Broken Letters

The wind, in the early morning, was sweeping away not the dust of the street, but its silence. The breakfast table was quiet again. The only sound amidst the silence was the pained static from the radio.

Deniz’s eye caught the headline on the back page of the newspaper his father was reading: “The Country is in Turmoil”. His father was trying to ignore everything, deliberately not reading that section.

Deniz took a sip of his tea and stood up to leave for school. First, he kissed his mother’s cheek, then he squeezed his little sister’s. His mother could only say, in a tearful and helpless voice, “Be careful, my son.” His father said, in a firmer tone, “Be back early today too.”

Deniz acknowledged both with a nod of his head, said “God be with you,” picked up the bag he had left beside his chair, and left the house.

When Deniz stepped out onto the street, he heard the sounds of sirens mixing into the morning mist. The tram going to the university was crowded. The same expression was on everyone’s face: anxiety. As he approached Istiklal Avenue, the writings on the walls had been freshly painted over. In faded red letters, it said, “Freedom!”

When Deniz arrived at the university, he saw a crowd and, giving in to his curiosity, moved toward the gathering. An argument had broken out. One group of students wanted to put up posters while others objected. Words suddenly turned into fists. Deniz pulled back, but the crowd pulled him in.

Then, the sound of a siren.

Scrambling and running.

No one understood that day who they hit or what anyone said.

Only one voice was heard: “Take them all!” someone shouted.