Mittwoch, 24. Februar 2010

The cat in the cradle

The beat becomes more intense as the drums take up speed. Fire flickers in the middle of the circle. At this moment, it is the center of the world. Darkness around them is complete, absolute, impermeable. The dancers follow the beat, shaking and swirling, and the stars above them mimic their movements. The air is sweet and warm and clings to the naked bodies.

Goen are the moments when they felt strange and uncomfortable. This is like a huge family - no, it's better, they are parts of one large spiritual organism. The drummers are hardly visible, only their hands glow at the fringes of darkness. They are the only ones wearing clothes, long dark robes with hoods and dark red sashes. Some toddlers are staring at everything around them in amazement. The older children are sitting in the middle, chanting in a language no adult understands. And the adults are far beyond the point of understanding anyway, twitching and twisting their limbs. Until one person, nothing special from her looks, raises her arms and silence slides over the group.

"We have gathered to welcome Christine into our circle." The voice is warm and soft, like molten butter. As the person steps closer to the fire with careful movements, the shadows in her wrinkles grow darker, and highlights flicker over her body. "Christine, come to me."

A younger woman steps into the circle. Her eyes are glassy, her steps somehow insecure. The first waves of power have washed over her, and her brain is desperately trying to cope.

"Christine, you'll find your inner guide, your true nature."

The drum beat starts again, slow and whispering at first. Seductive.

The young woman takes the beat and makes it her own rhythm, moving slowly and as if she was under a spell. Her movement has its own grace, a strange moving pattern, as if the intentions of the spirit and the body parts had not gotten used to each other yet.

Christina is in a far-away part of her brain, giving herself over to the drums. Part of her sees the fire, smells the sweat on the naked bodies, feels the dry ground beneath her feet. Most of her simply exists. Experiences. Learns. She has fur, claws, a long slender tail.

Without realizing it, she starts to purr.

The circle have taken up their own dance, always surrounding Christina and the other woman. The other woman is watching the scene with a secretive smile.

Cats play. They cuddle. They fight and hunt.

Christina has long gone and will not be back until the morning. The muscles in her arms tense as she digs into her prey, and warm liquid spills over her delicate hands. The circle has fallen quiet, except for the hysterical sobbing of one mother.

Bone crunches.

She is a cat. Cats hunt.

Samstag, 20. Februar 2010

The perfect coffee

Take your time. Be thorough. Measure carefully. Too much will spoil the taste. To little, and you end up with dark water.

Talking of water - it has to be fresh. Never leave it standing around for an hour or a night. You want the fresh water taste beneath the real taste. Try spring water, just once, to know the difference. Stay with it, if you like. Don't change it because of others. This is yours.

Coffee tastes best with cardamom. If you like, add cinnamon. And the tiniest bit of salt. Use your imagination. Dare.

Don't leave it standing around too long. It' no use saving some for later. You can always make another.

Add lots of milk, a little sugar, take your favorite mug. The happy mug.

Take all the time you need. Relax.

(Recipe may be used for everything else in life. In this case, be careful with the spices.)

Donnerstag, 18. Februar 2010

Wife to the Emperor

The oldest of the Miyazaki sisters is sitting in the middle of an empty room. Her dress is beautiful, her makeup elaborately done. Servants spent hours preparing the perfect white mask she is supposed to present to the world when she is going to marry the Emperor. Everything about her will be white, except for her long, shiny black hair and the dark, soulful eyes.

The white marble floor is cold beneath her knees. There is nothing in the room which is not white - floor, walls, makeup, her dress. To the people, she will present purity and perfection, and as tradition demands it, for tonight she is locked in to meditate, invoke the Emperess' spirit, become purity. Larger than life. Only a few special items surround her, representing her future duties. There is the opaque crystal, found in a deep cavern in the sacred mountain, brought up to the sunlight to go on her scepter. The Emperess' scepter is made for her, stays with her and gets buried with her when she dies. For centuries the Miyazaki family has had the honor to provide the perfect wife for the Emperor. The daughters are raised and trained for this opportunity. When a new Emperor takes over the throne, he choses among them, and the others enter a convent to spend their lives in prayer and contemplation.

