Seni Seviyorum

My friends told me that the shortcut I went through to get home was haunted. And I didn’t believe them. Why? I didn’t, and still don’t, believe in myths. They told me the spirit of a girl roamed on the narrow road, and that the girl had died in the cold of winter.

Or so I’ve been told.

Back from school, I went through the narrow shortcut. Then I saw something. No, someone. It looked like a girl with that long black hair. She sounded like a ghost. Is the myth real?

I tiptoed and approached her, touching her. She’s real! I thought. When she turned around and looked at me, I ran away. ‘Don’t run away!’ the girl shouted. I came back to her.

‘It’s okay, don’t be scared,’ she said. I became less scared and walked to her. Still curious, I asked, ‘Are you real?’

‘Well of course I am, why wouldn’t I be real?’

I walked closer to her. ‘Come on, sit here next to me,’ she said. I just accepted that and sat next to her. I braved myself and asked her the scary question.

‘Who are you?’

‘I-I’m Merve.’

‘Well, Merve, why are you here?’

‘I…don’t…have…a home,’ she mumbled.

I could hear her saying the words. No home? All I could imagine was a girl who’s free to do whatever she wanted, but had to struggle at the same time. So unfair, this life. I looked at my watch and seeing that it was already late, I walked away.

‘Wait!’ she shouted. I turned my head around, and she said to me, ‘Thanks for not running away from me…’

‘It’s Ayşe.’

I gave her a smile and left.

It’d been a year since I met Merve, and every time I come home, I always spared some time with her. But not today.

On my way home, through the shortcut, I felt lonelier than ever. And this day I realised that the only way you know that you truly love someone is when you let them go. And she wasn’t there for the next days. Days, weeks, months passed. Maybe she’d gone away or just wandering around.

And eventually, years passed. Those years were hard, the years where I had to move on from thinking about Merve. And now that I’m free from the burdens of student life, the only burden is missing her.

Today, I’m not really free, though. I promised my sister that I’d come to see her – family affairs. And so now I’m waiting for the train to Istanbul. Then, in the crowd of strangers, I can see a familiar face. Too familiar, to be honest. Can it be? I see her squeezing through the crowd, trying to get to me. And when she is close enough, when she is standing just right in front of me, she said, ‘Ayşe, is it you?’

And I happen to ask this question at the same time: ‘Merve, is it you?’

‘Where have you been?’ I ask.

‘I just came back from Istanbul. I see you’re going there.’

‘Well, yes. Let me guess. Goodbye?’

‘All right then. Goodbye.’


The Chosen Owl

The dark of the night covered the sky. Stars were shining bright. All the creatures of the forest were fast asleep. All except for the owls. In fact, they had been awake since dusk.
A spotted owl flew on its way to a tree. It carried a letter from a far-away place. After a long flight, it reached its destination. Then, the owl left the letter there.
“Marion, you’ve got a letter,” a screech-owl said.
Then, another screech opened the letter. It said:
Dear Marion,
You are selected for training in Twilight Tree. We’ll send someone to take you there, this evening.

Marion was stunned. Twilight Tree, as in Twilight Tree, Midnight Forest? It’d be the worst thing ever, being taken to the worst place for screeches, she thought. Another screech then came over to her.
“I’ve heard that you’ve got a letter from an owl from the Twilight Tree. Is that true?”The other screech asked.
“It is true, Brigit,” Marion replied, “and do you know what that means?”
“That you are to be taken to hell? But I don’t think it’s really hell, since I’ve heard of screeches that are just fine there. So don’t you worry, you’ll be fine.”
But Marion couldn’t stop worrying about the whole letter thing. She couldn’t sleep well in the day, and she was a bit weary that evening, when the owl from the Tree came. Then, Marion felt this weird feeling; she felt happy because she would be having more experiences outside the nest, but on the same time, she felt worried because owls of Twilight Tree never really accepted screech-owls and this is because of the war between the owls of Midnight Forest and the owls of the White Forest, and the latter had more screeches than the other side, so the owls of Midnight thought that screeches are bad. (So Midnight had been war-torn.)
“Where’s Marion?” a spotted owl asked. The owl was the same one that had sent the letter in the middle of the night.
“Here,” Marion exclaimed. “Who are you, and why are you here?”
“I’m Siobhan, an owl from the Twilight Tree. I’m here to take you there. Did you notice that I wrote your letter?”
“Yes, I certainly noticed that. So how far is the Tree from here?”
“Quite far from here, for an owlet like you,” Siobhan said, in a quite underestimating way, “It depends on the owl’s flight ability. Can you fly?”
“Well, I can,” Marion replied, “but I’m not very good yet. Maybe we could take a break in the middle of the trip.”
“No can do, dear owl,” Siobhan said, “They’re expecting us at dawn. I think this would be easy for you, since you can fly.”
“Why is it so important to know whether I could fly or not?”
“Because if you couldn’t fly, I’ll have to carry you all the way, and I think that would be an exhausting work. Can we go now?”
“Wait a minute.”
Marion said goodbye to Brigit and her parents, and then she and Siobhan began flying for Twilight Tree.

