Do you remember Lily, when her fur was black from the tips of her ears to the upwards ringed tail, and her eyes clear and dark and simply bubbling out with liveliness? Behind our house was a park, almost a forest, a great place to take a dog for a walk. Lily used to run and turn and jump and bark and chase butterflies or grasshoppers. She never caught anything, was simply pure excitement about the trails of the great bears and hungry wolves and other monsters, that would undoubtedly kill everybody if she didn't track them down. She could stand quite still and then jump straight up like a dear - it looked so easy until you saw her muscles under her black short hair - like a small Arab horse. Her big dark eyes seemed even bigger and about to pop out, the pointed ears quivered each time she moved her small head and she showed two rows of white sharp teeth, obviously almost wild and beside herself:
"Where is that monster, come on, where?! I'll tear it to pieces - WHERE?!"
Never without dignity though, every single inch a grande dame.
I think you would have liked that, you are now as old as your mother was then.
As time dripped and went by, she jumped lower and lower and one day her beautiful dark eyes got silver moons in the middle, moons that got bigger each year - and one day I had to put this beautiful and proud creature on the leash to keep her from bumping against everything and she got this scared look she never had before.
Do you remember?
But it was the good days I wanted to tell you about, about the forest and the holes I had to pull her out of: a rabbit warren or the cave of a great grizzly - who knows?
On a bright day, the summer had been hiding itself behind clouds producing rain, rain and rain for weeks, and now everything looked new and green and clean and the smell of adventure and a new world filled the air. Lily hated water, jumped over the biggest puddle like it was a ladybug and didn't even drink the stuff unless there was a little milk in it.
What?! she seemed to say, if I was so clumsy to forget the milk. Water?! Do you want to poison me?!
It was a torture to force her to take a walk when it rained, she always seemed to disappear and I had to call and yell, but it was no use: when I came back, weary and worried and a little mad, she was always sitting in front of the door with her ears and tail down and looking like I had tried to drown her. - So you can imagine how happy she was the day the rain stopped at last and the sun had sneaked out from behind the clouds.
Of course everything was still very wet, and I had some difficulty pulling her out of a very deep hole she had found under a tree.
Suddenly the soft forest soil under my feet seemed to collapse. Instinctively I grabbed Lily and we fell or sank a couple of long seconds down a sort of slope underneath the tree. The earth would have sucked us up deeper if we hadn't got tangled in the branches of an uprooted tree. For minutes I sat stunned, unconsciously ruffling Lily behind the ears like most dog friends do without thinking much.
Then I looked around.
It was pitch dark.
Far, far above - or beneath? - us I discovered a light as big as the rather small window of a cellar. This light probably saved us. I guessed or felt the boulders and bushes and branches more than I could see them, and for fear of losing Lily simply tucked her underneath my sweater. It was hard work getting up or down there. - Have you ever climbed up a mountain in the dark? no? Don't think I ever got so many scratches, bumps and bruises. That was bad enough - but not the worst. The worst came when
Snip - just like that.
The impudence of it all, especially after my odyssey up the mountain, don't you think? Impulsive as I sometimes am, my right hand clutched one of the many stones that were all over the place and I threw it at the place where the light had come from. We heard a loud TOCK! which made Lily bark and then a pffff! and the light appeared again...
Really: it gave me the creeps. A couple of minutes later the light vanished and it was dark again. This time I needed five stones until the TOCK! awarded me and I hurried to get as far up as I could before the light:
pfff! - damn it, off again!
I repeated this procedure for at least an hour, the last little piece I managed in total darkness - my last baseball game was too long ago and my arm felt like it had lost it's normal location.
There it was:
I was already beyond the point of horror, was freezing and very tired and just groped on like an old woman looking for her teeth in the dark. - But stop - what was that...?
Shivering in spite of myself I lifted my hand and pulled - and the light that exploded directly in front of me made me close my eyes dazzled...
