Esma's Warm House

14/09/2021 TSI 13.35

It was a winter day with short days and long nights; Esma threw the wood in her hand into the stove. As she stood in front of the stove, she rubbed her hands, trying to warm herself in the warmth of the stove. She could hear the sound of the wind. She wiped the mucus that was about to drip from her red-hot nose on her sweater sleeve, and she sat down under the stove with her feet propped up.

In the winter months, the weather was getting dark early and the day was starting to give way to the night, but because of the cloudy weather that day, the night came earlier.

The fire of the woods had turned the one-room wooden house into an oven, and Esma began to doze with the effect of the heat and the desire to rest from fatigue.

The room contained a mattress, a small chest, and a small stove where he could cook his food. The stove was in the middle of the room, so that all parts of the room were evenly heated. Her parents lived here for years and her mother gave birth to Esma in this house. Esma, who spent her entire childhood here, knew nothing about city life. The only window that connected him to earthly life was his radio with a small battery. There, he would listen only to what was told and accompany every music playing by keeping the rhythm. When its batteries ran out, its window to the world would close and remain closed until the next battery purchase. She had lost her mother when she was too young to remember, she had lived with her father almost all her life. His father would go to the nearest town once a month to pick up what needed to be bought and come back home the same day.

Esma woke up with a start, and she could see the reflection of the light formed by the embers reflecting from the stove, which was dark inside, on the ceiling. He immediately got up and took the match next to the stove and drank one. He approached the kerosene lamp with its light. When the burning match was about to go out, he took out a new one and lit it again and ignited the wick of the gas lamp with that match. He lit the glass of the lamp, illuminating the whole room.

It was already night and his father was still not there. He ran to the door and opened it, calling out "Daddy, Daddy, hey, Daddy" a few times. His breathing was the only sign of his current fear. He was breathing fast, looking around blankly in an air of panic. He quickly got up and closed the door. He threaded the chain through the iron holes, placed the lock on the chain and locked the door. He placed the long wooden plank at the top of the door and placed the other end on the floor. Thinking she was safer now, she went to bed and lay down.

He was hungry, and although he had not eaten yet because he was waiting for his father, curiosity quelled his hunger. He thought something had happened to his father, but he didn't know what to do. This was not taught to him. Nothing was taught except cooking, carrying wood, doing the laundry, cleaning the stove's ashes and lighting the stove. Still, she was a 17-year-old young girl who was content with her life. She didn't even know love and the opposite sex yet, she. The last woman he saw was the attendant who washed and shrouded his mother's body. She didn't even remember him anyway. Again, the last man she saw was her father, she.

He felt his insides begin to cool. She was wearing a dress and a cardigan. Under the dress is a woolen tights that wraps around her legs. He got up and went to the stove and threw in some more wood. He didn't want the stove to go out because his father would need the warmth of the stove that would come cold from the outside. She took off her cardigan, took off her woolen tights under her dress, lay down on the bed and pulled the duvet over her. As he watched the light of the wood burning in the stove reflecting on the ceiling, he suddenly became frightened by the loud "knock knock knock" sound coming from the door. He immediately jumped out of bed and went behind the door and waited there. He thought it was his father, waiting for him to make his voice heard.

In a deep, gasping, and obviously tired tone,

-Esma, Esma, open the door.

She was breathing fast, Esma could hear her breathing from inside, but she didn't make a sound. It wasn't his father.

-I'm telling you, your father sent me. I know you're there and you hear me. Open the door, I'm so cold.

Emma covered her mouth with her hands. She didn't want the unknown man outside to hear her breathing. He stood there for a while, the sound stopped. He sat on the floor with his back to the door.

Who was this man he didn't know? How did he know your name? How did he know it was his father? Could he really have sent it?

She had never been this scared, yet she knew she was safe as long as the door was closed. At that moment, the possibility of her father needing her was troubling her mind. In this short period of time, dozens of ideas came to his mind, and he had hesitations with each idea. Finally, the thought of "How would he know my name if he didn't see my father?" prevailed. In a low-pitched voice;

-Are you still there?

-Yes, I'm here and I'm very cold. let me in

-Where is my father?

-In town

-Why isn't he coming?

-He got sick and had to stay there, he commissioned me to let you know and bring what he bought.

-What's wrong?

- He had a coughing fit.

Esma believed, because her father often had coughing fits and helped her with water and medicine. How could he learn so much information if he didn't know my father? He questioned himself. Now his fear had given way to curiosity towards his father. He was still cautious.

