Morning.
I have been looking to find a corner. I tripped over my own feet again and again, somewhere was a stage where I'm stuck. My feet are currently no coordination and I stumble again and again so well just as I was looking. In here there is no light, but even though it is dark, it seems so blindingly bright wants me but I just hide. I want to get away. Disappear. Eventually, I stumbled against a wall and had me from entlanggetastet until I found this corner. Now I sit here, shut down on the wall. I do not know was, how much dust and Spiders I share the space - or whether it is ultimately just nothing else here but me.
I crouch together, I take up as little space as possible is only me.
I do not want. Will not, will not, not anymore. I can hardly breathe
and every time I try it but it hurts.
But I can not. I have to do as little as possible, I can not move, can not.
The Goblet of corrosive acid in my chest, which is now filled to the brim would otherwise overflow and destroy me.
I do not want to. And I realize that it still happen may be because I do not at some time still.
Not yet. Please.
I just want it to stop. I want everything to be quiet. Very, very long time still.
And no longer hurts. I
hands press against my face until I get the feeling that I draw by the skin of the bone.
When I feel a hand on my shoulder bulky, I cringe almost together - but only almost, just in time I remember that I do not spill the acid may.
He's here. Why? I'm still around in his world? His presence is
not comforting. It feels hot and burning, constricting, ill.
He remembers it and takes a bit of distance - at last no longer touches me, makes me breathe in gratitude.
But he stays. Although I have closed my eyes and we are in darkness, I know he is sitting opposite me.
long time we are silent.
I try not to think.
In his presence I will not break, do not give up.
Not if he is there!
"I thought you did not do that," he says at some point and I notice that my breathing very ceases.
Unfortunately, I can survive here without, in this room, other rules apply.
He's right. I never wanted to. I'm not really.
I just want to break. Unfortunately, there is no such thing.
I want - I want that is NOTHING.
nothing more. I want it to stop. I want all the damned will just disappear.
I can not.
It hurts. I know I'm a coward. So many people to tolerate pain.
And here, this is nothing. Actually it's nothing.
I'm so much accusations that I the burden of nothing will be crushed.
But I can not.
I am responsible, I'm human, I have to be kindly appreciated.
But I have no strength and no courage, no confidence in what is to come.
There's simply nothing more. I do not know why I stay behind so far behind everyone else, but I realize that the gap is widening. I should just keep his mouth and catch up, but I can not - I would rather pull back here and be quiet.
I want him to go. I did not answer. I ignore him. He should go away
so I finally can end.
Maybe he is just because of that. Right now I hate him for it.
One can accuse me of course.
that I will rest and black, and a finish that will pass. You can. I have.
I've blamed everything and therefore I do not care what else to say.
I've already told me anyway.
am And yet at that point.
How much I wish, just to be able to do something to make it stop.
Especially my own glory. All the mistakes I make.
How shall I ever repay you? "I can not. I CAN NOT DAMN!
am with a jerky movement, I on my feet, I cried the last words in the room, loudly and with the last strength. Then I get dizzy and even though anyway, everything is just black, is dark before my eyes. "Woe unto you catch me." I want to hit the ground, I want to feel that. Even if I'm unconscious and then I will be there in the knowledge that it is a non-braking case.
I can not make up for it. Even if all other forgive me sometime, I do not own it - hell no, it would be unjustified, the world is! to be inconsistent. Just because no one can stand the pressure, the so brings with it an attitude, it does not mean that it is right to avoid this pressure. Just because no one can see his own wickedness in the face. I do it go and die in it. So what? If you have not aushaltet you deserve to perish.
No . I do not think so. I love the people with their mistakes and no one deserves to fall.
Yes, you . Yes, the voice is right. I've earned it.
I just want it to stop.
Too bad that I know I wake up again anyway am.
Stop it. You're worried them. You're worried them!
This is not fair. ... This is not fair.
no more.
"I'm sorry, but I can not promise it to you."
His voice is warm and his body as well. I wake up and realize that I'm too close to him, but I can not defend myself. He has me connected to arms, though I have not done anything. So it is provisional, so I do not even come to mind, they aufzukratzen. My fingers stretch out up and touch his face - I see him before my eyes closed. Green Eyes, light hair, a striking face. I WILL NOT.
I do not want pity. I do not want comfort. I will not.