"Really, Mama!" Christina's young voice in the darkness behind me said reproachfully. "Shut the fridge, will you? You know that cake is for Gaby's birthday tomorrow!"
So always remember: never go to bed with an empty stomach.
Good night, Lily.
© 2005 hexandthecity's mascot LILY, who died on January the 7th, 2005 - one day before her nineteenth birthday.
You all know my old house in St. Jurgen - beautiful! Balcony, arched windows and doors, parquet floor and the garden... - a dream! Too big for me, otherwise I would still be living there.
I know you think it was because of the slugs which sometimes abandoned their paradise outside to visit me, no idea why or how they came inside. And always at night. The next morning the tracks on the parquet floor told on them, but never mind, it was easily wiped off - so I assure you that was not the reason for my moving to the other side of Lubeck. But you want me to tell you about the slugs, is that right? - Where shall I start?
Like many elderly women I sometimes had and still have an irresistible urge to visit my bathroom in the middle of the night and now and then had the bad luck of treading on a slug in the dark. It wasn't a nice way of waking up, I assure you, but of course I threw it back in the garden with a shudder, it's a poor creature of God like all of us, you know - you can ask anybody: I couldn't harm a fly.
One night I lost my composure a little though. I was barefoot as most people when they get out of their beds and must have jumped high when I felt that cold, slimy thing underneath my innocent warm foot so as not to kill the poor thing - and landed on another one of those slimy brrr things with the other foot! That's enough to excite anybody out of his wits, isn't it: barefoot...
My fondness of these creatures of God was not very big then, so I rushed to my bathroom to get a toilet paper roll and WUSH! I wiped one of them and WUSH! the other and ran with one in toilet paper rolled slug in each hand back to the bathroom, threw both in the toilet and flushed once, twice and a third time to be sure they were really gone.
Next morning was a morning like every other morning and of course I had forgotten my misfortune with the slugs of the night before. Made myself a very strong coffee to drink on the toilet as usual. Before sitting down, I noticed it just in time: a slimy looking tan colored heap of something with one broken over tentacle, slowly creeping it's way up...
But that was not the reason I moved, really!
© 2004, hexandthecity - for my dear old friend Verena
hay fever II
Do I really have to? What... - I promised? Oh, all right.
It was in the middle of the summer: hot like hell and pollen all over the place, I not only swam in my own sweat, my nose was a river, my eyes a waterfall. To be precise: I had the worst disease since Eve smelled the blossoms of that silly old apple tree: hay fever.
No use fretting though, I needed this credit, not next week or tomorrow: now. So I put on my best clothes, crammed my little dog on the blanket in her basket, became aware that every single tissue laying around was too moist to be used again and stowed a roll of toilet paper and the documents I needed for the credit under the blanket.
I know, I know: important documents belong in an important looking black briefcase and not in a dog's basket, ooooookay! The hot weather, the pollen, my head and the rest seemed to have increased my snottiness: I simply did not care. I had this one intention on my mind and wanted to get over with it, fast and straight. So what?
To start with the silly bank was full of silly people, but fully air-conditioned too, thank God: no fresh pollen for my poor nose! Where did all those people come from, were they all after a credit too - or was it the two huge fans blowing from each side? If it made them happy...
I was too early and had to wait thirteen minutes, so I tried my best to look at ease and cool as I walked to the waiting corner, which was crowded with merry chattering people, who were dressed up like tourists with t-shirts and shorts and seemed in a very good mood and without hay fever.
Good for them.
One of them jumped up and offered his chair.
Good for me.
So there I sat in my best suit, styled like Grace Kelly in a high society film, my nose up even higher than usual to prevent the river from flowing, because I didn't feel like getting that toilet paper out of the basket in between my feet, thinking: Hey, was that hell already? No, hell is all that and a dog that starts to howl, probably smelling the fact that I forgot it's biscuits in my every-day-clothes. I ignored the naughty thing and the gaping people who all had this why-don't-they-lock-up-these-animal-slayers look and started adding and multiplying large sums of money - my way of relaxing.
