Hendrik Sollich

Morning after

It was wide opened when she walked in. The Door was not locked as usually. It stood widely open.
The light was on and threw shads of purple and green through the room.
Stepping in she fought her way through a pile of trash, little pieces
of paper, clothes, magazines… Jenny! …bottles, cans,
puddles of sticky liquids… Jenny!… cigaret buds, ash
trays, dark trey stains of ash and burn marks in the carpet…Jenny? The air smelled dry, sweat, like
hazel nut. There was no sound in the room, nothing bot the repeating
scratching and disturbing noise of the ceiling fan. She thought about
last night. The rug in the dinning room was dry by now but there were
still little pieces of porcelain and glass spread where you couldn’t
see them and she almost stepped on one of them on the way up to the
room. Her husband was at work, he was busy trying to distract himself,
his company was doing well, they just expended their production to 17
but 15 different towels. Soon they were gonna start making beach towels
two. In 3 different sizes. It’s late! The Cat sleeping
on to of the counter between the lighters and joss sticks. Its name was
lucy; they found it in front of the house after its mother was run
over. Almost 4 years went by since that day and it always had slept in
that room on that very spot on the counter. Wake up! On
the window there were dirt prints; foot prints. The window was still
slightly open. It creaked pushed back and forth by the wind. She
stepped on a spoon. Lucy jumped up by the sound of car driving through
the neighborhood. The spoon was one of their good silver spoons; its
bottom site was blackened. I’m Sorry, I didn’t mean what I said…
the alarm on the night stand said [11:46am] I would like to talk
to you about him… it was still silent in the room. The closer
she stepped towards the bed the stronger the smell got. Please,
you can not remain silent for ever! The needle lay under the
bed out of her sight. Jenny!!! nothing Wake up!Talk to your mother it is important; your friend … they found him
last night, by the old church… her hand reached for the
blanket … you might not like to hear this but he is… she pulled the banket off her daughters body; the knife was by her
shoulder; her hand still holding her wrist; the Blood
was all over her; redsoacked was the sheet …dead.
 
©wiki.hoodie 

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Gott gibt keine Zeichen ... oder? von Wolfgang Luttermann



Eine gesellschaftskritische Betrachtung über Terror und Menschen.
Die tragischen Ereignisse vom 11. September 2001 in New York und Washington haben Wolfgang Luttermanns Leben komplett umgekrempelt. Die menschenverachtenden Taten der Terroristen und die drastische Gegenmaßnahme der US-Regierung störten sein inneres Gleichgewicht.

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