Call Me Sybil

My friend Harriet is waiting for me when I arrive. She soon notices me and then comes over to me.
“So, am I late?”
“No, just in time. There’s Mae right now.”
“Looks worse than ever.”
“So right. And to think she couldn’t look worse than before. Let’s go.”
As we walk through the school corridor, I see something eye-catching stuck on the wall. And it’s an announcement.
“Harriet, come here.”
“They’re auditioning for the next play, today!”
“What play?”
“An original play from the drama crew, Sundown Inn.”
Sundown Inn? Is there anything about the plot on the announcement?”
“It’s a story about an old abandoned inn where vampires stay. That’s why they call it Sundown Inn, because all the activity starts on sundown.”
“What role are they auditioning for today?”
“They’re auditioning for the role of Shivvy Downing, one of the vampires staying in the inn.”
“I’m in, then. What time?”
“2 p.m. I’m in for the role of Myriam Summers, auditioning same time tomorrow.”
“What? Are you serious, Sybil? Promise me there will be no fight this time, all right?”
“Promise. And call me Cassidy or Cassie. I hate that name.”
Oh, yes, I haven’t told you that I hate being called Sybil. Actually, that’s my real name, full name Sybil O’Donough. Look at the full name once again, and you realise that something is not right. My name is too different. And because I have no middle name, I have to choose a name. So I end up with Cassidy, a name that’s less different and more beautiful than my real name. And now look at this: Cassidy O’Donough. Better? In my opinion, yes, but what about you? Almost everyone thinks that Cassidy O’Donough is better than Sybil O’Donough. Everyone, except my family (of course!), and my best friend Harriet.
Right, let’s go back to reality. Harriet and I are going to the school laboratory for science class now. We’re a bit late, and everyone’s already there. Well, except Miss Lanigan. I have the feeling that she’s late, as usual. Everybody’s talking about Sundown Inn. Then, Mae, the richest girl in the school, comes over.
“Hey Cassidy, I heard that you’re auditioning for the role of Summers. You know what? I’m in too. So, good luck,” she says with a mean look, followed by a glare. I glare at her in return, bearing the same vicious look, even more vicious.
After two hours of science class, the bell rings. Harriet’s already waiting for me outside the lab, looking very unhappy.
“What is it, Harriet?”
“I’m sick of you!”
“You’re afraid to be different! That’s why!”
“What do you mean?”
“You don’t remember, do you? Everytime I call you Sybil, you always say ‘no, call me Cassie’. What’s wrong with being different anyway?”
“You don’t know what it’s like! You don’t know what it’s like to be different! Everyone thinks your name’s weird, and you’ll be called weird, too! Have you ever had trouble with your name? Well, I guess not, because you don’t know what’s going on with me!”
“Wait, Sybil…”
“See? Now leave me alone!”
“I said leave!”
And since Harriet has no intention to walk away, I walk away to the announcement wall, reading the audition announcement once again. But something catches my attention, something on the creation wall, next to the announcements.
Who am I, if I’m not me?, the title says. Turns out that it’s a short story. I read the story, and there’s something in me that tells me that I’ve been a real fool all this time. My heart now asks the same question: Who am I, if I’m not me? I’ve been afraid to be different, to be myself. I haven’t been true to my friends, even to my best friend, my best friend! I’ve been a bad friend, the worst friend anyone could have!
Wait, there’s a way to fix all this: a small speech, some kind of announcement. I still have a piece of paper, so I write the announcement on it.
“So, my friends, I have something to tell you. I’ve been a fool. I was afraid to be different. I thought things could be better if I had another name, which I did, but I was wrong! Your name is who you are, and I don’t think you should change it. So, from now, just call me Sybil.”
After that, Harriet comes to the backstage, wanting to tell something.
“That was amazing. I’m sorry I’ve been a bad friend.”
“No, I’m sorry for lying to you.”
“All right, Cassie, how exactly did you lie to me?”
“Seriously, Sybil, you told me to call you Cassie, and now you’re telling me not to call you that. And how did you lie…”
“Yes, yes, Harriet. How I lied to you. Well… I don’t want to talk about it. By the way, audition starts in five minutes.”
“Let’s go, then!”

