the Least Magazine, Spring 2017

The Replica
Oğuz Kaan Özalp
It was a winter night. Snowflakes were dropping heavily on the roads,
hindering all entrances to the streets, and people had gladly sat at
their houses next to their chimneys. They filled their stomachs with
food and warm conversations. Generally, the residents loved those
nights, because they could spend more time with their families, except
for one, who loved the streets hidden underneath the snow, filled with
the absent echo of any human voice. He loved walking through the
M... streets side by side with constant solitude.
His name was Alexey Petrovich. He was a man of thirty-four, whose
hair and beard were painted with the colors of an abandoned colliery,
sentenced to carry a hunchback wherever he went. It seemed as if the
passing years had played games on him which he couldn't win. He
was like a faint shadow of a street lamp that people passed by without
taking any notice. No one saw him when he was walking, working or
perhaps living, or he presumed in that way. He worked at a company
which I do not know the name, his duty was to copy the papers. His
shift was from at 7 a.m to 6 p.m. This work compensated all of his
needs. His monotonous and miserable life confined him a
metaphorical box that ranged from work to his house, so he saw
nobody as anybody.
One night which was a cold, gloomy, clinical as any other nights,
something unexpected happened to our Petrovich. As he was walking
through the streets, he heard a voice behind him. At first, he didn’t
give the glad eye and he feared, his steps quickened. As he hastily
moved, he heard something which he did not abide.
“Stop Petrovich, do not run away from me.” Petrovich suddenly
stopped and turned to the voice that was coming from a woman. As
she approached him, he recognized her. Marina was her name and
she worked with Petrovich in the same company. She was known for
her outspoken and determined character, and she had always
expressed herself truthfully and directly.
Petrovich said, “What are you doing here at this hour?” and she
replied quickly “I was following you hoping to speak.”
Petrovich barely spoke with anyone and especially not with a woman.
Marina was a beautiful and attractive woman, she was thirty-two and
once married but it did not work out for her. Petrovich had no answer
to her and accidently he slipped a word; “Why?”.