There is also the cup for the marriage ceremony - fragile glass, delicately shaped. The most skillful craftsmen made it for tomorrow, and all tools involved in the process have been destroyed. Nowadays, the craftsmen get to live, and it is considered a great honor to be chosen for this special task. They will drink from the glass, twice. In the beginning, there will be white wine, young and fresh, from the hillsides of the Emperor's estate. At the end of the ceremony, they will drink a dark wine, blood red, from the wine cellars. The glass will be shattered afterwards and the shards thrown into the ocean, as tradition demands it.

A fine chain made from platinum has been put on a white cushion. Their hands will be joined by the chain during the ceremony. She has only seen the young Emperor once in her life, on the day he chose her. He seems friendly enough, and he sure is handsome. She alsways knew there was the chance of him chosing her - she is almost his age, and many people have told her she is the most beautiful of the Miyazaki girls. However, she strongly suspects her sisters' servants tell them exactly the same thing.

Her back hurts. She finds herthoughts wandering to all the things she loves doing. Things for which she won't have time after tomorrow. Her herb garden. Making bread. Long walks out in the forest. Archery. She was quite good at it, which was not a good thing in a woman, but her parents let her keep it up through her young years. They really liked her and prepared her well. She will miss her old life.

One last thing is in the room with her. The only really old thing. A dagger. The servants polished it to a blinding sheen, only in the tiny ornaments in the hilt you see enough aged metal for a glimpse at its history. The old people used to tell that in ancient times when one of the royal couple died, the other one was killed with this dagger, so they could be joined in life and death. It's possibly only rumors. She never believed them anyway. Although a tradition like this may have helped prevent murder in the imperial family.

Perfection... it's a heavy burden for a young woman. Slowly, she takes the dagger into her slender hands. Her arms are heavy, and cold creeps through her body. The candles keep flickering. The Emperor will have to reconsider his choice.

One eye lost. One life gained.

Mittwoch, 17. Februar 2010

Family visits

Have you ever tried keeping track of all the relationships in the underworld? Trust me, it's impossible. Take my wife, Sally, for example. She's a minor succubus, and at the moment we have a huge fight and I can't actually recall why we married in the first place... whatever. Her family is huge. In every way.

Take yesterday evening, for example. I was just about to retreat to my home office, with a slice of cold pizza - that's everything I'm getting for dinner at the moment, as if a man doesn't deserve a real meal after a hard day's work! - when there was a knock at the front door. It was late, but we're living in a really quiet and well-mannered neighborhood, so I got the door without thinking.

The shock almost killed me.

Standing on the front porch, only inches away from me, was a flesh mountain. Or at least most of it was flesh. The rest consisted of warts, coarse hair and impressive yellow teeth. To be honest, I almost peed my pants.

The thing smiled at me and, with a surprisingly cultivated voice, asked, "Is Sally at home?"

"You're a friend of hers?" After several years of marriage, I should have gotten used to this kind of visits. I'm still not sure from which side of her family Sally got her great looks. Well, part-time great looks. Ever since we started fighting, she decided to walk around like a nightmare.

"Actually, I'm her cousin, Gorka."

I heard foot steps behind me. "What's going on?"

Sally appeared beside me. I could smell her. Obviously she had not only decided not to change back, she also hadn't taken a shower in quite some time. Congrats, Henry, you're married to - well, this.

She gave a shriek which may have been anger or joy, in her other form I'm never quite sure about this. However, she hugged the other thing and dragged it - Gorka, right? - into the house.

"Come on in, man", I muttered and turned to hide in my office.

Sally shot me a dirty look, grabbed the pizza from my hand and passed it on to her cousin. "Where are your manners, Henry? And besides, Gorka is a GIRL."

Well, how should I have known?

Dienstag, 16. Februar 2010


For an abandoned house, this was not at all bad. Really. He liked his recent accomodation. The former inhabitants, as long as they had stayed here at least, had obviously really cared for the house. Although windows were boarded up and all doors locked (except for the hidden door to the basement in the backyard, almost overgrown with moss and weeds, through which he had entered the first time and which, he had decided, would be the main entrance from now on). There was dust on the floors and mold in the corners of the rooms, but there were also carefully selected exquisite wallpapers and forgotten photographs. There were smiling faces, irregular teeth in children's mouths, sunburns and gigantic fish, held up high to demonstrate power over nature.

The municipal services had forgotten to turn off the water. He appreciated it. In the cracked bathroom mirror, he could see his worn face while he used an old-fashioned razor to shave. There was no electricity, but he had organized about a dozen candles, which also lit up the room. He could see the waterproof stickers with tiny fish on them. The family must have loved their children really much. Every detail in the house showed this. He smiled, careful not to nick himself. He liked the fish. They kept him company.