His words make it clear that he just got caught and I would like to scream with rage about it, but I can not, can not. Can not. I want to beat me. Can not. I want to throw me against the wall. Can not. Want to cry. Can not. Can only make me think.
stop It should.
Saturday, February 26, 2011
Sunday, February 20, 2011
Cover Letter For New Good Faith Estimate
Daddy Killed Us.
Do you remember summer?
"Do you remember the summer?"
The child's voice is quiet and timid, yet I can hear them. Throughout the room through them is clear. The moment in which they pronounce the little boy, the question is pure, but when she comes with me, she is troubled by all the dust, through which they had to pass. Clean is the place where we are, absolutely not. His voice sounds like fear and hopelessness. I know that he asks because he does not remembers. It is easy to understand. The few rays of light the glass through the opening covered by a sloping roof, are not sufficient to give an idea of 'sun'. As long as we sit here now in our corners in the shadows and let it be that the dust flakes settle on our clothes? So long that none of us knows what fresh air smells and tastes like freedom. heartedness . I remember the word and know that it's something I want. But what exactly, I can not say more about my soul. The summer. A time of sun, heat, light and ... Happiness. My tired eyes, try the small Boys identify more precisely in the opposite corner. Its been suggested knee healed, but it still looks bad. His bare legs under the shorts are too dirty and pressed vigorously on the narrow body. He holds on himself because he is falling apart otherwise. His eyes no longer shine. To know this, I can not even see. They remain hidden in the shadows. I see everything that is connected to its question in front of me. Earlier - more than an eternity, I think, this is my life but only as short - seemed than the sun.
We laugh and I sit on the swings, he always vibrate. I hold myself to the ropes and look me over again to him. He does it for me, although I am older. But it was always like this, since he could walk. That he protects me more than the other way around. He did always like that. Whether it was if I had to eat something disgusting, which had been boiled, or so that I am not in school, the homework was. He wanted to be there for me and help me. I went with him otherwise, but I ... The swing goes directly into the light, I think. Ever higher, ever closer to the sun. At some point I let go and fly, with closed eyes. For a moment, everything in my body tingles with joy - then I fell into the grass. He is frightened, but I roll onto my back and smile. I feel really very good. He need not worry. I would still want to get him before. All is well.
Nothing is good. The feelings are long gone. When cold fades.. My fingernails scraping dried blood from my forearm, thereby tearing the wound of which have again. This is the only occupation that is still here inside me. I feel as if I had not for years moved from the spot. Therefore the dust settles on my lips and hung in my eyelashes. I see hardly anything left of it. past. The color of the blood acts strangely out of place. Everything is gray around us. The dusty attic provides otherwise. All around us are ruins. Shards of our lives. But they are all colorless. Before the door is the old three-wheeler of the little boy. At some point there was a time when it was green, like his eyes. But now it's gray, dusty , and his eyes are. Somewhere - I remember me any more -. is a ball that was once orange We must have him thrown us. At that time. As it was so hot outside that we were both wearing only swimming trunks and the water hose was on. But now he's hunched into himself and ... gray. The blood on my arm seems to shine, because it has a color. I cannot deb arm so that it drips onto the floor. There it is absorbed by the dust layer in which we have not left a single footprint. Thus, the gaudy red is reduced, finally, it turns black. Good. Soon it will no longer be seen. If in the old days, a bled of us, the others are taken with a bandage. But then . Then patch soon had not been enough and not words of comfort. And so we sat in silence and the pain of the one had become the pain of others. I want to touch him. Deprive him of his pain today. I know that I can not. So long we sit here and have never touched again. I do not believe that I could. Knowing what was - what is still in our minds. My hand would go through his round.
twins. We were always happy, but he has it on cruelly against us played. At some point you said - at least he left us to our summer. This one summer we had. It was the best summer of our lives. Our life was over so quickly. We have done more together than ever before. For days we were out and about and have enjoyed our holiday, our freedom. We walked barefoot on gravel roads, climbed trees. We played Indians, if you wanted to, and the lion kingdom, if I wanted to. At least you've never laughed at me. We have fished with homemade fishing in a pond and never caught anything. We greased our own bread and went picnicking. In the fields behind our house, in the corn. We snuck up on the cows, slow, and if they were not angry, we were able to pet them. We sat side by side on branches and watched the sunset at midnight. I have loved you and you loved me. It was a summer full of life and yes, you were right. He has left us. You. The little boy at my side. You. My brother. The little boy who is now sitting there and afraid to forget the summer. The summer he has left us. But then came the fall and winter came after him. After that there was no longer summer, then yes, there was not even light.