A stupid thing to do...
The slayed little dog got impatient and jumped out of it's basket, the basket tipped over, spreading the documents exactly in front of one of the fans and with a sovereignty not even the pope can top the toilet paper rolled through the whole stupid bank like a long red carpet, solemnly followed by a cloud of papers...
Are you happy now or shall I stand on my hands and snip with my toes at the same time?
© 2004, hexandthecity - for Uschi, also mentioned in "off the beach"
the zodiac man
So it's my turn now, eh? Well, a little bit of pure masculine power is due, right?... What do you mean: no sexist remarks, you women aren't very nice to us either and we have to laugh! So.
May I introduce myself? I'm Alex, gender: male; age: mind your own business! HA!
Okay, first of all you must know that I have a lot of Cancer (in me - no, not that sort of cancer, stupid, I mean the sign of the zodiac! People born under that sign or - okay: a little bit under that sign - love fixing things and are so full of readiness to help and flexibility, that... - my God, okay, I'm at it, I'm at it!
An old friend of mine got married last summer, a good man, I know him since... - what, I can't even mention that? Who are you: another Bush? Well, I understand: stick to the point, don't drift off - no problem.
My wedding gift was to film everything: starting with the wedding and ending with the end.
Was that short enough, Miss Piggy?
Had a very good camcorder at the time, you know; today everybody seems to have one. Was an interesting film, by the way: all those drunk bodies when the party was over... yeah, okay, don't drift off, Alex, carry on.
Needed quite a few tapes for the wedding, then came a couple of birthdays and when Santa Claus knocked I began to realize: Alex, old boy, buy some new tapes, this is getting crowded. Of course I forgot it and had to improvise on New Year's Eve, throwing a couple of parts on my computer to make room. You know, I'm really flexible - as everyone can confirm who knows me, a hell of a chap and... -
Hey, that wasn't drifting, just an explanation why I received an invitation to the birthday of the bride in January, the same one who chained up my old friend the summer before - ouch, hey, that was my ancle! thought you women prefer making your points verbally?
Well, I got the invitation on Saturday and that was also the date of the party. Bit tight, eh? But not for Alex, the magician of Luebeck... Didn't need much flexibility this time though, a bulky gift basket was in the way since Christmas: a monstrosity filled with marzipan from good old Luebeck, expensive Salami-wurst made in Italy, original caviar I picked up directly in St. Petersburg, salmon from St. Peters Ording - or to be brief: the best of Europe. What? Of course I've been in St. Petersburg before, heaps of times! - May I carry on? you're blocking my natural flow! - Thank you.
The good thing is or was: everything was still there. I tucked it a little here, pinched it a bit there and put a huge ribbon all over it: tatatataaa! finished was the super gift from Cockaigne. Or from Alex.
It was a weird party. Every chair, couch or whatever was occupied, and the funniest thing was: her relatives were the only ones who had a gift for the birthday girl, the rest had received the invitation that very day like me - and had no time to organize anything. Not very talented in planning things, the lady, eh? Probably a Sagittarius, but no - they're not so quiet - Libra, maybe...? Never mind.
My gift had all the attention it needed and was very admired, yeah yeah. Not that I didn't pity the ones who came with good wishes only - a few were quite embarrassed or upset and kept the spirits down and who wants that sort of thing at a party? To break the ice a little, I suggested connecting my camcorder to the television so everybody could gape at the wedding. Nobody had seen it by then - not even me.
It was not one of my brightest ideas. Somehow my tapes got messed up... First came the after-the-wedding party corpses, who were now all sitting around, staring at the TV with eyes wide open and looking very alive and like they wanted to jump out of the window or kill somebody - Scorpios perhaps? Especially those who came without a gift seemed eh... - well, the silence was somewhat icy. But I'm not finished, it came worse - not sure I wanna tell you that part though...
