Your pain in my thighs 

When I put down my cup I realized this wasn’t going to be the last time. I felt the slap as if it was my own. Like somebody hit me in my thighs with a baseball bat. Stomp. Once. Stomp twice. I looked at my cup, paralyzed and silently. How many times was this? I had lost count. 

The bewildered woman was running in the field. Running as if she knew something was going to hit her, badly. She kept looking over her shoulder, but I couldn’t see her face; it was covered with her wild and curly hair that was hiding her features. Lest I should see it. The coffee in my cup looked like it was moving. Was this me? Was I dizzy? From the woman’s running? From this thought in my head, here in this house? 

Abruptly I stood up. I needed to test this theory. I needed to get away. Get out. Get out of my house. My coat flung to the floor when I ripped of the chair. I landed in front of my cup. That was silent now. Still. Like untouched water. Out, I said to myself. 

I plucked my coat off of the floor and headed for the door. I could see the axe. I could see it once. Then I saw it twice. 

She fell. 

In the field. 

My hand on the doorknob. It shivered. I trembled like I was her. Her pain was my pain. And they knew it. The house knew it. Or it’s inhabitants. I am empathic like that. There is no more difference between you and me when you’re in pain, or grieve or any other trouble. 

She was on the ground. As I was on the floor. Nailed to the ground like a wooden board. My hand still on the doorknob. I needed to get out. Out! Her hair, her wild and curly hair, like strains over her face. My face covered with tears.

The axes had hit her twice. And I was still where I was. On my way out. This is how they keep me in, I say to myself. They paralyze me with their horror. Planting it in my brain as if it was as normal as thinking about bread. Giving me horrible thoughts to put me down. 

It won’t work. 

The door flung open like the Red Sea. 

And I left her there in the field. On the ground. Hit by two axes that felt as if they hit me.

I was free. It was as still as water in me. 

drama, thriller, comdedy, mystery, blog

A way out 

The windows are barely see-through anymore. In my kitchen the dishes have piled up nose-high, while my wardrobe seems to have moved to the floor; leaving nothing but white spots to walk on. Like step stones in a river of clothes. 

‘What are you doing?’ A voice behind me says. 

I’m trying to find a way out,’ I explain standing in the middle of the minefield called living room. 

‘Have you ever considered cleaning up?’ 

‘I have given it a thought, but I decided it wasn’t for me.’ 

‘How so?’

‘Because it’s useless. You do it and then you have to do it all over again, and again and so on. It’s like a vicious circle or like the grasshopper that won’t stop chirping!’ 

‘People have done it for over the last millenia.’ 

‘That is a good point. But that still doesn’t make it more bearable.’  

‘Than pay somebody to do the cleaning for you.’ 

‘I can’t even afford breakfast,’ I say while I’m trying to move upstream. 

‘I might not get the psychology of this, but I do know one thing. You look stupid.’

‘Be that as it may, this is my mess.’ I’m pointing down, but I might as well have pointed sideways or just circled around like a windmill. 

The voice laughs. ‘And your mess is better than their mess?’ 

‘My mess is my mess, and their mess is, well beside universal, also devastating. Like fire, leaving nothing but ashes.’ 

Levine looks at me. His eyes almost water. ‘This is no way of getting control over your life.’ 

I raise my eyebrows. ‘I’ve given that up a long time ago. Now at least let me have my mess.’ 

‘No, you’re staying with me for a while.’ He crosses his arms in front of him. 

‘Does that mean I have to do dishes?’ I say with a pouty lip as I try to step forward, but I triple and fall flat on my face in the only blank spot that was left and is now turning red. 

‘Get up. We are leaving your dirty ghosts.’ 

I jump up, but stagger, triple again because my foot gets stuck in a panty with strawberries on it; and again I am flat on my face. ‘No way, they will let me go.’ I get up and wobble. 

‘I don’t care.’ He sweeps me off the floor and tosses my over his shoulder. I feel his muscles and firm grip. He makes a step. ‘Hey is that my ass?’ I say dangling like a ragdoll. He misses. He totters. He bends. 

‘Run!’ I scream. ‘Run and fly! Or they will get us.’ 

Take their wings

There is no sound. Only my breath fills the room. As if it’s the solo possessor of the air surrounding me. And still I’m looking for life. Life beside my own, but not like my own. The one thing that is between heaven and earth breathing the air we can’t breathe and moving on our gasps as if they’re wings. Their wings.

