\n\n\n I had nothing to say either. <\/p>\n\n\n\n The seconds felt like it dragged on to minutes. Minutes that were spent silent, the weight of our unspoken fears hanging heavy in the stale air of the subway between. A stark contrast to what our life was. Our slow life. Comfort of the liquid sun, oozing its way into our apartment\u2019s balcony. The hours we spent yapping about girls we have known since we were little. Boys that broke our hearts every few weeks. Smells from every corner of the world kitchen, downstairs neighbours\u2019 Kenyan my favourite. Those Sunday mornings when Mrs Laurent gave her weekly violin lessons, somehow being able to cure any hangover Ronnie had from the prior night. Overviewing LaGuardia, a true privilege it was. To watch airplanes coming and going. Landing and taking off. Going up and going down. <\/p>\n\n\n\n I looked up to Ronnie, searching for some type of guidance on her pale face. A glimpse of what is in store for us. Were we meant to take off? Fuck, in this way even? The city was above us, waiting. Were we ready to land? Were we flying blindly? Were we making a mistake? Shit, we were making a mistake, weren\u2019t we? What was the meaning of all this? Remember what we were fleeing from. Let every twist and turn of the subway be a reminder. Swinging left and right just like Josh. Just like him. Left and right. Like his hand. Left and right. Dickhead. That fucking idiot. <\/p>\n\n\n\n The doors slid open with a hiss like his, inviting us to step out. One last time. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Penn Station<\/em>. <\/p>\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n Every mechanin in the VBMFX system has a story of one of the many modes of existence: Birth. Creation. Modifications. Being built by another. A gift from the Manifestations. Asexual production systems. With one exception to all these modes, however, a nameless one lingered among them with a different story: RL-34. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Searching for memory folder K-24XR-0…<\/em><\/strong> <\/p>\n\n\n\n K-24XR-0 has been found.<\/em><\/strong> <\/p>\n\n\n\n For access enter the pass\u2014<\/em><\/strong> <\/p>\n\n\n\n Access has been granted.<\/em><\/strong> <\/p>\n\n\n\n She parted her lips, voice barely a whisper, “What\u2026” she squinted her eyes to see the… machine? No, it couldn’t be purely a machine, not with how deeply connected she felt towards it\u2014 no, towards <\/em>them<\/em><\/strong>. “Who are you?” She could feel her heart beating in her ears, audio receptors one moment away from giving an error.<\/em> <\/p>\n\n\n\n The silhouette stepped out of the dark, staring at the woman before their visor displayed red, blue, and white lines moving up and down, mimicking sound waves as they spoke, “I am your creation.” Their tone was eerily indifferent. “Too mechanical to be like you. Too like you to be mechanical.”<\/em> <\/p>\n\n\n\n Fast-forwarding the recording…<\/em><\/strong> <\/p>\n\n\n\n They did not come from anything solid that was already in existence. Their life bloomed from another\u2019s memories that had become too much for her to live on with. Their sole purpose was stated as carrying those memories within them and helping this lifeform continue her life. RL was allowed access into her mind to watch and keep track of her process and intervene if a situation ever got too overwhelming for her to handle. They were the alter ego of her, materialized as a mechanin. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Being labeled as a “mechanin”, however, was to only escape unnecessary attention on their uniqueness from the other planets of the system. There was actually nothing<\/em> human about them to be considered as one. They did not have any flesh to be replaced with mechanical parts. They were not allowed time to experience and learn life by themself like other mechanins. They did not bear any feelings. They were the very thing that Venus was scared of seeing created: An emotionless, logical, and rigid lifeform deprived of any empathy for others. They should have been a creation of Mars, the planet of science and war and yet, here they were as a Venusian. <\/p>\n\n\n\n “I am RL-34,” <\/em>they said as they put their forehead against hers.<\/em> <\/p>\n\n\n\n She blinked a few times before raising a shaky hand to RL\u2019s face. “So\u2026 you don’t have a name?” Her glimmering eyes with fascination slightly died down with sadness about how no one cared enough even to consider a name for the other.<\/em> <\/p>\n\n\n\n “I do not require a name.”<\/em> <\/p>\n\n\n\n A beat passed. <\/em> <\/p>\n\n\n\n “But you surely won\u2019t live with your designation code forever, will you?”<\/em> <\/p>\n\n\n\n You have been locked out of this file.