Okay. - If you say so:
After presenting a couple of very drunken grown-up people doing things nobody does in public, Christmas came. And I saw myself on the screen under a Christmas tree, showing off with a gift basket filled to the brim with such delicious things like marzipan from good old Luebeck, expensive Salami-wurst made in Italy, original caviar directly from St. Petersburg, salmon from St. Peters Ording...
I don't like that sarcastic grin on your face, Madame - what do you want to hear..? Well okay: at that moment I became aware that maybe it would be good to rearrange my flexibility a bit - satisfied now, Mary Poppins?
So that's that.
Can I greet someone? - Why not? Oh, I see: you're a Virgo, eh?
© hexandthecity, 2004 - for Dad
It took a long time before he noticed. Not even his mother ever accused him of letting something like fantasy get away with himself.
And she was not squeamish.
He was used to cleaning his apartment every Saturday: dusting his way through bedroom and living room, wiping kitchen and bathroom with three different sorts of A.P.C.s and special cloths. Then he ran his vacuum cleaner over every spot he could reach, wiping the floor afterwards just to be sure.
And ate his supper somewhere else - no need messing everything up straight away.
That was his Saturday.
The spider boom this year didn't bother him, it was rotten weather: for every two rays of sunshine came enough rain to switch off any old sun. When even two-legged people looked for a dry place until the flood was over - why not eight-legged spiders?
The smaller eight-legged ones were getting bigger though...
Of course: fat cells as the result of less danger and stress and movement plus more food - and anyway: spiders were clean and ate the other dirty ones.
Okay, that little "tock!" from the inside of his vacuum cleaner made him wonder sometimes, as if he'd sucked up a larger piece of wood instead of a teeny-weeny spider, a "Tock!" that seemed to get louder every Saturday...
Maybe he needed some vitamins.
It started getting, well: sort of funny one morning when he opened his eyes at six thirty, his usual time: In the left corner of the ceiling opposite to his bed sat a gray and brown striped spider with short fat legs and such an enormous body, that it made his eyes pop: that was too much! Jumping out of bed and fetching the vacuum cleaner seemed a mere reflex: the "TOCK!" in the vacuum cleaner sounded a little different this time, more "PLOPP!"-like - as if something had gone through there with effort. Not that he was scared or had a bad conscience - his sense of order had been disturbed and was now restored - it was his home and his right to do whatever he wanted in here.
No problem there. The point was: from that day on he had to repeat the procedure every morning - even after closing the tiniest hole of the vacuum cleaner. Was that normal?
With all the diplomacy he could force his tongue to use, he started asking around if anybody else had those same funny pets that got fatter every night - he had a secure and good paid job and didn't feel like changing that. And there was no use inviting someone to come and see - who would come at seven in the morning? In spite of all of his rationalism, by this time he suspected it to be the same spider all the time, so the only solution he could find was to leave Bob - as he called it by now - in his corner in the morning and be very surprised to see the old chum when he came home with somebody after work.
Good idea? Of course.
It was the most embarrassing moment he ever had in all of his thirty-one and a half years. He had lured the colleague in his bedroom somehow to show her something that was not there, after enjoying a film and a lot of music, although he was a miserable dancer... oh boy, he was so stupid, had been admiring exactly this woman from afar the last years - hadn't dared ask her until now ... She had gone off without another word, seemed to think he was rather... HELL!
Next morning there was Bob again in his private corner, grinning at him.
"PLO-OPP!" stammered the vacuum cleaner in slow motion. He filled all of it's openings with wet toilet paper, put the cleaner in a plastic bag and this bag in another, dumping it all in a paper container on the other side of the city - a heroic act for someone who loathed wasting things. The new one he bought after work was not cheap either: a high-pressure cleaner, designed to cope with floods and post-war debris and that sort of stuff.
