For all tourists – if these people still existed somewhere-, the eastern part of Berlin looked the same. At least in the night. And at least from the lights. The long Unter den Linden still showed nice facades glowing in the endless parade of lampposts, shining their orange light into the crowns of the trees in the middle of the street. And yet, even the first and maybe second impression of the normality of this street could not stop the…
He could see the glaring light, roaring upwards to the sky. Sadly, it was on the other end of Berlin, as Max had told him. This ray of light was part of the great diversion. And yet, he was not sure, if it would work. He had survived Tiergarten, a place, where people lived, dwelled, which were more loke hermits, but neither humble nor peaceful. He knew her looks, her eyes hidden behind walls of covers, as if they were…
Standing in the rain again, Max looked at the smoke which rose from the tip of his cigarette. He barely smoked, but he liked the mix of smoke and fog, which rose from the sidewalk, from the underground bunkers, from the empty spaces, in which Lasseter slept now. Did he really sleep? „Any adress?“, he asked Viktor. „The official location is just top of the street to the right, Bismarckstraße, just 5 Kilometers away, but the real adress is more…
Viktor dreamed about sunless skies and rotten towers looming over the endless silhouette of a small town. He often dreamed about this, feeling his feet walking over the puzzle pieces made from cobblestone streets. His eyes met the dark windows, the shadows behind them, sitting in buildings, houses, which were more or less empty. But not always. Often he heard a creaking sound from the voids behind the lidless glass, the movement of tiny feet slurping over rotten woods. But…
It rained. It usually rained. The clouds over Berlin never disappeared, at least not for long. The moist of the constant memory, that climate was fucked, clinged to every wall, every person, everything. Even the fires, which burned on the streets, created more fog than heat. Even the ash became slime. And the humans, I mean, humanity probably mutated in the background, in some hidden cellar, delevoping webs between fingers and toes. But that was not a real problem. Viktor…
He woke up in darkness, pure and absolute darkness. His lips were dry, he could feel the cracks, filled with dried blood. He lifted his head. Closed his eyes, opened them again. His shoulders burned, his arms probably were made of stone: no, he could move them. He lifted his hands to his face, felt his features: he was intact. But he was cold. And naked. He could feel the dryness of the place, he was. His back leaned on…
Two days after, John Joe woke up from a basic nightmare. He stared at the window, looked at the moving shadows of the old trees. Rain poured down, at least since yesterday. He tried to hear Dunwic, but couldn’t. The man was silent as a church mouse. And rich like a rich man. John Joe went to the kitchen to make some coffee. While the machine blubbered and steamed the room, he went to the bathroom, put his head in…
Someone knocked at the door. John Joe must had been dozing, because he thought, it was thunder in the sky, but in the end, the long shadow of Mr. Dunwic stood in the door frame. His extremities looked weird, but the marvelous glass work which was set in the main door created that impression. „Mr Dunwic. Come in.“ Dunwic lowered his hat – he wore a hat! -, bowed slightly and smiled pleasantly. „I hope, I don’t disturb your peace.“…
John Joe was a little man – but not in real life. In reality, he was almost 6 foot 5 inches tall, but in the other world, I mean, the other universe, come on … the other reality, he was small. Little. Tiny. The said reality was the financial one. Which meant, his bank account almost didn’t exist. It was empty as a church mouses future. And John Joe hoped for one. A future. Not a church mouse. He had…
while watching „The Howling II“ I received a writing prompt about writing a short piece of fiction from the eyes of a certain famous horror-actor and this is my try – for the lolz I crossed the stream at 3 in the morning. The air was humid enough to keep me alive. Not that I needed to stay alive. I was already dead. But on the other hand, who is really alive? The full moon was leaving the sky,…