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Book: Code of Disjointed Letters: ( Doomsday Will Arise From the Past by JT Alblood
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Authors: JT Alblood
Tags: Quran, Kafka, code, mystery and psychic, shutter island, disjointed letters, mystery and paranormal, talk to death, after death
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pervaded the lounge, and I grew afraid.
Hıdır was third. The cleric had trimmed his gray beard and was wearing black trousers, a snow-white collarless shirt, and a dark-green belt. His lips were moving as if in prayer. He stopped at the entrance and took the first step with a ‘bismillah.’ He then proceeded rapidly with confident steps as if a bright path was showing him the way. I wouldn’t have thought that even the ones who’d built the labyrinth could have gotten out of there so easily. When he reached the exit, the screen again stopped, this time at zero meters, four minutes, twenty-eight seconds.
When we turned to him, he greeted us with a gentle smile and opened his hands. “Sometimes you need to believe in luck,” he said humbly.
“Greetings to the second best,” Fatin chuckled. “I’ll send you the pictures of the awards I won.”
Dr. Feryal Özel now entered the labyrinth in a dark cream-colored suit accentuating her beauty. A pink scarf completed her outfit. She chose one of the walls and put her hand on it, and without drawing it away, she began to move, trailing her hand against the wall as she went. It was a very strange method, but interesting to watch, especially on the pilot camera. She navigated the maze in a different way from all the others. She was proceeding toward the exit, though slowly, and it seemed as if she was going to take the wrong path at any minute—but she made zero mistakes. When she reached the exit, the screen froze at zero meters, ten minutes, forty-three seconds.
In the lounge, we turned to Feryal, even more surprised than we had been at the previous winners.
Feryal smiled. “In fact, it was very simple, something my father taught me as a child. If you proceed while constantly touching one of the walls of a labyrinth, though it may take you a while, it always takes you to the exit.”
I was next. I took a deep breath as I saw myself on the screen wearing a blue leather outfit and a black belt. Although I felt uncomfortable at first, I had become accustomed to the clothing. I approached the entrance of the labyrinth and, after a little pause, I took my armband with the sensor off and attached it to my left shoe. Then, I took off the shoe and threw it over one of the walls, toward where I thought the exit was.
I relived those stressful moments, as on the screen, I watched myself begin the arduous process of proceeding back and forth down the corridors looking perplexed and aimless. I had considered the possibility of an elimination or disqualification but as I manipulated the rules of the competition, I worried that I was just making a fool of myself. The count on the clock got higher and higher, and, after a long time and quite a few attempts, I reached the place where my shoe had fallen. At that point, I made the logical choice and simply accepted my score. I didn’t know where the exit was and didn’t want to push my luck by throwing my shoe in what might be the wrong direction. The display clock stopped at 251 meters, 18 minutes, 12 seconds.
When the others turned to me, I said, “Do not ask me anything. That was the best I could do out of desperation.”
Gizem was the last competitor. She wore a very nice turquoise outfit that brought out the sheen of her red, wavy hair. When she passed the entrance, she held in one hand a folded astrological chart, and, in the other, tarot cards. She was very focused and confident as she stopped at the first intersection and proceeded, sometimes looking at the cards, sometimes at the page in her hand, and sometimes touching a bright red stone on her neck. This ritual took place at each of the intersections without exception, and at first she was successful. The meter countdown proceeded rapidly and I began to feel her excitement: 270, 269, 268, 267—
But then, she came to one more intersection. She knelt down and spent some time looking at the written pages in her hand and mumbling to herself. Then there came a sudden
Hıdır was third. The cleric had trimmed his gray beard and was wearing black trousers, a snow-white collarless shirt, and a dark-green belt. His lips were moving as if in prayer. He stopped at the entrance and took the first step with a ‘bismillah.’ He then proceeded rapidly with confident steps as if a bright path was showing him the way. I wouldn’t have thought that even the ones who’d built the labyrinth could have gotten out of there so easily. When he reached the exit, the screen again stopped, this time at zero meters, four minutes, twenty-eight seconds.
When we turned to him, he greeted us with a gentle smile and opened his hands. “Sometimes you need to believe in luck,” he said humbly.
“Greetings to the second best,” Fatin chuckled. “I’ll send you the pictures of the awards I won.”
Dr. Feryal Özel now entered the labyrinth in a dark cream-colored suit accentuating her beauty. A pink scarf completed her outfit. She chose one of the walls and put her hand on it, and without drawing it away, she began to move, trailing her hand against the wall as she went. It was a very strange method, but interesting to watch, especially on the pilot camera. She navigated the maze in a different way from all the others. She was proceeding toward the exit, though slowly, and it seemed as if she was going to take the wrong path at any minute—but she made zero mistakes. When she reached the exit, the screen froze at zero meters, ten minutes, forty-three seconds.
In the lounge, we turned to Feryal, even more surprised than we had been at the previous winners.
Feryal smiled. “In fact, it was very simple, something my father taught me as a child. If you proceed while constantly touching one of the walls of a labyrinth, though it may take you a while, it always takes you to the exit.”
I was next. I took a deep breath as I saw myself on the screen wearing a blue leather outfit and a black belt. Although I felt uncomfortable at first, I had become accustomed to the clothing. I approached the entrance of the labyrinth and, after a little pause, I took my armband with the sensor off and attached it to my left shoe. Then, I took off the shoe and threw it over one of the walls, toward where I thought the exit was.
I relived those stressful moments, as on the screen, I watched myself begin the arduous process of proceeding back and forth down the corridors looking perplexed and aimless. I had considered the possibility of an elimination or disqualification but as I manipulated the rules of the competition, I worried that I was just making a fool of myself. The count on the clock got higher and higher, and, after a long time and quite a few attempts, I reached the place where my shoe had fallen. At that point, I made the logical choice and simply accepted my score. I didn’t know where the exit was and didn’t want to push my luck by throwing my shoe in what might be the wrong direction. The display clock stopped at 251 meters, 18 minutes, 12 seconds.
When the others turned to me, I said, “Do not ask me anything. That was the best I could do out of desperation.”
Gizem was the last competitor. She wore a very nice turquoise outfit that brought out the sheen of her red, wavy hair. When she passed the entrance, she held in one hand a folded astrological chart, and, in the other, tarot cards. She was very focused and confident as she stopped at the first intersection and proceeded, sometimes looking at the cards, sometimes at the page in her hand, and sometimes touching a bright red stone on her neck. This ritual took place at each of the intersections without exception, and at first she was successful. The meter countdown proceeded rapidly and I began to feel her excitement: 270, 269, 268, 267—
But then, she came to one more intersection. She knelt down and spent some time looking at the written pages in her hand and mumbling to herself. Then there came a sudden
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