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Sci-fi Novel - The Dream Artist - Part 14

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muratkbesiroglu
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7 months agoBusy5 min read

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Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Part 6
Part 7
Part 8
Part 9
Part 10
Part 11
Part 12
Part 13

Part 14

After watching C.'s show for a while, we left the studio quietly, passed through the living room and went into the garden. The torrential rain left its place in the misty sky when we were inside. It was cold and dark outside. I saw the kids outside waiting by our capsule motorbikes running away in the twilight. They seemed to be in a hurry to tell someone about something. We didn't talk until we got on our bikes, and I guessed Peri was evaluating what she heard like me. “They're not close friends,” said Peri on the radio.

Probably Selim Özben was visiting C. to supply drugs. Friendship and trade were settled together," I said.

“Interesting point of view,” said Peri.

“It seems to me that it is only possible for adult people to enter a dangerous zone late at night. C.’s settling in this neighborhood may also be due to the fact that he liked the environment during the visits to buy drugs. He was not only supplying drugs, but he was also involved in the debauchery. During these periods, he may have given his heart to a woman, and she could have responded to his love. When he spoke of this neighborhood, his eyes were gleaming with happiness. She must be a woman he meets and loves; he is happy with her. The fact that he did not have a heartfelt acceptance as he did here in his previous social circle probably led to the growth of antipathy towards the upper layers of society. He's an emotional man, and I don't doubt that his sentimentality has a lot of reaction. This reaction may have poisoned his relationships. After all, it is pleasing to him that he has caught happiness in some way. What we learn about Selim Özben is that he rarely uses drugs, unless he has other resources. Someone who has such a busy pace does not have time to use drugs very often."

“How can you be so sure that C.’s on drugs?”

"I saw the cigarette wrapping apparatus under his seat, and unfiltered cigarettes wrapped in that apparatus must have caused the yellowing on the middle and index finger of his right hand."

We were driving our capsule bikes slowly because we were evaluating our visit. This slowness may have saved our lives because after a sharp bend we came across huge logs stacked on our way. I shouted to Peri, “lift the front wheel and drive, and put your bike in the following mode."

As soon as we were put into the gas, the bullets started raining on us. We flew over the logs and crashed on the ground unbalanced. The capsule motorcycle progressed like a giant baseball ball where it fell and managed to rise back on its wheels. I felt a lot of pain on my left shoulder, but it shouldn't be too bad since it didn't bleed. I saw from the back camera that Peri's motorcycle got up and kept coming. Peri seemed not conscious; her eyes were closed. Now we had a giant truck that has blocked the road completely. The truck was so close that I closed my eyes to prepare for the crash. Before I died, I just thought I'd visit my mother more often. I opened my eyes when I didn't hear the sound of the collision I expected to hear. There was no truck near us, the capsule motorcycle's collision inhibitor must have managed to get the motorcycle on the side road at the last minute. When I saw from the rear camera that Peri's vehicle was following me on autopilot, I heard a great deal of gratitude to the manufacturers of the capsule bikes. There were many red lights on the motorcycle's control console. The distance measurement laser, cameras, heat and light sensors on the device were damaged. We were out of neighborhood boundaries now.

I told the motorcycle's autopilot to stop and pull over. Peri's bike, which was set to follow mine, stood behind me. I opened the door of the motorcycle, even if it was a little pushy. I was more worried about Peri. Although I wanted to, I couldn't move fast; I approached her bike with heavy strides like a zombie — no scar or blood on her face. The motorcycle door must have been stuck, and I couldn't open it, even though I hung it with all my strength. I had a taste of blood in my mouth, mixed with rainwater, flowing down my chin. The pain on my shoulder was aggravated when I stood up. My eyes were dark; my knees were broken, I lost myself.

Image Source: https://pixabay.com/tr/motosiklet-h%C4%B1z-kask-1690452/

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