"What has he done to you? Tell me!" I I asked, so desperate, because I had so hoped very much that the little boy I would be an answer to that is not my corresponded idea. But the favor he could do not to me. course. Because we were twins, we were equal. So he had to do to us the same. I was the elder, he was with me first. I wish I could protect you then, I hope this day so much. Maybe I would be alone now up here and the little boy in the other corner would play outside in the sunlight. But for me, but he would remember what is summer. We could not do anything. If we have defended us, it was worse. I hated to be helpless, but it happened almost every time I knew then that it was too late when I woke up. Too late to run to you and save you. The little boy to save at least once.
began when he, not separate us from each other more times to get to us pass away, I believe, as our souls are broken for good. I in the green eyes of the boys had to look when he first me and then what he was doing terrible - I did so very sorry. And him with security. If we tried to keep us afterwards in the arms, we did it without our knowledge like a. Naked and broken, we huddled together and it was obviously something he enjoyed. Because later he forced us to touch each other. At first we thought it a relief. It was not bad to have to stroke the cheek of the other. Our faces are similar sich so sehr. Nur dass er ein Muttermal unter dem rechten Auge tägt, während meines unter dem linken ist. Auch seinen Körper zu berühren, war in Ordnung. Ich habe versucht, durch meine Berührung das zu lindern, was unser Vater getan hatte. Nicht mal, ihn zwischen den Beinen zu berühren, war wirklich schlimm. Wir kannten unsere Körper. Aber zu wissen, dass der Mann zusah und zu wissen, was er währenddessen tat, ließ uns beide erkalten.
Es war nicht das erste Mal, dass sich unsere Zungen berührten. In unserem Sommer. In unserem Sommer war es geschehen. Du hast I just kissed, and I have not ceased to return it. We were perhaps too young, we were brothers, but we have even slept together. I think we were curious. But perhaps we also knew that we had to allow our connection to each other to the extreme, because we would never again have a chance to live a second summer. Back then it was beautiful. In winter, destroyed all the experiences. having to do it while watching father, erased all the wonderful sensations from simple, we've had together. We do need to, while often even one of us during which took darkened everything and let the good that we had also act as a bad thing. I do not know how often we have died this winter.
"I feel nothing." - ". I do not either" The hand of my brother takes my care. His skin is cold. Mine too. Therefore, I can feel him hard. "Let us go, will you?" I look at him long and finally I understand what he means. Running away would we never. We were afraid he would find us. But we were still able to escape. We just wanted back in the summer, I know that, and sure you will too, brother. Certainly this was your wish. Back in the summer must. But it where we are.
Up here we are and envelop us from the dust. Shadows of the past that we breathe. Unmoved. Not able to hold each other. He has taken us, right? The light. The feelings. Our lives. Er. He alone has taken it to us. Ich kann nicht glauben, was er mit unseren Körpern getan hat, als wir lebten. Aber noch unbegreiflicher scheint mir, was er tat, als wir gestorben waren. Er hat uns unter unserem Baum begraben, Bruder. Spürst du das? Er hat unsere Körper in einer unendlichen, nackten Umarmung unter unserem Sommerbaum begraben. Kein Kreuz, keine Blume, aber von ihm hätte ich keine gewollt. Dort liegen wir, Erde und Verwesung in unseren Lungen, Maden in unseren Augenhöhlen. Kein Lächeln. Aber wir halten einander. Wenn wir erst zergangen sind, werden wir in unserem Baum wachsen. Die Sonnenstrahlen, von denen ich hoffe, dass sie dort sind, treffen only the ground about us. They do not penetrate to the cold before bed where we are. But we will watch first, then we will be able to feel them. Perhaps we become leaves. Perhaps to flowers. But I can not enjoy it, because I lost hope. Even if I fall in the memories that I can not reach the heat of our summer.