I have my blankets high up as if it would help. Blocking my emissions. Taking their wings. While my eyes are piercing the darkness terrified of what they might encounter in the realm of shadowy energy.

They are here. Giving me abilities, I don’t believe in.


‘Okay, that guy, over there. What is he thinking?’ Levine points at a man crossing the street across from us.
‘I think he’s thinking: wait, wait, no wait a little more, yes, now is a good time to cross the street. Or maybe he’s thinking why he still feels guilty every time he did not look to the right a second time, just like his mother taught him.’
‘No jokes, because to me it looked like he was having some pretty spicy thoughts.’
‘That is something only men can hear without words.’

‘We are an extraordinary species in that way. We are designed to secure the survival of the human order.’ He collects his golden hair with one hand.
‘And having spicy thoughts is the way to do that?’ I toss my hair back.
‘Well, we like to think that in the end it helps. Plus, it keeps life simple.’
‘You are an extraordinary simple species with only one thought that has to guarantee our continued existence.’
‘I can’t handle that many words with my one thought spectrum.’ He drops his hair. ‘Now guess her thoughts.’ He’s pointing at a blond-haired lady who looks a lot like the poodle she’s walking.

‘I told your one thought brain I don’t read minds, I’m not a Gypsy.’
‘But it’s so much fun when you do.’
‘But I don’t.’
‘When you do.’
‘What I don’t.
‘But you could.’
‘But I won’t.’
‘Because you can.’
‘Because I can’t.’
‘Then how come you do?’

‘It’s not me. I don’t. I can’t. And I won’t. I’m not psychic.’
‘But you can hear people from miles away.’
‘And that’s normal?’
‘It’s temporary. Maybe I’m stressed.’

Levine tosses his hair over his shoulder. I wiggle mine into a knot.

‘You can judge people in an instant and are always right because you are stressed?’
‘It is a much more productive way of securing survival if you ask me.’
‘Secure survival on that lady with the hundred shopping bags.’ He spans his hair between his fingers to imitate the amount of bags. I do the same and have my hands bump into his to demonstrate how clumsy you are with that kind of display of your riches. We drop our hands. ‘Do it.’

‘You don’t need me.’
‘She’s cranky she couldn’t get that one item she was looking for so she bought the entire contents of the shop.’
‘Securing survival of the money machine we live in called economy. We should thank her.’

‘Send it to her.’
‘That doesn’t work.’
‘Then how does it work?’
‘You have to really, really want it.’
‘Okay, then get somebody to call you. Get Macy to call you!’ He sits on the edge of his chair.

‘Then what? You are just going to bring out the super powers to safe humanity or what?’
‘Women don’t have spicy thoughts like you do.’
‘Shoot. Put your wings on woman.’ He sits back in his chair, swooping his hair back.
‘I would rather stop breathing.’

suspence, drama, mystery, blogging, writing

Face-melting guitar

‘What? I know that look.’
‘I need guitar. Loud and singing.’
‘Well, I’m no DJ and neither do I have my guitar on me, but maybe we can call a radio station to satisfy your hunger for echoing chords.’
‘I need coffee too.’
‘Coffee and guitar, isn’t that a little demanding?’
‘No, I just know what I want. And that’s coffee and a guitar solo, preferably by my favourite guitar player…’
‘…Santana.’ Then he grabs my arm and pulls me to the right into a doorway of a cozy cafe. ‘Coffee for the lady.’
‘You’re my hero,’ I say and I walk into an electrifying, face-melting guitar solo by Carlos Santana surrounded by mouth-watering fumes of fresh roasted coffee. My arms go straight over my head. Respect.

Black wine

I put down my excessively large cup and look about the room. My cup says ‘seize the day’, I don’t see why a cup should say anything, your drink will still taste the same no matter what is says, or does it?

‘I had it. I’m telling you, I had it,’ Levine nods while he speaks to underline his words.
‘I don’t think you had anything, you thought you had it and then what you didn’t have slipped.’ I say.
‘How is that even possible? And besides, I had it, I had it, I had it.’
‘Repeating it doesn’t make it more true. I have not received convincing evidence yet.’
‘Are you being a judge, because that doesn’t impress me. If I had it, then I had it.’
‘That simple? Now consider this, what if you thought what you had wasn’t really what you thought you had in the first place.’
‘How can that be? Either you got it, or you don’t.’