-Okay, leave what my father sent in front of the door and you go. Tell my father I want him to come quickly.

-Okay I'll do this but first I need to warm up a bit, town is far away. I might not be able to do this if I don't warm up and get some rest.

Esma stood up and pulled the plank against the door. He unlocked the chain. Pulling the chains out of the iron holes, he opened the door and stepped back.

A tight-dressed man, larger than his father, had tangled hair and beard, entered the room. He was the only person he had seen in this house after his father for years. He didn't even ask her his name. He watched silently as the man closed the door and pressed the plank against it. He was not afraid, because there was no way he would have known all that information had his father not sent it. The man sat on his knees under the stove. He was close enough to almost embrace the stove. He was warming his hands and arms on the stove. It was obvious that he was very cold. Esma threw some more wood into the stove and stepped back. All he wanted was for the man to warm up and get out of the house immediately. He took off his scarf when it got a little warmer. When it got a little warmer, he took off his jacket. Next were the shoes. Esma started to get scared and slowly took the knife next to the stove where she was cooking and hid it behind her. His aim was not to attack, but to defend himself against the unpredictable man. In a suddenly excited and fearful tone;

-Go now, you're warm.

-Give me a glass of water, let it be hot. Warm me inside.

He filled a glass of water from the jug on the chest and laid it out before approaching the man. The man reached out and took the water and drank it.

-Give it again.

Realizing that something was wrong, Esma took the knife she had hidden behind her in front of her and held it towards the man;

-I told you to go.

The man who stood up took the jug on the chest and this time began to drink the water directly from the jug. Half of the water ran into his mouth and half from his body to the ground, over his clothes. She broke the empty jug by hitting it against the wall behind Esma. Fearing this, the man's hand, which held the knife towards the man, was about to fall from his place, but the man kicked his hand and the knife was thrown towards the door. Only the two of them could be heard breathing in the room. Neither of them cared about the sound of the wind coming from outside. Esma immediately made a move towards the door, but the man pressed on her and threw her face down on the bed. He put his whole body on it and pressed it. As Esma had no chance to escape, she could not move from her place.

Curiosity for his father had brought him out of the defensive walls. He was aware that there was no one in the place where he spent his life, and that no one would hear his scream. The man had brought his head, which had settled on him, next to Esma's head. Both were breathing in the same direction. Esma's effort to escape was still weak, causing her to be crushed even more. At that moment she felt the hem of her dress being pulled up from her knees by a hand, the first tears of tears falling from her eyes. Although it took some relief to realize that his purpose was not to kill her, he was still in a state of obscurity.

The hand that had scraped the hem of her dress up to her waist was now inside her panties, caressing her most private part. He didn't even know the longest slices of time that never passed. This was the first time he met someone of the opposite sex, his first contact and intimacy. But it wasn't supposed to be like this.

The man was like a hungry wolf attacking its prey. Even though she wasn't resisting much anymore, she was beating him up. She pulled her panties down her legs, first to her knees and then to her ankles. He made her come out completely with her feet. As she stood up and unbuttoned her own pants, Esma tried to sit up, taking advantage of her weight to disappear. He fell face down on the bed again with a hard punch on his back. This time he was more exhausted and weak. He was having a hard time breathing because of the blow to his back. As soon as he was able to take a deep breath, he was crying loudly as if he was drowning in sobs. The longest time was still going on for him. He didn't even know what was being done to him. The man, who lowered his trousers to his knees, pulled Esma's dress as high as he could. He could see Esma's hips. He chose to watch for a while. Then he prepared a place for himself by placing his hand between Esma's legs. He brought his groin close to Esma's hips. His masculinity was in Esma's intimacy, his hardness and feeling made her scream. The man who put his head on Esma's ear;

-My name is Kasım, your father sold you to me. You are now my wife. We will live in this house with you. You will give me children. Buy it now, we'll do this with you every night.

While he was saying these, the saliva that was flowing from his mouth was flowing to Esma's face, and the groans of his pleasure were scratching his ears. After she finished her work, she was slumped on her back next to the bed and holding Esma's hair with one hand. Esma's only purpose was to save herself from dying, she had no idea what she was going through. He was not physically dead, but spiritually he was no longer alive. Was he the one who was raped? Was it his life? Was November the rapist? Was it his father? He didn't know any of these questions. Esma didn't know what it was to make love, and she would never know anymore.

Warning; This article and the characters in it are purely fictitious.