One last friday was her wish, had been her wish. He knew it. It had been years ago, that promise about one last friday. But she had died on tuesday and on thursday she had been buried in a shallow grave next to her favorite spot near the churches door, where she had spent her time waiting for him. And now it was over. Her flesh had been eaten away by worms and other godless insects, but it had been…
He was crawling, lower than the rocks in front of him, jagged and angry rocks with their voices full of despair and an eternity of suffering, imagined and real. He stopped, looked up the sky. A few clouds were dangling on the heavenly tent, looking at him and his wounds. He smiled grimly, put down this club and put his mighty hands on the rock, cleaned them from the blood and the ooze. He then took his club again. The…
There once was a king. He was no real king, because in the country, he lived, they had killed the kings and emporers many years ago. But still, he was a king. A kind of a king. He had survived by eating rats. And people say, that you become, what you eat. So he sat on his little toilet-throne. And he pondered. And he looked up on the wall and saw the pictures of the former kings. I mean: not…
A few Kilometers later, Viktor stopped. His lung was burning. Again he wished for mechanical legs. Behind him, the former golden statue of the Goldelse was staring into the nothing, having lost her head a few years ago, when a madman had wanted to make love with her, flying his self-built balloon next to her face. The police had handled him. And the explosion had handled the statue. No one had cared afterwards. Berlin was already mad and dying. Viktor…
Water hit him like a bomb in the back. It was cold. It stank like 30 years of bad climate. It felt more like slime than water. He now was under the water, in the black darkness of lightless nights. Probably not even sunlight was able to cut through the stuff, the old Spree-river was now made of. Up, up, he had to go up. Something hit him on his leg. Moved. Disappeared. Still going up, Viktor felt another movement…
Darkness moved over and created patterns of light, orange, dirty orange and scratchmarks on the old windows. Berlin itself seemed to leave the realm of reality and became just a thought, less than a dream. The ropes shook and Viktor tried to see, how the inside of the box looked like. The gaps showed nothing more than a few bronze-painted walls and black flowery suits moving. As Viktor looked up, the tower shrunk, almost as if it would crush him…
The girl was 12, maybe 13 years old. She looked at him like a deer standing in the light of a car. She trembled, but not only, because she was so young. The door of the pod had been ripped open, when the pod had landed … crushed, in the park, blowing some trees to the smithereens, burying itselt into the earth and brickworks of the next house. There was something weird here, some non-explanation, but Viktor didn’t have time…
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…