Duygularının yarattığı ıstırapla bunalan zihni kendine bir kaçış yolu, bir kurtuluş çaresi arıyordu, Efronya ona o yolu açıyordu. "İnsanın kendinden kurtulabilmesi, kendinden kaçabilmesi için mutlaka bir başkasının yardımı gerekiyormuş," demişti Osman’a, “bunu o zaman öğrendim. Seni çekip alacak biri lazım. Yoksa kendi içinde boğuluyorsun… Ne uğursuz bir deniz insanın kendi ruhu. Bütün kederlerin kaynağı.”

Ahmet Altan, Ölmek Kolaydır Sevmekten s.506-7
—Fotoğraf: Bruno Dumont’ın
2013 yapımı, “Camille Claudel 1915” filminden. (Auguste Rodin’i Gerard Depardieu, Camille Claudel’u Isabelle Adjani oynuyor.)

Early Breakfast
read it on the AO3 at http://ift.tt/1M5vRtH

by Lotheindra

Derek wakes up to loud noises coming from the kitchen. Derek knows it’s Stiles and wants to fall back asleep but he hears an ‘oh shit’ and is immediately up.

Words: 1915, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Series: Part 1 of Sterek Moments

read it on the AO3 at http://ift.tt/1M5vRtH

Wednesday 3rd February, 1915

In his private diary, LW again reports that he didn’t work, having had no ideas. He then muses on a different task ahead of him: ‘I’m now supposed to take over the supervision of our smithy. How will this happen? May the Spirit help me! It will be very difficult. But take heart!’ (GT2, S.57).

Mike Company – Gas Chamber – March 3, 2015 on Flickr.

Rct. William M. Johnson, Platoon 3024, Mike Company, 3rd Recruit Training Battalion, breaks the seal on his gas mask while in the gas chamber March 3, 2015, on Parris Island, S.C. By breaking the seal, the recruits experience the gas’s effects, which include temporary respiration irritation, watery eyes and a burning sensation on the skin. Johnson, 24, from North Myrtle Beach, S.C., is scheduled to graduate April 24, 2015. Parris Island has been the site of Marine Corps recruit training since Nov. 1, 1915. Today, approximately 20,000 recruits come to Parris Island annually for the chance to become United States Marines by enduring 13 weeks of rigorous, transformative training. Parris Island is home to entry-level enlisted training for 50 percent of males and 100 percent of females in the Marine Corps. (Photo by Pfc. Vanessa Austin)


Part one. Two. Three.
Special thanks to azusaanakano for helping with Al!!

     Answers. He needs answers. Do the papers on the table have them? Edward doesn’t know, and so he picks one up to see for himself. The date on top doesn’t make sense: March 28, 1915. Last he checked, it was February, not almost April. The header is simple: Citizens Mourn the Hero of the People.

     Edward stares at the word ‘mourn.’ His brain pops and dies. If they are mourning him, that means they think he’s dead.

     Does Alphonse think he’s dead?

     Intrigued and slightly horrified, he keeps reading. The papers tell him that he had dropped off the face of the planet last month, and no one has seen a lick of him since. Edward’s tail flicks nervously behind him. He has one answer now: he had been in that church for a month. 

     Digging through the rest of the newspapers, Edward reads them all. Next to an article about him, there’s a special tidbit about a company called Hija. It talks about how they have been perfecting the human life form.

     Edward barely glances over it.

     Once he’s reached the bottom of the stack, the door opens. Edward freezes, and the person in the door does, too.



     “Where have you been?”

     Edward drops the papers in his hands and stands up. Alphonse takes a step towards him, and then another, and another. Pretty soon he’s standing right in front of him, and staring down at his head like it’s the first time he’s ever seen it. In his heart, fireworks are shooting off. Because his brother is here, and his brother isn’t gone, and his brother is okay. But then he notices something, and comes down off his high.

     ”Ed… what’s with the costume…?” Al asks. His voice is tight. 

     Edward’s stomach drops into his boots. His ear twitches, and his tail skitters, full of anxiety. “This isn’t a joke, Al.” He takes off his coat and drops it to the floor. “So quit bein’ funny! Don’t tell me you see them too—”

     Slowly, Alphonse reaches out. He pinches the tip of the ear, and Edward hisses before clapping his hands over his mouth.

     “Where have you been, Brother?” Alphonse asks again. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere! But you—… it was like you just disappeared!”

     Guilt burns in Edward’s chest. “I dunno,” he says. “When I woke up, I was in the basement of some freaky church.” Shuffling, he continues, “There was this statue, and chimeras popped out of nowhere! They took a bite at me, but I scared ‘em away.”

     Alphonse drops to his knees. It’s then that Edward notices how badly he’s shaking. “Sorry,” he says. He rests his hand atop Al’s head. “It must’ve been scary, huh? Not knowing where I was…”

     Alphonse balls his hands into fists. There’s only one thing on his mind: “Wh… what happened to you?”


Robert Frost, born 26 March 1874.

Images from A Boy’s Will (New York, Henry Holt, 1915), Several Short Poems (New York: Henry Holt, 1924) and North of Boston (New York: Henry Holt, 1925)