Trafika Europe 12 - French Bon-Bons

Two Stories

The smell of the walls of the room plastered with white clay and bare floor ’s punk… Strap of the amputated toe, full ashtray and painful, poisonous smell… Did the smell of the past permeate her hand which once upon a time carried her soul to her pen? Is that feeling living inside her heart still? Can she draw of this smell? Now under her eyes were as dark as my mind’s corners, which I cannot recall. I felt the thoughtful and lost smell of her eyes deepen with lines and shaking eyelids. The smell of the time that goes inside her was sorrowful of her facial line. The smell of silence was on the lips that she gets used to being silent. Window glass was broken. The smell went up like a sough, with the fresh wind. Sky turned to red. I felt the smell of blood which was leaking from the crack of my scab. Under the weight of her lonely life, with the shadow of the moaning life, smell spread everywhere like a pain. Moon was rising, curtains were being drawn and dogs were woofing. I went back to university. One day, when I was talking with my mother on the phone, I heard her name when the Salah was completed on the other side of the phone! Announcing the close death of far away, that voice was a breath passing from inside me. I petrified like a leaf hung on the air, without arriving on the floor. I couldn’t say a word. She couldn’t say a word. We listened to the breath of each other. We listened to our breaths, which were scary but hopeful about

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