For some reason he woke up earlier than usual next morning. And stared upwards. There he sat - that same fat, gray and brown striped creature, slightly larger but with the same short fat legs, seemingly wanting to hypnotize him from his stupid old corner: Bob...
Grabbing the new cleaner and switching it on was done as if he'd been practicing all year. Through the transparent plastic bubble window on top of the cleaner he saw the foam with sparkling eyes - as if he'd never seen anything so fantastic before - and cleaned the living room carpet and the bathroom rugs as well, rather proud of his never failing sense for practical things. Before he went to work he carefully closed the only opening of the new super cleaner and isolated all doors and windows with the expensive isolation tape he had bought the day before.
He came a couple of minutes too late. - For the first time in nine years.
All day he stared very hard at his monitor, obviously somewhere else with his thoughts. He didn't notice the lunch break, he didn't see the astonished colleagues shaking their heads - they had to poke him or he would have missed going home.
The couch in his living room was a great temptation, his bed looked hard, cold and inhospitable, and it took ages to get asleep and then he had bad dreams. So he should have been rather happy when the alarm clock woke him, but he kept his eyes closed tight as if trying to postpone something as long as possible: life maybe...?
It was no use. Slowly opening his eyes and grabbing under his bed for the cleaner at the same time, he froze in mid air when he saw it: the corner was empty.
He wanted to jump up and dance and scream and sing. Instead the hand that had automatically grabbed for the cleaner shuddered, the message of something round, hairy and warm under his bed had been successfully delivered... Swallowing hard to keep his guts inside, his hand somehow found the cleaner and vacuumed and sucked and vacuumed, then he was on his feet and saw it: the short fat legs were inside all right, but the rest was too big. It made his inwards creep up again, at the same time reminding him of a fictive bear called Winnie the Pooh, who was stuck in a tree after eating too much honey...
The memory made him want to laugh in spite of himself, this eased his tension and got his brain and the rest working again: clutching the cleaner he maneuvered it to the bathroom, careful not to pull the plug. As soon as Bob's fat hairy body fidgeted directly over the toilet, he switched off the cleaner and flushed the toilet at the same time, hitting the foot of the cleaner hard on the toilet edge because Bob seemed to be very stuck or was perhaps clutching... Oh my God! Sweat was running in his eyes as he dumped all the chemicals he could find in the toilet, flushing about half a dozen times and stuffing several plastic bags in the downwards hole, determined not to use the toilet for at least a week.
Even then he didn't relax - he didn't dare.
This time he came seventy-six minutes too late, but didn't even notice it. He was glued to his computer, seemed to want to jump inside. But he was okay, not even scared, really.
Of course not.
There was no need to be, the creature didn't come back. He was free... had several dates with that attractive colleague - as if he was suddenly aware he had all sorts of joints and other things and could even use them.
Actually that creature had released him, yes: he was free.
He sang and whistled, inspecting the delicacies he had bought on his way home: champagne, salmon, pralines... Wasn't this a wonderful world? She would come tonight, tralalala - wasn't life simply great...
The evening was perfect, the night - their very first night, in fact - even better.
Next morning was Sunday, no need to get out of bed - why? He smiled, admiring the naked woman that slept on her tummy in his bed, the forms of her lovely backside looking like modeled under the sheet. Still smiling he pulled the sheet away slowly, almost playfully, as if to get his blood pressure up even higher...
He lowered his face to kiss his way down and then felt his blood freeze. There it was: a gray and brown striped hairy body with eight short fat legs as twin tattoo on the downward extension of the loveliest back of the world: Bob.
Just a little bit fatter...