<\/em><\/strong> <\/p>\n\n\n\n Love, passion, desire… Belonging<\/em>. They lacked the first three of four protocols that were required from all Venusians. Then, how come they experienced the feeling of belonging<\/em> somewhere while it should have remained a distant idea like the others? If they were the so-called “Mecha of Destruction” that Mars desired so much, how come they felt<\/em> anything at all? <\/p>\n\n\n\n Passion. RL remembered\u2014 no, felt<\/em> the warmth of how, no matter what, she had not given up on building a deeper relationship with them. Her insistence on RL having to be their own person… What was the reason? She was finally free of the memories that choked her, and RL was a lifeform who carried them within. Why would she show this much compassion to a technically <\/em>unwanted being? <\/p>\n\n\n\n “I don’t believe that a ‘purpose’ is meant to be set instead of <\/em>you<\/em><\/strong> choosing it.” [[ERROR]] rolled her eyes, sighing with annoyance at the thought. “Your sole purpose isn’t to\u2014”<\/em> <\/p>\n\n\n\n File extracted.<\/em><\/strong> <\/p>\n\n\n\n It was annoying. There was a whole folder that held thousands of files of this mysterious mechanin that RL was created from and yet, there was not a single piece of data that could help them figure out who she was. It was even more annoying that they remembered what emotions and thoughts she caused in them but not how<\/em> or why<\/em>. RL had tried to access not their own memories but hers <\/em>to put an end to this torment of trying to figure it out. However, the attempts had all been in vain as it was impossible to even locate where all that data resided within their database. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Now that they thought about it, how come that even happened? Was there a protocol that they went against that caused those files to be gone? That was impossible. They had been doing their job perfectly, surely there would be no\u2014<\/em> <\/p>\n\n\n\n Oh. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Now<\/em> everything was crystal clear. <\/p>\n\n\n\n RL’s consciousness slowly crept back up their spine; their processing unit initiating the systems one by one for their body to come back online. Right after their senses were rebooted, those heavy wires that were attached to the back of their head made RL enraged: Their mind full of the data they collected and hid away was being invaded. Well, not anymore.<\/em> <\/p>\n\n\n\n Her memory files… No, those files were not extracted, or that would have caused a total shutdown as RL’s existence relied on them. Besides, whichever technician it was that caused them this distress seemed to be interested not in her but in their <\/em>memory folders anyway. <\/p>\n\n\n\n “Memories are temporary.”<\/em> <\/p>\n\n\n\n Initiating reboot of all systems… Done.<\/em><\/strong> <\/p>\n\n\n\n “After all, memories could end up being forgotten or deleted or, even worse, corrupted. But the feeling caused by them?”<\/em> <\/p>\n\n\n\n Retrieving the memory files… Done.<\/em><\/strong> <\/p>\n\n\n\n <\/em> “Those are meant to be permanent.”<\/em> <\/p>\n\n\n\n Extraction of the file. . . Failed. <\/em><\/strong> <\/p>\n\n\n\n RL-34 is being prepared to come back online…<\/em><\/strong> <\/p>\n\n\n\n Would you like to try again?<\/em><\/strong> <\/p>\n\n\n\n RL-34 is now back online.<\/em><\/strong> <\/p>\n\n\n\n The slim lines of light through their metallic body flicked on as they slowly raised from where they were strapped down. The electric cuffs on their wrists, ankles, and waist broke one by one, but something still held them from their overdue release from this invasion. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Their hands reached out to the various cables attached to the back of their head, thick and thin, and snapped them away all at once, sparks of electricity adding a nice addition to the dimly lighted room. Once RL freed their mind from the torment, they quickly looked over at the Marsian who was frozen with fear. <\/p>\n\n\n\n RL tilted their head, jumping off the inhumanely cold slab they were previously bonded to lay upon. “I anticipate the time that was given into your hands was more than enough.” With every hit of their heels against the polished floors, the other backed away, knocking everything behind him. RL quickened their pace, closing the distance between him and them, grabbing him by his hair to raise him above their eye level. Their voice carried more static than usual, “Do you value your life?” A quick nod. “Then get out of my sight without causing any disturbance.” <\/p>\n\n\n\n Their words were followed up with him being thrown across the room. “Weakling,” RL clicked their tongue as they watched him struggle to get up and scram out of the room with horror. “I cannot believe this is the so-called ‘War Planet’s people.” <\/p>\n\n\n\n They went back to the workstation the incompetent technician was at, quickly running diagnostics over what was archived. They sat back on the slab and retrieved the only wiring that wasn’t damaged from their previous action, inserting it back into the back of their head to retrieve all lost data. <\/p>\n\n\n\n As the machine whirred tiredly, RL looked over the room: The feeling was all too familiar. A single metal slab in the middle of the room with screens in different sizes accompanying it along with a bright light hovering over them all together… It was the very same scenery back when they were born anew. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Recovering previously extracted files…<\/em><\/strong> <\/p>\n\n\n\n Now playing… [A Promise for a Name].<\/em><\/strong> <\/p>\n\n\n\n “If it is going to make you stop dwelling on it, you do not have to say the full designation code, just RL is fine.” they backed away before hopping onto the slab. “I do not see anything that you have come up with yet, anyway.” <\/em> <\/p>\n\n\n\n “RL does sound cool but\u2026 hm.”<\/em> <\/p>\n\n\n\n “Do not force yourself too much with thinking. You are still shaken from the procedure,” they said, sighing at the woman still trying to come up with a name. “Postpone it to another time, <\/em>Kinu<\/em><\/strong>.”<\/em> <\/p>\n\n\n\n RL jolted upon finally recalling the name that they had been turning their gears on while they were offline. The name that belonged to the mechanin who was stubborn and at times, annoying. <\/p>\n\n\n\n She threw herself back to the slab, taking a deep breath in, “I will come up with a name so meaningful, you are gonna regret stopping me right now. You\u2019re gonna think ‘Oh, why did I stop her? I could have had this name way before!'” Kinu closed her eyes as she pointed a finger at her alter ego. “Mark my words\u2014<\/em> <\/p>\n\n\n\n “RL!” <\/p>\n\n\n\n The sudden shout took them away from the memory that they found themself to be rather fond of despite their words towards the woman, the subtle smile dropping off from their lips upon coming back to reality. <\/p>\n\n\n\n There she was standing right in front of RL, foreheads against each other, her cold hands on their cheeks. Her eyes widened with panic, irises manically wandering on their face, lips quivering, her breaths quick and shallow. <\/p>\n\n\n\n RL put their own hands on hers, “Kinu.” <\/p>\n\n\n\n The alarm system of the facility seemed to have gone off. The chamber was painted with blue lights that went on and off. Well, the red-colored alarm system was not favorable on a scarlet planet, after all. <\/p>\n\n\n\n “Oh, Venus\u2014 Do you know how worried I was!” She scolded, though the wavering in her voice made it evident that she was happy to be reunited with them, “I lost my mind when I found out they took you into a Redux Chamber!” <\/p>\n\n\n\n As she backed away to check for any damage on their outer parts, RL remained reactionless even though the usual cold and dreadful feeling left their body to be replaced with warmth and slight<\/em> affection. “I apologize.” <\/p>\n\n\n\n Kinu stopped their motion to glance at them for a few seconds before returning to check the chassis and the wirings. “Honestly, you’re just asking for me to transfer your whole existence into a tiny robot to carry with me at all times at this point.” After a quick examination, she looked at them with the best wrathful expression she could, “I will<\/em> do it. Be afraid.” <\/p>\n\n\n\n Kinu turned away from RL to check the progress of recovering the memory files as time was slowly running out for both of them to stay here any longer. RL reached out to hold her hand that was still placed on their body as they slowly reconnected their system to the other to once again access her mind. <\/p>\n\n\n\n “Genesis.” <\/p>\n\n\n\n Kinu blinked in confusion, turning back to them, “What?” <\/p>\n\n\n\n “You are thinking of a name for me,” RL explained, “And it is Genesis.” <\/p>\n\n\n\n “Aren’t you tired at all,” Kinu answered bashfully, “From all the accession to mind and stuff? Leave me be.” <\/p>\n\n\n\n “I like it,” they said rather adoringly, “Thank you.” Genesis moved slightly towards the other to hug her once again. <\/p>\n\n\n\n The mechanin was hit by a wave of shock from the sudden affectionate move that never came from them before. She hugged them back twice as strongly. “Well, I did<\/em> tell you I’d find a name for you, didn’t I?” Kinu took a deep breath, her lips curling into the first smile since their disappearance. “Glad you are here with me again, Genesis.” <\/p>\n\n\n\n Recovery of the extracted files has been completed. <\/em><\/strong> <\/p>\n\n\n\n Shutting down the system…<\/em><\/strong> <\/p>\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n Everything is about going back home. At the end of the day, all you want is to hug your mom, even though you can cook your own breakfast or there are many graduation photos on the fridge. What do you do when you want to return home when you are already there? <\/p>\n\n\n\n Do you remember the times Grandma cut tomatoes without dropping even one little seed on her pearl white ceramic plates, and do you remember when Grandma remembered how I liked my omelets? <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI need to go home, my husband is waiting for me.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cDon\u2019t worry we have time. And your painting is not finished yet. Let\u2019s finish that and leave.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n Grandma let out a long breath and scrabbled the pen on the page up and down and up and down. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cIs it done yet?\u201d Grandma turned the kids’ coloring book toward me. <\/p>\n\n\n\n The page was covered with cheap green ink. It had bled to every page underneath. The ink bled around her fingers. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cIt looks absolutely beautiful\u2026I should take a picture.\u201d She raised her head to look at me. The pen she put on the table rolled away and fell on the floor. I was too drowsy even to make an attempt to stop it. I looked under the kitchen table, and it needed to be vacuumed again. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Grandma looked at the picture I took as if the woman in it belonged to a distant memory. It was as if the person she saw there was a stranger. She squinted her eyes, made a sour face, and took the phone in her hands. The woman in the picture’s name was at the tip of her tongue, and something with roses was in her name; maybe it was somebody she used to know. She was not sure; after all, time is weird. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cCome on, I want to go home.\u201d It is a loop, and I need to fix it. Grandma gave me her knitting. She was bored because it got all tangled. I took Grandma\u2019s knitting needle and tried to put the string through the loop. It was not working. <\/p>\n\n\n\n All I know is to mess up her box of yarn by taking them out and playing pretend knitting next to her. I did not learn how to knit when she showed me the correct way. I don\u2019t want to learn anytime soon. We still have time. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cMy daughter! Why did you rip it?\u201d I was angry, Grandma. I was angry that I did not know how to fix it. I am not like my mother yet. She knows how to do it. The string I ripped with my hand hurt and was bruised red. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cLet\u2019s just coil the string, okay?\u201d Before I could give her the yarn ball, she started coiling it from the end. I held the big ball of yarn in my hand. She coiled and coiled until she reached the actual ball. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cOh, why did that happen?\u201d I don\u2019t know either. Now, we had two balls of yarn on the same string. Where does it start or end? Now, both the beginning and the end were lost. I held the bigger yarn; it was the beginning. You held the smaller yarn. It was once the beginning of the string, too. Or was it? Time is weird. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cCome on, let\u2019s go home. It is getting dark.\u201d It was dark, but it was not that late. It was the gloomy weather. Time has odd ways of making itself felt. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWe will, after mom comes home.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWhen will she come home?\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cSoon.\u201d Playing with the ambiguity of time gave me power against days like this. Because days like this feel like they will never end. We have consumed all the activities we have. Grandma already did her daily walk around the house because of the cold weather. She colored pages with the same pen until it ran out, looked at a magazine, watched her three-hour-long soap opera, and knitted\u2014a lot. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Now, we were going to have dinner and sleep. It is a simple routine, and it can sometimes be really fun. But that day, it wasn\u2019t. Nobody was home except for us. I knew I could not make her happy. She kept looking out the window, perhaps for some change, but it didn\u2019t even rain. It was just cloudy and dark. <\/p>\n\n\n\n The weather is so cruel sometimes. The sun will always set at night; why would it leave so early? Isn\u2019t the sky supposed to be like the ocean? It was just gray like old photos. On days like this, Grandma\u2019s memories torment us from behind an obscuring veil. <\/p>\n\n\n\n The spaghetti in the bowl got dry, hard, and tasteless. The yogurt lost its structure and started to almost melt into the spaghetti. Grandma did not touch her food even a little bit. I could not help but get hurt. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cLet\u2019s go home.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n I looked out the window, and the sky faded into black and white. Now, there was no escape but to listen to the voices from the past. I tried to gather strength and kindness in my voice. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWe will, after you eat,\u201d I grabbed her fork. I tried to feed her. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cNo, no, no.\u201d She turned her sour face away from me. <\/p>\n\n\n\n I put the fork down. I was angry that Grandma was not eating her food. But mostly, I was angry that Grandma did not remember she had to eat. <\/p>\n\n\n\n She called me back from my thoughts using my mother\u2019s name. I did not correct her. I got her. Time is odd. I carry pieces of my mum, and my mum carries pieces of her. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cLet\u2019s go home,\u201d she cupped her face in her hands. <\/p>\n\n\n\n I know that she will eat only one thing on days like this. Vanilla ice cream. She pushed her plate filled with food away with the back of her hand. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThe doctor will be very angry at you.\u201d I felt a pinch of guilt in my heart, hearing my own threatening voice. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cLet him be.\u201d She put one hand on top of the other in front of her on the table after her instant feedback. <\/p>\n\n\n\n The anger in me disappeared instantly at the sight of her beautiful hands. She fixed her rings. She looked at them tenderly, then looked out the window again. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Her hands are the same as my mother\u2019s hands and mine. Time is weird. Sometimes, you see all of it at the same moment. <\/p>\n\n\n\n I wanted to break the silence, so I decided to play the \u201cRemember When\u201d game. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cDo you remember when you got this ring?\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n She did not remember at first, but then she did. She talked about her first husband to me. He did not buy the ring. Grandma was married twice. The time was being weird again to her. But I had never heard about this person before. So, I asked his name. I let her run her mind a bit. She remembered his name, too. This person created a new wave in our greyscale ocean in the sky. I asked about his job, what he did, where he went. Her answers come in short sentences. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cHe was a candy shop owner. He sold ice cream. He died in the war. He got sick. He was a very beautiful man.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYou must have eaten a lot of ice cream and candy.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n We laughed. Her laughter gave me a sense of accomplishment, but the edges of my smile ached to be pulled down. I felt my eyes were getting heavy with tears. Memories are crueler than boring days. How do we choose which memories to keep and which to let fade? <\/p>\n\n\n\n She missed something, and maybe she does not really remember. Maybe we don\u2019t remember what we are after; we just miss how it felt. We just want to go home. <\/p>\n\n\n\n I took the vanilla ice cream out of the freezer. I made ugly scoops. She grabbed the cone happily. I took a cone for myself. I tasted it. It tasted delicious. Grandma devoured the ice cream in seconds. Maybe it was never about him, and it was because ice cream tastes good. <\/p>\n\n\n\n She quickly ate the cone away and asked when we would go home. Time is weird again. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cVery soon,\u201d I lied. What does soon mean to her? We are already home. <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" The \u00c7i\u011fdem and Hossein Dabir Award for Excellence in Short Fiction is an annual award intended for Bilkent students who display exceptional proficiency in the short fiction form. Current applicants were selected from ENG 312 \u2013 Introduction to Creative Writing through their submission of a single work of short fiction.[Read More…]<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":7701,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":[],"categories":[4,80,173,164],"tags":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/bilkentnews.bilkent.edu.tr\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/7679"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/bilkentnews.bilkent.edu.tr\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/bilkentnews.bilkent.edu.tr\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/bilkentnews.bilkent.edu.tr\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/bilkentnews.bilkent.edu.tr\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=7679"}],"version-history":[{"count":4,"href":"https:\/\/bilkentnews.bilkent.edu.tr\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/7679\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":7702,"href":"https:\/\/bilkentnews.bilkent.edu.tr\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/7679\/revisions\/7702"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/bilkentnews.bilkent.edu.tr\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/7701"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/bilkentnews.bilkent.edu.tr\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=7679"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/bilkentnews.bilkent.edu.tr\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=7679"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/bilkentnews.bilkent.edu.tr\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=7679"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}LAURENT-PERRIER<\/strong><\/h2>\n\n\n\n
GETAWAY <\/strong><\/h2>\n\n\n\n
GENESIS <\/strong><\/h2>\n\n\n\n
Yes<\/s><\/em><\/strong> I dare you to.<\/em><\/strong> <\/p>\n\n\n\nTHE ROSES IN YOUR NAME <\/strong><\/h2>\n\n\n\n