And they were not the only company the old man had. There were cockroaches in the abandoned cupboards in what must have been the kitchen, rats in the basement and down the corridor. And the two tiny skeletons in the room where he was sleeping. Their family must really have loved them, at some point. He wondered what had made them leave the kids behind.

Montag, 15. Februar 2010

Happy ever after

"Come on, man, don't be a pain in the ass. Take your pills." The nurse waited for him, patiently, until he had swallowed his medicine and shown his mouth to be empty. Then she turned away, dull-eyed, to patronize the next inhabitant for taking off his clothes in the hallway and painting a mural with his own feces.

Pjotr was desperate. The judge, the jury, the people out on the street - everybody considered him a madman. The media had labeled him "Valentine Killer". What an appropriate name. Caught on the evening of February 14th, with the knife still in his hand. They had locked him away - not in prison, where his only way out would be frying on the electric chair, but in a mental hospital instead. Schizophrenia, the judge had decided, based on the testimony of a psychiatrist with whom Pjotr had had a lengthy conversation about Russian literature and the downfall of man. Deeply disturbed brain chemicals. There had been lots of fancy words, but it all came down to this: The suspect was stark raving mad.

Of course this was no consolation for the victim's family, who believed that their daughter (or sister, for that matter) should still be with them. The fact that Pjotr had simply killed her and, in every other aspect, had treated her like a gentleman, seemed to offer them no comfort. The mother had shouted obscenities at him until someone had led her away, and the father had threatened to kill him. More than once.

Which would be a relief, considering his current situation. Locked away with the lunatics for the rest of his life. He was thirty-seven. He wasn't even allowed shoe laces.

"Thank you for bringing her to me." The man appeared next to him as if out of thin air, the way it had been the first time. "Guess you paid your debts."

This time, a young girl was with him. Pjotr remembered her. Soft brown hair on a white pillow, breath smelling of toothpaste, with the faintest hint of chocolate. She had watched TV, that night, with puffy eyes and a running nose, although the movie she had rented had been supposed to be a comedy. (Pjotr knew the movie and hadn't liked it, but he was more into all this dark and depressive stuff anyway.) She had been alone on a night when she was supposed to be with the man she loved - two years after their first meeting, on Valentine's day. Instead, he had left her, without warning. She had not paid attention to the movie, switched the TV off after seeing less than half of it, and gone to bed. The bed seemed too big for this fragile beauty.

And Pjotr had climbed through the window and done as he had been told, to make amends for that one night when he had been cruising the streets and not paying attention.

Of course, the story made front page. Tragedy - the husband dies in a car accident, and less than a month later the widow is killed. This is what people want to read, and everything had been full of grief... and hatred for the man who did this.

The woman, however, did not look unhappy at all. Death was very becoming for her. Her pale face seemed to shine. "It's okay, I am not mad at you. I had thought of doing it myself, but I couldn't muster the strength. Now we're back together again."

The man bent down and kissed her, and through their bodies Pjotr could still see the ugly picture of sleeping kittens that was supposed to be soothing. He almost accepted that he was crazy. Ghosts simply didn't exist. And still, he stared at the two in envy, as they dissipated and were gone, still hugging and kissing. His medicine kicked in, and the world turned gray.

The ugly duckling

One strange thing about Kitty was that she seemed to love rubber ducks. Brian had never noticed it before they moved in together, but now their bathroom ws filling with ducks in all sizes and colors. And to be honest, they scared the living hell out of him.

Every morning when Brian entered the bathroom for his shower and shave, they seemed to stare at him, grinning madly, evil sparks in their rubber eyes. Which, of course, was stupid, since rubber eyes on rubber ducks did not sparkle. That's what Brian told himself, trying to ignore the ducks in the mirror.

And their number grew constantly. He did not know where Kitty found them, but it seemed she brought at least one duck home every week. She never said a word about it.

Well, at least not until this morning. Brian was sitting at the breakfast table, still wearing pajamas, devouring his scrambled eggs with bacon. Kitty had only some yoghurt in front of her, as usual. She claimed she simply couldn't eat so early in the day, but Brian suspected she was feeling self-conscious and thinking that she was "fat". Which was perfect nonsense, but he had learned the hard way that you never argue with a woman when it comes to her weight. So he was glad that she did not go on about clothes, diets and proteins, but instead looked at him and asked, "Honey, why do you keep buying these ugly ducks?"

