Free Code of Disjointed Letters: ( Doomsday Will Arise From the Past by JT Alblood

nurture them and the child grows up, I have raised a human being.
    But here was a man who was scattering his thoughts in a strange new way, but it would be a lie if I said such distinct thoughts had not existed before in history. Such inferences, whether right or wrong, hurt only if they are not kept secret.
    But, when these thoughts and their conclusions are incorrect and affect the lives of others, intervention is needed. Of course, there is another possibility: if everything he said was right and was transmitted to other people, then everyone and everything could be rebuilt.
    The poor boy was lying on his bed semiconscious and covered in blood. His weak moans echoed slightly off of the walls in the dark. It wasn’t the right time.
    Murmuring a prayer, I touched his head, and, with each light touch, his broken nose, fractured skull, internal hemorrhaging, and, finally, the wounds on his face, slowly disappeared.
    To wipe his memory, I touched his head once more, sealing the neuronal synaptic connection in his hippocampus. I could hear the sound of the morning azan from far away. By the time I left, only the memory of a faint menthol smell would remain in the room.
     
    I’m Oktay
    When I awoke in the morning, the sun had already risen and the hour was late. After a two-minute indulgence, I stood up and felt a slight headache and some stiff muscles. I went to the bathroom and noticed that an area on my chest was sore. I slipped off my undershirt and saw an oddly shaped bruise. Where did that come from? Had I bumped into something when I was asleep? I went through my memory of the night before, but I couldn’t associate the bruise with anything. There was no pain. I felt good.
    When I returned to my room, I found a document with this week’s task:
 
    This week, each competitor is going to produce something using his own knowledge and experience. Each contestant will present what he has produced in the next round of competition. If your creation is accepted by the others, then you will remain in the competition; if not, you will be eliminated.
Good luck.
BBM Competition Coordinator
     
    What do they mean? I thought. What does it mean to produce something? Such a subjective definition—it could be anything from lyrics to a drawing or some kind of mathematical formula. Did they want us to create something that would be demanded and sold? In order to sell someone what you have made or produced, the person has to want it desperately and be ready to pay any price. I would need to produce something that someone would desperately want. But, this left me at the mercy of the desire and taste of another human. Maybe I could poison someone and wait for him or her to buy the antidote , I thought, laughing.
    When I went into the lounge, everyone was there. They all looked sleep deprived as they sat yawning and chatting quietly. Greeting them, I sank into the armchair beside them. “So, what do you think about this week’s competition?” I asked.
    “Dr. Özel can explain more scientifically, but I think this will be an opportunity to realize why we live and what we can bring to society,” said Hıdır.
    I liked him. Although we didn’t chat a lot, my sense of his warmth and confidence strengthened my opinion of him as time went on.
    “A correct analysis, indeed,” Dr. Özel agreed. “But in the end, if you want your creation to be bought for certain, you have to oblige the buyer. It is based on real need. A war economy, for example, requires increasingly superior weapon systems and the weapons needed to shield against them. This mentality relates to most things. Think of computers. Although no one at first needs an antivirus software program, if you spread viruses on the internet, there will be a demand for antivirus programs.”
    “By that logic, if you let people suffer from hunger, they’ll buy food from you,” Fatin jumped in, smiling.
    “You have only barely perceived the subject,” I snapped at Fatin. He had begun