"No," I reply so quiet now. No, I do not remember the summer. I do not remember how it feels. But I want it back. The little boy in the opposite Ecke nickt. Zum ersten Mal eine Bewegung, die ich wahrnehme. "Der Moment ist gekommen", sagt er dann und ich sehe ihn an, sehe ihn einfach nur an. Meinst du wirklich den Moment? Den, auf den wir warten, seit wir uns auf diesem verstaubten Friedhof unserer Kindheit in die Ecken verkrochen haben? Der Junge steht auf - du stehst auf! Wir haben uns seit, so scheint es, Jahrhunderten nicht mehr bewegt. So lange ist es nicht, das weiß ich, doch unser kindliches Empfinden zieht die Jahrzehnte, die vergangen sind, so sehr in die Länge. Der kleine Junge geht auf mich zu. Um ihn herum wirbelt nicht der geringste Staub auf und er hinterlässt keine Fußabdrücke. We are not here. you stay in front of me - you, he, me, my brother and blood dripping from his arm to the ground and leaves behind black drops that are within a few seconds it disappeared again.. Eternal memory and eternal death. "Our moment?" I ask softly.
"I'm afraid," I admit. Anxiety is a feeling that is still there, but even they seem dull and empty and cold. Outside, snow is not even. It is a cold, snow-less winter. "I," you say to me anyway and hit the second Kitchen knife in his hand. I always welcome it is like a handle. I will tell you something. That I love you. But I feel it can hardly know how to pronounce it there? We do it. It hardly hurts. I will hold you while our blood is flowing on the kitchen floor. I want to hug you. At least our hands to hold each other, we go to the ground. And then we flee to the attic, stay here.
Your face is staubmaskiert, but when you nod, a part of it falls to the ground. Below are your beautiful features to light and I realize that I am able to see through you. I get up, with the greatest effort. our moment. I hear the stairs creak. Slowly. Our father is an older young man. I can already smell the alcohol, he ausdünstet from every pore. For twenty years he has not dared to enter the attic of his own house after he drove his twin sons to suicide. Twenty years, but now he wants to clean up the mess, right? Maybe he needs the space. I thought his and feel me feel sick of them. In reflex, I reach for your hand -. But I can not touch you It was only when the eye of a boy with my mixes, I feel fit. I can feel that the man who has done us all that wants to burn our things. Your tricycle and my ball, all the chips, a reminder that here one child lived.
We were so small today, we would grow up. But we remain for fourteen years always old.
We are no t here.
I feel the kitchen knife in my hand when my own blood and see that you also keep your. Our moment is here. A moan is heard from outside. From the other side of the wooden door. It is a well worn, decrepit groan of a body, the displacement, alcohol and nicotine have eaten. Guilt feelings he never had. Although it is another painful groan it reminds me of the panting, which I used to be much too hot in my neck can feel it. Previously would have It triggered panic, now it hurts. But the pain tells me that my feeling is coming back. I look at the boy next to me and tell if it you are too. We look back on dusty window in the attic. Frosted glass. Everything outside is unclear. But nevertheless, we recognize that there is sunlight. Then scraped off the key in the lock and the door opens. The blood dripping from our arms faster, until it flows. It flows faster on the ground when the reality is behind us dream herwischen ghosts, so that form patches up to the door . Seep When the old man enters, he sees them. I know that he can see her, for he hesitates. Just stares. With his dark eyes staring fearfully. I'm so glad we have the eyes of our mother, even if they leave us. At least they gave us something never done. Then he lifts his head. A grunt of surprise escaped him and he will retreat. He sees us and how we look good? Semi-transparent. Blass. Dusty. With bloody arms and accusing glance. He can not believe it recedes. Maybe he just falls down the stairs r and breaks his neck , I think hopefully, but he is doing us a favor, because his back will rub against the wall. Your knife is the first that it hurt. You were always the more courageous and stronger, though it was my job. But now you can do it first stab. Shortly after, I'm next to you. I'm not really mad at him. I'm just appalled and disgusted. And I will avenge you. For what he did to you. More than my pain, I would like to make up for yours. I think the man tried to strike at us and we push away, but his hands go through us. He remains bloody. From a wound in the neck small blood seep bubbles when he must let his last, humid breath. Then he is gone.
Something falls on me and I know it's you, my brother, feel the same. I look at you and I see color in your green eyes. The dust is gone from them. You take my hand and I can feel you. As we go down the stairs, I realize that I can breathe, even though we no longer last in this building were.
connect through the patio door, we out into the light it receives and us - it was waiting for us.
I can smell the fragrance, I can feel the sun, I know you are with me.
