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Escape “It is time to escape!” the man shouted. “Maybe.” I answered in silence surrounding a panic. “Yunus, you sleep sweetly on the white, white sand with the smile detained on the day 2.13, and steadied.” I touched the words, the only words carved in the headstone. Smelling the dust and every little scene ever acted, which were still suffused around the air. I stepped along the stairs and slowly vanished into the shadow. Nevertheless, in fact, I just attempted to decorate my scar. Lights penetrating through the window stretched the nightmare over the corner. While, I just stared at the cloth bag she always had on. I knew exactly what was in it. I need her dairy, I need her voice, and even, I need escaping into her spirits. “She often reads them to me.” I lost in some temporary fantasy, as if what I stoke quietly was far from an actual dairy now. I could feel it clearly that all my aspirations have however flown into one single ambition, which was to open it. With every breathe I took, a white puff escaped into the wind, and then broke up in the heart the moment it cooled to a frost. Lights changed gently. Up to now, I completely realized the final light releasing from her eyes, flashing in the “missing” season: Spring, Summer, Fall, and Winter, but it suddenly faded, faded in the flooded fire spreading around Poland. The paper dipped in the dim sunshine, sank, sank in despair, with the simple words: No one can even escape this cold world. Tears melted the fresh ink: 1941.2.13 “Yunus, put on your coat and your wooden boots, then we may sail to our Promised Land forever.” Pour to those, who live as soft a lily as it does, devoted all to freedom.