Ann’s Little Book, in which Mairead was brought to life

Ann walked into a beautiful garden. There were many kinds of flowers there. But something caught her eye. The roses, they were red, but there’s something different.
I’m here, a voice said.
Ann was terrified. It sounded like Mairead, the girl that she once despised. The time when they talked about “the untimely death of the girl who saved us all”, they were right. Somehow, her heart was moved. But, an. encounter with a ghost, it felt crazy. Like she shouldn’t be there. Well, she thought, it couldn’t get crazier.
“Ann,” Mairead said, “I want to remember that this is me, the one that you now loved. But death is unpredictable. That’s what you need to know. But then, you don’t need to feel that it’s too late to like me.”
“Okay,” Ann said, “but I want you back into this life.”
Then, something happened. It was like a miracle. There was a bright light from inside Mairead, and she … was back to life!
“Thanks for your wish. The only way I could be back in this world was by the power of change, and you did it. Your thoughts about me had changed since my death, and it made you wish that I was back.”
So it was a miracle. And Ann learned not to judge people. She barely knew Mairead well, and she was just looking at the surface of her personality.

Seeking Help

Hi, I’m the writer of the blog thistlesroses. This is kind of off, since I have never written anything this long (well, except Siobhan the mirror reflection; that was in parts). Enjoy!

Margaret Macdonald strode down the street, looking very calm and uncaring of her surroundings. She wore a shabby winter coat with rips here and there, which could barely keep the cold out. Under the coat was a blue jumper. Part of her blue-and-white striped scarf had unravelled and the thread sort of flew, blown by the wind. She wore a flowing, long black skirt with a long tail, which she dragged while walking. The pair of lace-up brown boots with heels added a sense of strangeness to her whole look. She let her curly, long red hair cover her back. She looked natural without any makeup put on.
As she arrived at the doorstep, she knocked the door. Then, a young woman, probably in her twenties, showed up. Expecting an old lady, Margaret thought of asking the woman if she was Eileen Crawford, but soon realised that it would be crazy to stay out in the cold just to ask such thing.
“What brings you here?”
“I’m…seeking help.”
“You’re…seeking…help. All right, just get in.”
The woman invited Margaret to her home, and apparently she had known that Margaret had been living in a poor situation through her clothes. So that’s why she was seeking help, she thought.
“Just sit down, dear. I know that a long winter walk can be tiring, even painful, for someone like you.” Though a young one, the woman used the word “dear” to emphasise affection, and what was more amazing, she said it in a sincere way without being condescending.
“So, are you Miss Crawford?” Margaret asked, unsure.
“Yes, I am. But you can call me Eileen,” the woman answered. “And you?”
“Margaret Macdonald. But just call me Margaret.”
“So, Margaret, I know you’re seeking help, and I know just why,” Eileen said, “but I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you some questions about your personal life, like your family, education, and so on.”
“All right. After all, you have to let it all go eventually.”
“Good then, if you think so. Question one: describe your home.”
Then Margaret thought for a while. Would she tell? But then she felt it would be just fine. She described it like this.
“Well, it’s just one room. The wall already have cracks here and there, and the ceiling leaks. I have almost nothing, and so there’s almost nothing there. Just clothes, a bed and other odds and ends.”
“What do you mean ‘I’? Do you live alone?”
“Well, sort of. My father kicked me out of the house and I was forced to live out of there. I think my mother and sisters miss me as I miss them. We haven’t seen each other since long.”
“I see. So, you haven’t seen your family for some time. I know you are not able to pay for school, so where do you get your education? Perhaps some kind of youth community centre?”
“Exactly. Any more questions?”
“I don’t think so. But from this, I can gather bits of information about you. And I think, I can take the conclusion that you live in a poor condition. Am I jumping to conclusions here?”
“No, you don’t.”
“But if you ever need more help, just come here. And about the clothes, why are you wearing a torn coat?”
“I can’t afford a new one. There are too many things I have to pay for and in many cases, I’m broke.”
Eileen then went to get something and came back with a coat.
“This is for you. I have another one for me. I don’t want you to freeze yourself in the winter cold.”
“Thanks. It’s beautiful. What about my torn coat?”
“Just keep it.”
“It’s been nice being here with you. See you later.”
“See you later…too.”
Margaret then walked away to her home. She didn’t feel like going anywhere. All she wanted was to go back and lie down on her bed.