It is summer.
"Yes," I now bring out a choked voice.
"Yes, I remember."
We go out and the light takes us, as it should be.
We are flourishing.
Do you remember summer?
"Do you remember the summer?"
The child's voice is quiet and timid, yet I can hear them. Throughout the room through them is clear. The moment in which they pronounce the little boy, the question is pure, but when she comes with me, she is troubled by all the dust, through which they had to pass. Clean is the place where we are, absolutely not. His voice sounds like fear and hopelessness. I know that he asks because he does not remembers. It is easy to understand. The few rays of light the glass through the opening covered by a sloping roof, are not sufficient to give an idea of 'sun'. As long as we sit here now in our corners in the shadows and let it be that the dust flakes settle on our clothes? So long that none of us knows what fresh air smells and tastes like freedom. heartedness . I remember the word and know that it's something I want. But what exactly, I can not say more about my soul. The summer. A time of sun, heat, light and ... Happiness. My tired eyes, try the small Boys identify more precisely in the opposite corner. Its been suggested knee healed, but it still looks bad. His bare legs under the shorts are too dirty and pressed vigorously on the narrow body. He holds on himself because he is falling apart otherwise. His eyes no longer shine. To know this, I can not even see. They remain hidden in the shadows. I see everything that is connected to its question in front of me. Earlier - more than an eternity, I think, this is my life but only as short - seemed than the sun.
We laugh and I sit on the swings, he always vibrate. I hold myself to the ropes and look me over again to him. He does it for me, although I am older. But it was always like this, since he could walk. That he protects me more than the other way around. He did always like that. Whether it was if I had to eat something disgusting, which had been boiled, or so that I am not in school, the homework was. He wanted to be there for me and help me. I went with him otherwise, but I ... The swing goes directly into the light, I think. Ever higher, ever closer to the sun. At some point I let go and fly, with closed eyes. For a moment, everything in my body tingles with joy - then I fell into the grass. He is frightened, but I roll onto my back and smile. I feel really very good. He need not worry. I would still want to get him before. All is well.
Nothing is good. The feelings are long gone. When cold fades.. My fingernails scraping dried blood from my forearm, thereby tearing the wound of which have again. This is the only occupation that is still here inside me. I feel as if I had not for years moved from the spot. Therefore the dust settles on my lips and hung in my eyelashes. I see hardly anything left of it. past. The color of the blood acts strangely out of place. Everything is gray around us. The dusty attic provides otherwise. All around us are ruins. Shards of our lives. But they are all colorless. Before the door is the old three-wheeler of the little boy. At some point there was a time when it was green, like his eyes. But now it's gray, dusty , and his eyes are. Somewhere - I remember me any more -. is a ball that was once orange We must have him thrown us. At that time. As it was so hot outside that we were both wearing only swimming trunks and the water hose was on. But now he's hunched into himself and ... gray. The blood on my arm seems to shine, because it has a color. I cannot deb arm so that it drips onto the floor. There it is absorbed by the dust layer in which we have not left a single footprint. Thus, the gaudy red is reduced, finally, it turns black. Good. Soon it will no longer be seen. If in the old days, a bled of us, the others are taken with a bandage. But then . Then patch soon had not been enough and not words of comfort. And so we sat in silence and the pain of the one had become the pain of others. I want to touch him. Deprive him of his pain today. I know that I can not. So long we sit here and have never touched again. I do not believe that I could. Knowing what was - what is still in our minds. My hand would go through his round.
twins. We were always happy, but he has it on cruelly against us played. At some point you said - at least he left us to our summer. This one summer we had. It was the best summer of our lives. Our life was over so quickly. We have done more together than ever before. For days we were out and about and have enjoyed our holiday, our freedom. We walked barefoot on gravel roads, climbed trees. We played Indians, if you wanted to, and the lion kingdom, if I wanted to. At least you've never laughed at me. We have fished with homemade fishing in a pond and never caught anything. We greased our own bread and went picnicking. In the fields behind our house, in the corn. We snuck up on the cows, slow, and if they were not angry, we were able to pet them. We sat side by side on branches and watched the sunset at midnight. I have loved you and you loved me. It was a summer full of life and yes, you were right. He has left us. You. The little boy at my side. You. My brother. The little boy who is now sitting there and afraid to forget the summer. The summer he has left us. But then came the fall and winter came after him. After that there was no longer summer, then yes, there was not even light.
