The Turkish Eye of Protection

The crimson sun had absorbed every drop of crystal liquid. It bubbled in the cyan sky, sending rays of sunlight in every direction.

The cobbled streets were glued together like tiny pieces of glass. Restaurants and local shops were dotted in and out of shady alleyways. The sea, a body of water, was striped with golden streaks, with white sails balanced on top.

A tall man beckoned me to a doorway of a white-washed, terraced restaurant. It stood wonky, as though trying to reach out to the sun with its thatched roof-top.

“Princess,” called the white-bloused man, softly.

I skipped over and he made me put out my hand so he could time a pink threaded bracelet around my wrist.

“The eye is a symbol of protection and safe from evil,” he explained.

The man brought his hand to his face to cover the fiery coin in the sky.

“Thank you. Tesekkur ederim!” I said.

The lanterns jingled and tangled in a row of paint-potted houses. It was a vast place with secrets waiting to be discovered.