Margaret Macdonald, Eileen Crawford ©thistleandroses

Claire isn’t a loon!

Well, another comedy from my archives. This one’s a bit cruel if your name is Claire, but there’s the good girl who might save you and your name. Hint: “I” here would be Minerva, like the one from the Suitcase story. Enjoy!
“Time for another class, time for another bad thing to happen to me,” Lola says.
“Well, same for me,” Miri adds.
Then, Krissie comes along and she starts to tell those “jokes”.
“D’you know why Claire is a loon?” she asks.
“Don’t know,” Lola and Miri answer together.
“It’s clear,” Krissie explained, “because she is ‘Claire the Loon’!”
I, who have been listening very closely, come to them, and say, “What’s with Claire here?”
And then Krissie tells me, “You don’t understand, do you? ‘Claire the Loon’?”
“Yes, I do understand. Isn’t it supposed to be ‘clair de lune’?”
“And why is that, Minnie?”
“Don’t be so mean.”
*) “clair de lune” = French for “moonlight”


Suitcase Mishaps

First notice, this is a comedy story, and I’ve kept this in my archives for quite a long time. So, this means this story was meant to make you laugh. And in an unrelated info, the full story of Trainspotting is coming soon!
I come back to my room, expecting another mess Mafalda made. And I am right! What’s she doing with my suitcase?
“What are you doing with my suitcase?”
“Filling it with something, of course!”
“What’s inside it? It’s not my clothes, is it?”
“No, but it’s still a secret…”
Then, she throws it outside the house, and (I can’t see this) then I hear…a loud explosion, and…
“Mafalda, where’s my suitcase now?”
“Let’s just say it’s in your basement…”
“But I don’t have one…”
“Let’s just say you do now.”
* I: this story is told by a girl named Minerva. (Crazy, huh? Who would name their child that? Still, in my opinion, a beautiful name.)


Mystery of Winter Tower

“Mairi, have you heard about the ghost in room 100 Winter tower?”
“Yes, but how do you know? Everyone who had come there, none of them lived to tell the tale. They always fell from the tower, in the end.”
“Mary told me. Oh, and by the way, she really saw – I mean witnessed – the ghost, according to her.”
“But Liz, you remember the time she said she saw a mysterious lady in the rose garden. That lady does not even exist!”
“I still wanna go there, though. You coming?”
“OK, but if I don’t come back with my body, I’ll haunt you.”
Then they went to the room where the ghost was, waiting for another victim.
Well, I hate to tell you what happened there, but they made their way out of there, still in one piece. So, Mairi was wrong at first, but how could she not be the one thinking ’bout the ghost first? Where did her Scottish stubbornness go?


Trainspotting (Kirsty version)

Did you enjoy “Trainspotting”? That’s Mairi’s story. This is Kirsty’s story. Enjoy!
Where is nowhere, you would ask that. But Kirsty knew the answer: nowhere could be anywhere you’d like to go…or wherever the train takes you.
“I’m here. So where are we going?” Sara asked.
“Nowhere,” Kirsty answered briefly.
“And where exactly is nowhere?”
“Anywhere you’d like to go…or wherever the train takes us to.”
Then they boarded the train. The train ride was quite pleasant; while Kirsty enjoyed the view read a book she brought along with her, Sara read a book she brought along with her. It really wasn’t that bad, it’s just that they really had to keep quiet. But being quiet wasn’t very hard to do, ’cause they’re not a couple of noisy six-year-old children. After hours of boredom, they finally arrived.
“Where are we ?” Sara asked, now starting to get interested in the idea of random railway exploring.
“Look there…there’s the sign…”
How was the train ride? Was it fun? By the way, I’m out of ideas, can you please give me one on the comments.



Warning: kissing part, though I’m sure the younger readers have seen a kissing scene in a movie before, right?
Lily. Such a beautiful flower. And such a beautiful name, too. This happened to be the name of the girl that Sean always seemed to think about every hour, every day.
Suddenly, Sean’s thoughts was taking him somewhere. He followed his thoughts that finally led him to the empty hall. And Lily was waiting there. Lily was shining bright against the darkness of the room.
Then his thought made him move closer towards her. And closer, and closer…until he was very close. His heart told him to get closer to hers. And he responded to his heart by…kissing Lily.
Suddenly, the time in the world stopped for a while. He felt this warmth embracing him, the light shining, as if he was kissing an angel…
Unfortunately, it was just a dream. But it was enough to make him sleep well, and you know what? When he woke up from his deep sleep, the first person he saw was…Lily.

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