Brian stopped in mid-movement, fork with egg poised in the very middle between plate and mouth. Then he smiled. Kitty had a strange sense of humor. "We both know you're sneaking them into the house." He forced his smile to broaden. "It'S actually kind of ... cute."

Kitty stared at him in disbelief. "Why should I buy these ugly things? They're creepy!" She gave a laugh and threw a piece of cold toast at him. "You almost had me there, honey. Trying to scare me this early won't get you anything, you know." She stood up and began gathering their breakfast stuff. "Come on, we're running late. I'll do the dishes and you can take your shower, okay?"

Brian stared at his empty plate. Not good. Not good at all.

Sonntag, 14. Februar 2010

Mirror shards

Once upon a time there was a king who was in love with his queen, and a jealous sorceress laid a curse on them and the queen died during the birth of their child.

There was a prophecy that whoever the child laid eyes upon would die immediately. The counselors were conviced it had to die. The king, however, loving his only daughter, had her locked away in a high tower without windows instead. Every night he would come there and read her stories from behind a curtain, and special nurses were trained to care for the child in heavy disguise. Every two or three days she would dictate a list of things she needed or wanted to someone wating and writing behind the curtain, and every oh so exotic wish would be fulfilled.

The girl grew and became older, and she started asking questions. Her father was in so much pain over having to lock her away from the world that he found a way to teach her how to read, and he started collecting a huge library for his daughter. Sometimes he would buy whole libraries, if people died or had to sell their books to survive, and there was not always the time to check every book that would be brought up into the tower. The princess was instructed to stand in a corner and turn her back to the room until everyone was gone, and she had been told why this was the case, too. So, since she never saw anyone and had already begun to tire of people talking to her without her being able to see them, she immersed herself into all the world the books from her father brought to her. She read fairy tales, history books, books on mathematics or biology and even love stories, which she didn't understand at all.

One day, in a huge pile of books she got for her birthday, there were witch books. She read them, hungry for every kind of new knowledge, and a few days later asked for clay and mirrors to be brought to her. The servant was surprised, but as usual she got her wish.

The next few days, she was very busy. No one knew what she was working on, but since she seemed more balanced than usual, the few people who knew about her were happy.

Then, as the king came another night to visit his daughter, there was a simple puppet lying in his corner. "What is this?" he asked.

"I made it, and I don't want it here with me", replied the princess. "Please take it downstairs with you as you leave, and put it somewhere."

That night, they talked about the beauty of the world, and asthe king left, he was reminded of the puppet. So he took it downstairs with him and simply left it beneath the stairs.

The next day, the puppet had disappeared.

For, through years of loneliness and reading and learning and having to school her mind for herself, the princess had developed such a strong longing to see the world that with the help of the witch books she had made living clay people and inserted mirror shards where eyes were supposed to be. And she sent the puppet out into the world and watched its ways through her personal mirror, on which she had put another spell.

She wanted to see all the beauty of the world herself.

Freitag, 12. Februar 2010

The bargain

"In folklore that stems from medieval legend, a succubus (plural succubi) is a demon who takes the form of a woman to seduce men in dreams to have sexual intercourse."

Gradually, Henry realized that marrying a Succubus had possibly not been his brightest idea. He also realized that the male Latin ending "-us" in the word "succubus" was wrong. Sally was female. All the way. Down to her evil ways.

"... and don't act as if you're listening, I can still read your thoughts, moron!"

And there she was again.

"No, honey, I didn't mean it! If you can read my mind, you know that!"

"Oh, I know exactly how you meant it." She stood in front of him, arms crossed, surrounded by millions of shards from their expensive dinnerware. The TV was still running - until Sally had come home, Henry had enjoyed his beer and the news - and one look from her angry eyes made it explode.

"Hey, what - stop it! That was a brand new TV set!"

"So what? You're gonna tell me you bring home the money, you get to take the decisions? I could earn more money than you ever imagined if I took up my old profession!"

"Now, Sally, we discussed this. I don't want you - uhm, working the streets again."

The moment he said it, he knew it was wrong.

"Oh, that's what I am to you? A former prostitute? Bastard!" The DVD player decided to melt on his shelf and left a puddle of stinking plastic and glowing wires. "You seem to forget how we met, stupid!"