© 2005 hexandthecity
May I tell you something? This internet thing is getting uncomfortable. Nothing really new, I know, but put nicely enough to keep people from throwing frusty/frosty bits at me as if I'm some checkered dog shitting in their garden. Know what I mean? Even the humor is getting edgy (mine was always edgy, but never mind). That's why I'm on fb and twitter so seldom and in a hurry to get off after congratulating and throwing verbal pepernootjes (those thumb nail sized cookies that look like the treats next to one's espresso in bella Italia, but taste like Christmas, they throw 'em at kids on the 6th of December in the Netherlands; we Dutch think kids need lots of movement so we can do what we want when they're laying pooped in their beds) at friends or giving 'em a solid poke (if it's very hot, I pretend there's a swimming pool behind them: not deep and nice warm - let me know if that's too hot/cold).
Perhaps we need a break now and then, a nonsense nap in between: a coffee nap or maybe a story nap. Hard to find stories with the right length, but hey: I can write you one. But please never ever take anything I say or write personally - I don't mean you. Unless of course you enjoy it.
Science says a nap should not exceed 20 minutes, hm: 100 words a minute or 2000 words, which sort of disqualifies siestas (now and then a pepernootje in another language soothes my bad conscience for being lazy and writing this in one language, besides german has a lot of signs you have to correct via quellcode and my dutch is horrible - and anyway, more people understand english and I certainly am not going to learn chinese. Maybe later) only, knowing most people have an app that translates things and reads text out loud, which is great. If you do it right, it's like you just inhaled a sloppy balloon filled with wellness, meditation, yoga and cheese cake - or just had a quicky, in case this sort of thing relaxes you. You can do it anywhere, it should feel like laying on a soft cloud (those cotton balls outside up in the sky) floating in a decently dimmed peaceful space, curtains lightly moving to and fro as if your Mom is popping in to see if your eyes are really closed, softly cuddled by a wind of lavender and marshmallows. If it didn't work, try a sleeping mask and use the cotton for your ears. To be honest: after your nap I hope you'll switch off whatever it is you're listening/reading this text on and go outside and embrace somebody.
If you get arrested, blame it on me, I don't mind.
Let's call it:
(next time I'll take a lady protagonist and use feminine pronouns only, it's not
important for the story and I have a headache, so forget about gendering these next 2000 words. please.)
Three attempts were necessary, before the exclusive JouHoSch, an Elite International Training School for Talented Journalists, finally opened their portal and accepted John. He was motivated, had written for the newspapers of every single school he'd been on (three times all alone) since he was nine years old, and read, nay: digested, sucked up all of the interesting and fascinating reports from the best journalists he could lay hands on, detesting minor quality that could mess up his writing style. The mere thought that any jerk could call himself a journalist was so outraging, so disgusting: there was no specific training path, no regulations, nothing - simply write what you see and throw it on a platform: hooray, I'm a journalist, kiss my feet! Of course that was not enough for John, who had to search long until he found this institution of wisdom, experience and smartness: journalism at it's best. It was perfect for him. He had always been interested in science, knew everything about politics, and his knowledge of geography and history was as if he had been crawling all over the world with two loops on his eyes since our solar system started, although he had never left the country - was that necessary? The JouHoSch was the best, and up to now, his mentors seemed satisfied with him, not surprising considering the bundle of excellent articles he had written for them: three were published in newspapers of high quality and seventeen others in rather good magazines. His reputation of being able to write about everything on the spot - like breathing - was starting to attract head hunters, making the A-certificate of the JouHoSch a sure number, only a final masterpiece was left.