"What has he done to you? Tell me!" I I asked, so desperate, because I had so hoped very much that the little boy I would be an answer to that is not my corresponded idea. But the favor he could do not to me. course. Because we were twins, we were equal. So he had to do to us the same. I was the elder, he was with me first. I wish I could protect you then, I hope this day so much. Maybe I would be alone now up here and the little boy in the other corner would play outside in the sunlight. But for me, but he would remember what is summer. We could not do anything. If we have defended us, it was worse. I hated to be helpless, but it happened almost every time I knew then that it was too late when I woke up. Too late to run to you and save you. The little boy to save at least once.
began when he, not separate us from each other more times to get to us pass away, I believe, as our souls are broken for good. I in the green eyes of the boys had to look when he first me and then what he was doing terrible - I did so very sorry. And him with security. If we tried to keep us afterwards in the arms, we did it without our knowledge like a. Naked and broken, we huddled together and it was obviously something he enjoyed. Because later he forced us to touch each other. At first we thought it a relief. It was not bad to have to stroke the cheek of the other. Our faces are similar sich so sehr. Nur dass er ein Muttermal unter dem rechten Auge tägt, während meines unter dem linken ist. Auch seinen Körper zu berühren, war in Ordnung. Ich habe versucht, durch meine Berührung das zu lindern, was unser Vater getan hatte. Nicht mal, ihn zwischen den Beinen zu berühren, war wirklich schlimm. Wir kannten unsere Körper. Aber zu wissen, dass der Mann zusah und zu wissen, was er währenddessen tat, ließ uns beide erkalten.
Es war nicht das erste Mal, dass sich unsere Zungen berührten. In unserem Sommer. In unserem Sommer war es geschehen. Du hast I just kissed, and I have not ceased to return it. We were perhaps too young, we were brothers, but we have even slept together. I think we were curious. But perhaps we also knew that we had to allow our connection to each other to the extreme, because we would never again have a chance to live a second summer. Back then it was beautiful. In winter, destroyed all the experiences. having to do it while watching father, erased all the wonderful sensations from simple, we've had together. We do need to, while often even one of us during which took darkened everything and let the good that we had also act as a bad thing. I do not know how often we have died this winter.
"I feel nothing." - ". I do not either" The hand of my brother takes my care. His skin is cold. Mine too. Therefore, I can feel him hard. "Let us go, will you?" I look at him long and finally I understand what he means. Running away would we never. We were afraid he would find us. But we were still able to escape. We just wanted back in the summer, I know that, and sure you will too, brother. Certainly this was your wish. Back in the summer must. But it where we are.
Up here we are and envelop us from the dust. Shadows of the past that we breathe. Unmoved. Not able to hold each other. He has taken us, right? The light. The feelings. Our lives. Er. He alone has taken it to us. Ich kann nicht glauben, was er mit unseren Körpern getan hat, als wir lebten. Aber noch unbegreiflicher scheint mir, was er tat, als wir gestorben waren. Er hat uns unter unserem Baum begraben, Bruder. Spürst du das? Er hat unsere Körper in einer unendlichen, nackten Umarmung unter unserem Sommerbaum begraben. Kein Kreuz, keine Blume, aber von ihm hätte ich keine gewollt. Dort liegen wir, Erde und Verwesung in unseren Lungen, Maden in unseren Augenhöhlen. Kein Lächeln. Aber wir halten einander. Wenn wir erst zergangen sind, werden wir in unserem Baum wachsen. Die Sonnenstrahlen, von denen ich hoffe, dass sie dort sind, treffen only the ground about us. They do not penetrate to the cold before bed where we are. But we will watch first, then we will be able to feel them. Perhaps we become leaves. Perhaps to flowers. But I can not enjoy it, because I lost hope. Even if I fall in the memories that I can not reach the heat of our summer.