Marrying her had definitely been a bad idea. He should have left it the way it had been - her invading his dreams, sexy and seductive, and him waking up in the morning on stained sheets, feeling strangely exhausted. Oh yes, he remembered.

"Oh, don't you dare let your thoughts take this way!" she shouted at him. "Besides, what have you done in bed those last few weeks, hu? You're a lousy lover anyway!"

"Hey, now that's not fair!" He felt his face grow warmer and knew his head probably took on the color of an infrared lamp. "You know how everything has gotten difficult at work, so many people being laid of and... I think I deserve a bit of understanding."

"So, you deserve understanding? And what about my needs? You obviously forget who I am!" She stomped her tiny feet. Then she started changing. "Well, if you're too tired for sex, I am too tired to look good for you." Her body started swelling up, and coarse hair grew from strange places. She looked at him triumphantly. "I guess I'll also be too tired for cooking tonight."

Her now huge body flopped down on the sofa, which broke in protest. She stretched out her pillar-like, hairy legs, put her feet - heavens, when had she developed these claws? - on the table and reactivated the TV with a gesture of her wart-covered hand. A telenovela came on. Now THAT was demonic stuff. "Go, I need to relax. And prepare the guest rooms, my mother will be joining us tomorrow."

He stood there, stared at his wife in horror and wondered if divorce might be the right thing to do. He also wondered if he might get his soul back.

Mittwoch, 10. Februar 2010

The princess' revenge

Once upon a time, in a land far, far away, the princess had to marry the conqueror. Her father had died in a glorious battle, and the conqueror, who did not want any more unsettling or upsetting events in his new acquisition, decided to gain power in a legal way. The princess, who was young and beautiful and had eyes like lakes in November, was informed that she would be marrying soon (or lose her head).

Her brother and younger sister were killed, to make matters more simple. Without rivals, the conqueror felt more at ease in pursuing his heart's desire. His servants started preparing everything for the big day. They studied the laws and rites of the people they had defeated, to make the bond understandable to everyone. The princess remained in her rooms, silent.

The conqueror, who now called himself king of the land, spent mountains of gold to impress his new bride. He sent people out to bring him the most exquisite diamonds, emeralds and and pearls. Seamstresses were invited to measure the princess. They were given the most precious cloth and thread, and within short time they presented a dress that befitted a princess and soon-to-be queen of a huge kingdom.

The princess was isolated in her rooms, up in the highest tower of the castle, with no one to talk to. Not waiting to be rescued, she spent her days busy with preparations. For the young woman, beautiful and fragile as she was, possessed magic powers, which made her the natural heir of the land and ruler of her people. Every night, she would be busy with her own special rites, of which hardly anyone knew, because whoever had witnessed them did not live to tell the tale. If anyone had cared to look out for her, he might have seen her, in moonless nights (for it was dark and cold these nights, close to midwinter, a very powerful time of the year), standing on the top of the tower wearing nothing but her long black hair and a look of determination on her face. Some nights she would dance, some nights she would pray, and some nights she would simply stand there and look out for someone no one could see but her. In the early morning hours, strange sounds would come from her room, voices speaking in languages no man on earth could understand, but no one was there to listen, and so this, too, remained the princess' secret.

The day of the wedding arrived, and the king said his vows. The princess answered with the appropriate words, which she had been taught beforehand. She looked beautiful and feminine, wrapped in ivory silk and almost staggering under all the heavy jewelery that had been her wedding gift. Everyone agreed that she was the most sparkling decoration of them all.

The princess obeyed her husband in every way and was a true and faithful wife. She accompanied him wherever he went, helped him establish his reign and explained everything she felt he needed to know about his people. And every night she would come into his bed and fulfill his other, deeper, darker desires.

The moons went by, and soon the queen was pregnant. And while she seemed to grow and bloom and gain power and beauty, her husband began to fade away. His hair had turned gray, and he had deep creases crossing his handsome face. Sometimes he would sit on his throne and stare out of the window instead of listening to his advisors, and he lost track of his political business. He died shortly after this, on midsummer, exactly half a year after marrying the foreign princess who promised to rule the country and preserve it for their unborn child.