And then this absurdity. He couldn't believe it first, thought it must be some prank, invented by one of those jerks he avoided. But no, what they required was not a sensational report about a bloody and unjust war going on just now, nor something about an up to this day unknown indigenous tribe without cancer or the mumps - not even facts about a new gender called IDCWYSW (= I-Don't-Care-Who-You-Sleep-With), who were obviously contented to be mere human beings, poor suckers. What they wanted was a 2000 words report about a place, a planet, a star, about something that did not exist: a fairy tale for adults, to be handed over in three weeks. He was not shy, so of course had indignantly pointed out he loathed science fiction and didn't feel like giving birth to even more fake news; in vane, they insisted imagination was a must-have for every good journalist, without it the job was a mere "copy and paste" affair, writable on any computer that had the appropriate apps. Alternatives? Of course, they left John the choice of either kicking two years of study in the ass or reinventing the moon. Tough nut for someone glued to facts. After two weeks of self torture he asked me. Unfortunately, I didn't have any time and think people should do their work themselves or say no in the first place and thus arranged an internship for this promising young man in the kindergarten, where my granddaughter Luna (oh, a female, I beg your pardon) had just successfully completed a two week internship - I hope there is no one among my acquaintances questioning this path. After five days he handed out a brilliant article that was translated in sixteen languages, awarded with the "Best of WaPo Price" and quoted to be a "good read" in almost all magazines and even the internet. It would be an easy job to just copy and paste it here, but that would probably disqualify John (the name is fictitious) as a journalist and myself as an author with not enough fantasy, so I wrote an equivalent story any child could spit out without even thinking. If it gets a price, I'll pass it to my granddaughter. Here we go; I call it:
Sandikus7669 was known as the organizer, nobody knew why or how, he simply seemed to always know what to do and to be able to solve any problem as soon as it started peeping out of it's hole. However, this time there was no peeping beforehand, nobody saw it coming. Fortunately for us or me as the chronicler, Sandikus43998, the calender, afterwards pinned the start shot of the catastrophe: it was 1.45 tokajas ago (1 tokaja is almost exactly 3.75 months), when the big Earthlings had evacuated the entire population of Lunata from the protected area next to the big red house with the double green doors, where they had resided for years, and before realizing something was going on, they landed under one of the oak trees like a pile of leaves in the autumn wind. The new location wasn't bad, on the contrary, but this rather solid autumn wind (it was a bulldozer, shoving everything several yards away to make room for something else; Earthlings in green overalls built new solid borders that very same day) had overlooked many comrades, leaving them behind and thus separating them from their beloved ones - in the dark, when everything was quiet, they could hear them grit out loud, screaming for help. It was a bit unfair, because normally Earthlings needed endless stretching units before they moved anything at all, they even needed bells to separate each unit and called it bureaucracy as if it was a sacrosanct order from the moon - a bureaucracy they seemed to have forgotten this time, catching the Lunatics off their guard. Good the Lunatics had no such handicap and (not good) even less time, so they started looking for a solution at once, first of all defining the problem, which was quite simple: the main group needed at least 2000 additional Lunatics to survive as a folk; a complicated piece of math invented by Mother Nature to keep things tidy. Sandikus3499 the counter had calculated that from a total of 3.4 trillions exactly 3776 Lunatics were missing. 3776 was not much compared to the whole population, but small groups had the tendency to rot back into Mother Earth faster: "too small to survive", meaning those left behind had only one and a half tokayas lifetime and would suck the main mass behind them about three tokayas later. Irreversibly. They were running out of time, the situation was desperate, when Sandikus5667987 the attentive one scratched out the fact that their old home was exactly in front of the door, from where the little Earthlings ran out twice a day to do their remarkable units all around the backyard - and since it was new with a huge slide and a tremendous truck tire hanging down the oak tree, almost 87% of them went through their new home under the oak tree, creating a sort of taxi service for the 3776 missing. Yes! But how? It was Sandikus975982043, the collector who unfortunately still lived in their original home, who gritted the solution to the emigrants under the tree. It sounded complicated, in fact, it sounded ridiculous and even impossible, but the 3776 Lunatics left behind were already starting to fade away, they had nothing to loose, they didn't even have time to practice and had no choice but to start straightaway and started rolling, shoving, gritting themselves to a transporter thanks to Sandikus975982043 they had plenty of that. It was a bright beautiful Monday, only 1 tokajata (=9 days) before their Doom Day X, but alas, the birds were singing so loud they blurred the gritting communication: should they postpone it?