A firefighter’s truck rushes by with loud sirens and blinking lights. We all turn our heads in an instance drawn by the sudden action and most likely the excitement of the unknown. I pick up my seize-the-day-cup and dryly sip in the-return-of-the-rest.
‘You and your irony,’ says Levine to me. I shrug and smile. ‘Life is a joke.’
He takes a sip from his fuming coffee and remains silent for a moment.

‘So now you say you had it, but I say if you had it you would have it right now. Right here. Right in this moment.’
‘Now that is a little tricky.’ He puts down his mug and watches a kid throw a Lego piece at his sister.
‘I’d say he had it,’ I say.
‘I’d say he lost it.’ I laugh.
‘I’d say you lost it.’
‘I’d say I will give it to you, right here, right now.’
‘I’d say bring it on.’ I put down my mug with a sway.

Levine stretches his arms and cracks his knuckles. He’s like a magician at work. His hands make a bow towards the pocket of his jeans, he waves his fingers and reaches in. ‘If I didn’t know you better, I’d think that was pretty sexy.’
‘Thank you, I’m glad you know me better.’ Then he takes out his phone. He glances a look at me. But is interrupted by the auburn-haired waitress asking us if everything is okay. ‘Excuse me,’ I say, ‘does he have your number?’

Levine drops his arm in his lap and looks at me straight. ‘Told you, you don’t have it.’ The waitress smiles. ‘Two wine, please,’ Levine says and then turns to me again, ‘you scumbag, you miserable little shit, you cocky little player.’ He folds his arms and blushes while he speaks.

‘You are probably one of the sexiest man in the country right now. And you have to lie about having it. I think you should apologise to all other less sexy men who will never, can never and shall never have it. Because like you said, either you have it or you don’t. Now go get her number.’

‘I told you I have it.’ The waitress comes back with two totally black wineglasses. And then walks away. We pick up the glasses and examine them closely. ‘Did you order red or white wine?’

‘I ordered wine.’
‘Just wine? With the red-headed cute waitress whose number you don’t have.’
‘Don’t worry, I got this one too.’ He puts the black cold glass at his warm lips and it leaves a ring of steam on the outside. ‘White,’ he says, ‘I’m going for white.’
I take my chance at the black wine pool and come out completely different. ‘Red, for sure.’

‘Miss, Levine calls the waitress, ‘would you please bring us an empty glass.’
The waitress comes back with a transparent and empty glass and a napkin to clean the table.

‘Okay, what’s at stake here?’
‘Red, you are asking her number. White, I will get you in the pool for free.’
‘So I win both ways. Suits me.’ And he pours some wine into the glass on the table. Red, I smile a smug smile. Then he picks up the napkin from the table and says: ‘here.’
‘Her number! You’re that good.’
‘I told you I got it.’
‘Either you got it or you don’t. Here’s to black wine.’

A pool girl’s playground 

Six adults are wading the waters of the paddling pool. One of them, who I like to refer to as Curly Carl, is banging on a bucket so loud it sounds like thunder in a vase. Until his blond-haired friend comes in and rips the bucket from underneath his banging device and puts it on his head, now they both laugh louder than the thunder.

I’m at my first day at work. At my schoolgirls job. As a pool girl. Wrinkly old people trying to stay afloat, red-eyed children emerging from the water and all I have to do is make sure nobody stays at the bottom. I’m spooked, ‘hi, I’m Wanda,’ a bushy perm haired blue bathrobe hung person suddenly stands next to me. Her eyebrows are shaped in a V between her small eyes. I blink. And she’s gone. And suddenly I get an itch down my back.

Focus. Nobody on the bottom? No. Old people still floating? Yes. Children still jumping? Yes. Six adults still in the paddling pool? 1,2,3,4,5… Oh, no, where’s Curly Carl? I can’t find him, my favo drummo. But then I suddenly see a pair of blue shorts sticking to the giant clown. Curly Carl is hugging him as if he’s a teddy bear. To me he rather looks like The It from Stephen King with his huge red smile that spouts water every ten minutes. But Curly Carl seems blissfully happy, so I give him a thumbs up. And now his smile is almost as big as the clowns.