"No," I reply so quiet now. No, I do not remember the summer. I do not remember how it feels. But I want it back. The little boy in the opposite Ecke nickt. Zum ersten Mal eine Bewegung, die ich wahrnehme. "Der Moment ist gekommen", sagt er dann und ich sehe ihn an, sehe ihn einfach nur an. Meinst du wirklich den Moment? Den, auf den wir warten, seit wir uns auf diesem verstaubten Friedhof unserer Kindheit in die Ecken verkrochen haben? Der Junge steht auf - du stehst auf! Wir haben uns seit, so scheint es, Jahrhunderten nicht mehr bewegt. So lange ist es nicht, das weiß ich, doch unser kindliches Empfinden zieht die Jahrzehnte, die vergangen sind, so sehr in die Länge. Der kleine Junge geht auf mich zu. Um ihn herum wirbelt nicht der geringste Staub auf und er hinterlässt keine Fußabdrücke. We are not here. you stay in front of me - you, he, me, my brother and blood dripping from his arm to the ground and leaves behind black drops that are within a few seconds it disappeared again.. Eternal memory and eternal death. "Our moment?" I ask softly.
"I'm afraid," I admit. Anxiety is a feeling that is still there, but even they seem dull and empty and cold. Outside, snow is not even. It is a cold, snow-less winter. "I," you say to me anyway and hit the second Kitchen knife in his hand. I always welcome it is like a handle. I will tell you something. That I love you. But I feel it can hardly know how to pronounce it there? We do it. It hardly hurts. I will hold you while our blood is flowing on the kitchen floor. I want to hug you. At least our hands to hold each other, we go to the ground. And then we flee to the attic, stay here.
Your face is staubmaskiert, but when you nod, a part of it falls to the ground. Below are your beautiful features to light and I realize that I am able to see through you. I get up, with the greatest effort. our moment. I hear the stairs creak. Slowly. Our father is an older young man. I can already smell the alcohol, he ausdünstet from every pore. For twenty years he has not dared to enter the attic of his own house after he drove his twin sons to suicide. Twenty years, but now he wants to clean up the mess, right? Maybe he needs the space. I thought his and feel me feel sick of them. In reflex, I reach for your hand -. But I can not touch you It was only when the eye of a boy with my mixes, I feel fit. I can feel that the man who has done us all that wants to burn our things. Your tricycle and my ball, all the chips, a reminder that here one child lived.
We were so small today, we would grow up. But we remain for fourteen years always old.
We are no t here.
I feel the kitchen knife in my hand when my own blood and see that you also keep your. Our moment is here. A moan is heard from outside. From the other side of the wooden door. It is a well worn, decrepit groan of a body, the displacement, alcohol and nicotine have eaten. Guilt feelings he never had. Although it is another painful groan it reminds me of the panting, which I used to be much too hot in my neck can feel it. Previously would have It triggered panic, now it hurts. But the pain tells me that my feeling is coming back. I look at the boy next to me and tell if it you are too. We look back on dusty window in the attic. Frosted glass. Everything outside is unclear. But nevertheless, we recognize that there is sunlight. Then scraped off the key in the lock and the door opens. The blood dripping from our arms faster, until it flows. It flows faster on the ground when the reality is behind us dream herwischen ghosts, so that form patches up to the door . Seep When the old man enters, he sees them. I know that he can see her, for he hesitates. Just stares. With his dark eyes staring fearfully. I'm so glad we have the eyes of our mother, even if they leave us. At least they gave us something never done. Then he lifts his head. A grunt of surprise escaped him and he will retreat. He sees us and how we look good? Semi-transparent. Blass. Dusty. With bloody arms and accusing glance. He can not believe it recedes. Maybe he just falls down the stairs r and breaks his neck , I think hopefully, but he is doing us a favor, because his back will rub against the wall. Your knife is the first that it hurt. You were always the more courageous and stronger, though it was my job. But now you can do it first stab. Shortly after, I'm next to you. I'm not really mad at him. I'm just appalled and disgusted. And I will avenge you. For what he did to you. More than my pain, I would like to make up for yours. I think the man tried to strike at us and we push away, but his hands go through us. He remains bloody. From a wound in the neck small blood seep bubbles when he must let his last, humid breath. Then he is gone.
Something falls on me and I know it's you, my brother, feel the same. I look at you and I see color in your green eyes. The dust is gone from them. You take my hand and I can feel you. As we go down the stairs, I realize that I can breathe, even though we no longer last in this building were.
connect through the patio door, we out into the light it receives and us - it was waiting for us.
I can smell the fragrance, I can feel the sun, I know you are with me.
It is summer.
"Yes," I now bring out a choked voice.
"Yes, I remember."
We go out and the light takes us, as it should be.
We are flourishing.
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