And she went ahead and made her own preparations. She carefully chose her own counsel, men and women she trusted and honored and who worshipped her beauty, royalty and wisdom. She declared that, in case anything should happen to her (for they were dark ages, where medical practice was mostly misunderstood and physicians knew nothing about causes for infections or the dangers of blood loss), the counsel was to rule the country until her child came of age.

And the night of the birth arrived, and in the early morning hours, just as the child uttered its first cry, the queen died. Her son was strong and dark and looked at the world with knowing eyes that held too much wisdom. The midwife flew as soon as she could, for she suspected foul play, but somehow she got lost on her way back to her village and disappeared.

Everyone mourned the passing of their queen, who despite her young age had been a wise and just woman, and pledged loyalty to the newborn prince on the day of her funeral. Her beautiful body was presented in a casket made out of glass, decorated just the way she had been on her wedding day, and she looked peaceful and satisfied.

Her child sat on a cushion, on the deceased king's throne, and watched the world silently. He would rule the country according to his father's plans.

One more announcement

I decided to start a separate blog for nonfiction rants, mainly concerning writing, in English. Feel free to drop by, although there may be not too much to see at the moment.

Dienstag, 9. Februar 2010

Too late

The dreams came and went, and sometimes they showed the truth, and sometimes they didn't. Maggie never got used to them. She dreamed of meeting her husband, which was true, but she also dreamed that he was a vampire, which of course he wasn't. Most of the time, she decided to ignore them and only make a mental note if something happened of which she had dreamed before.

It was a rather ordinary life. And when Stella was born, Maggie watched her anxiously, until she decided - relieved - that her daughter had none of this spooky business going on in her head. Stella was a delightful child, hardly ever cried and grew up to be cute in a very feminine way. At the age of twelve, she stopped playing soccer with the boys and started asking questions about makeup, growing up and all that "strange stuff" that adults seemed to be doing most of the time and which children were not supposed to know about. Maggie often had a hard time explaining everything, but she did her best, and either she did a better job than she actually thought, of Stella was so bright that she filled in all the gaps by herself.

Then the dreams started coming more often. Maggie dreamed of plates breaking after dinner, of their cat dying (which it did, unceremoniously, on Stella's fourteenth birthday, right in front of the family and the cake) and of her husband having an affair. Everything turned out smoothly, but now whenever she dreamed of something, she wrote it down in a notebook lying next to her bed and would spend a few days waiting for disaster to happen. There were also nice things happening of which she had dreamed before, but those mostly went unnoticed.

One evening, Maggie came down with the flu. She hadn't known before, so she had Stella go to the supermarket and get some lemons and canned chicken soup and went to bed early. But that night, there was little rest for her. She had horrible dreams, turned and twisted in their big marriage bed and woke her husband more than once. He tried to calm her down, brought her a glass of water and spoke to her with a soft, soothing voice until she drifted back to sleep - where another nightmare was waiting.

She woke exhausted, later than usual. The house was quiet. "Honey, where are you?"

Her husband appeared on the doorstep. "Right here, darling. Feeling better?"

"Don't know, maybe a little." Fragments of last night's dreams started appearing through the cracks in her consciousness. "Where is Stella?" she asked, startled.

"Don't worry, she's alright. She had to leave earlier today, the bus drivers are on strike. You remember?"

"Did she go by bike?"

Her husband shook his head. "No, she said she's walk and maybe hitch a ride from one of her friends on the way. She left maybe two minutes ago."

Maggie jumped out of bed, snatched her morning gown and was out the door. The front yard was empty, and early mist was covering the meadows and fields surrounding their small, wooden house. Down the road, she saw a fragile shape getting in a car she didn't recognize.

Maggie stood still. Seconds ticked by, as the car took up speed and disappeared. She didn't know where their car keys were, and either way she would be too late.

Sonntag, 7. Februar 2010

[Another Announcement]

No, I am not dead yet.

The internet at work died on Thursday morning, and we only got our internet connection at home after I had left on Friday - to go to work and see my elder sister and her family afterwards, where I am stealing internet right now after being playgrouond for the cats and putting a blanket on the dog. Missed the first #FridayFlash on Twitter ever since I started. Put some story ideas in the notebook, will write them down next week once I found my laptop.

Have a nice weekend!

Mittwoch, 3. Februar 2010


Just received news that another story has been accepted for publication, I am very excited! Will let you know more about the whole thing once I know the details. And as soon as we have internet at home, I will continue serving you strange literary tidbits!