‘You look like my sister.’ Bushy Wanda is back.
‘Don’t listen to her, she’s in a happy mood because she got a wet drawer last night.’ And she brought a friend, Smacking Simone, who’s fake teeth are so loose you can almost hear the clap with every word. They are dressed like twins in their blue bathrobes.
‘We have to go.’ clap clap.
‘Bye,’ scratch scratch. And my itch is moving up my spine, all the way up my neck.

There’s a guy with an enormous hunchback that aims for the bucket with the beat, me and my itch are watching him closely. He has no beat with the bucket, so he scans the shallow waters for the original bucket and the beat banger, Culry Carl. Now there’s a beat and a bounce and a spout and they got a real pool party going on, Curly Carl, the hunchback, their blond friend and the freaky clown.

And at the side of the pool I see Bushy Wanda standing. Legs spread, hands in her sides, neck forward, V on her forehead; it looks like she’s trying to hypnotize The It. But then she turns her V to me, ‘lunchtime,’ she shouts. I blink. I totter. I steeple. She a colleague? So. Many. Itches!

drama, thriller, comdedy, mystery, blog

Bang! Bang! You shot me down

We’re in the middle of the bed, me and Macy. Armed with a pair of rolled-up socks each. At every sound we shriek and jump like a ping pong ball from his bat only to get hit again at the other side, bang!

A repetitive pattern of knocking on my bedroom walls, constantly going round and round as if it’s encircling us. And all we got is socks.

‘Where is it? Where did it go?’ shouts Macy from the middle of the bed in her jammies.
‘It’s everywhere,’ I scream holding my socks with two hands.
Bang! We turn.
‘There! There! Right there!By the window. I’m sure of it,’ Macy leans forward.
Bang! We jump.
‘No,’ I cry, ‘it’s right behind me. Here. On the wall. On the blanc spot!’
‘What blanc spot? Your whole wall is white and blanc!’
‘There, there,’ my trembling hand is pointing at a spot on the great big white wall. We stare at it.

Bang! We fall.
‘They…are…everywhere!’ We both yell.
‘They’re descending on us’
‘They’re coming down like aliens.’
‘Like lightning, they’re striking.’
‘They are forces of nature.’

Bang! We scream. And leap up.
Bang! We turn.
Bang! We jump.
Bang! We turn.
Bang! We jump.
Bang! We scream and jump and turn. And are right back where we started. Standing in the middle of the muffled bed with our home-made sock guns.

‘Okay,’ I say, pointing my socks throughout the room.
‘Okay what?’ Macy had her t-shirt half drawn over her head.
‘Okay, this is it. I am stopping this. Right now!’
‘What? How? Where?’
‘I am calling Levine.’

‘That’s all you’ve got?’
‘Well, you have a better idea apart from the sock episode?’ I step of the bed.
‘No, don’t leave me here alone.’
Bang! I stay steady.
I reach out to my phone.
Bang! ‘Don’t do it,’ shouts Macy.
Bang! I slide back.

It was right in front of me. But fifteen minutes later our knight in shining blond hair enters the room. ‘What are you two doing? You look like two school girls who have just seen a scary movie.’

It’s silent now. We don’t here another bang. We stare each other in the face.

‘Don’t be too sure. They might be back,’ urges Macy.
‘Who might…’
Ssshhh!’ The schoolgirls say simultaneously.
Silence. Nothing.
‘The Bangers,’ I break the silence.
‘The Knockers,’ adds Macy.
‘The sounds coming from my walls.’

Levine nears the bed. ‘Watch it,’ we yell. We are both pointing at the floor. His feet are being divided by an Almighty Stripe.
‘So, I’m just trying to get this here. First there’s a stripe, a blotch, a smear and now there’s also a bang, a sound, a knock?’ He raises his eyebrows.
‘You weren’t there,’ I put my hands in my sides.

‘I’m sleeping here tonight,’ Levine boldly steps into the bed.
‘No!’ We yell.
‘Yes, I am not going back home in the middle of the night, in the cold and you two called for protection, so here I am. Right here in the middle of the bed’ And he pulls the covers up.

Bang! And we drop.
‘Our knight in shiny armor,’ says Macy.
‘You broke my bed,’ I say.
‘In my defense, you had socks.’