"No!" protested Sandikus566007, the botanist. "The birds will be quiet, when the small Earthlings run out."
"They always are!" added Sandikus5667987.
"You are right", gritted Sandikus3499. "We must also consider that our old group is getting decimated by 4.67 comrades each single hour - we need all the time we can get!"
"Yes!" Sandikus37859498, the frog, approved. "Tomorrow it will rain, that's so much worse!"
"So be it!" cried Sandikus7669. "Are all our comrades prepared, does everybody know what to do?!" he gritted as loud he could, so the comrades at the old place, who were starting to loose their conscience one by one, might hear it: "Concentration, please, the little Earthlings are coming!"
Nobody could possibly overhear it. Both doors swayed open with a bang and it sounded like all of the slaughtered buffaloes of America (sorry, couldn't resist) were pouring out of the house.
"79 Earthlings already ran through the right spots", Sandikus3499 was busy counting. "7 of them are here just now - come on, guys" he cried to the others, "rescue our comrades before the Earthlings go elsewhere! In the north corner are five more, the right side three - hurry up!!"
They had saved 169 on that first day, none on the second because of the rain, 347 on the third, and were especially lucky on the fourth, scratching 39 comrades off of one single shoe, and 47 off another, all together 395 had been rescued! However, Friday it also rained. The Lunatics at the old place were so weak, they were relieved to have a three day break in spite of themselves and although not even half of the minimum had been rescued. The Lunatics under the tree were worried, it was not only the time, it was also the fact that their comrades in front of the door were fading away and stayed were they were, not moving, just whining and gritting softly now and then. Sunday night was a quiet night, and yet, even Sandikus78832123445, the ear, could not hear their old comrades anymore. Was it over, was this the end of 26 years of comradeship?! It only had to rain very hard and all would be lost: their history, their tradition, their many battles and victories.
"No worries", said Sandikus37859498. "It's not going to rain during one whole tokajata."
"And our comrades are admittedly too weak or unconscious to move, but they're still alive and are all on the right marks to be picked up!" the optimist, Sandikus5857993, the obama, added. "Come on, we can do it!"
Monday 233 were saved, Tuesday they got 249 on their side, which wasn't bad either. Wednesday was sensational: 419!
"We still need only 188 more comrades to be safe!" Sandikus3499 had excitedly counted. "This is terrific and it's going to work, comrades! We won already!!"
"Why only 188?!" screamed Sandikus5857993. "Let's rescue every single one of them - they are all beautiful and precious!"
"I'm afraid it's too late for some of us", answered his slightly older brother, Sandikus5857991, the pessimist.
Many of the older rescued Lunatics needed several tokajatas to get their old condition back, and some didn't survive the long separation. In the end they lost 324 of their comrades, half of them being too far away to give them the last proper grit, the rest got a nice higher place not far from their brand new home, in the middle lay Sandikus975982043, the collector and hero of this memorable battle. Even 88 tokajas later Sandikus6789477, the storyteller, had to repeat these glorious day each night, when the Earthlings had switched out all of their lights, which usually stole the stars their magnificent show, and the moon was invisible. Thus the folk of Lunata survived the only spontaneous action of the Earthlings ever - I heard it was one of the first Corona actions that took place in the middle of 2020, when most governments were throwing out all the money they didn't have - and they all lived happily ever after.
It's a lovely kindergarten in the middle of a gorgeous park, so if your kids attend the place, take care they don't step on the chewing gum or destroy the secret hiding place next to the southern border underneath the wood - you never know.
Sorry, I have the uncomfortable habit of "improving" everything I write until it looks like somebody else - meaning the 2000 words part is probably no longer correct. Feel free to drop as many words as needed, nothing like a good nap.
was a cousine and very dear friend when we were very very young, always laughing and making jokes, she died a while ago (OK, time and myself are no buddies, I ignore him and wish he'd take the hint and ignore me too).
People who know I enjoy writing, sometimes ask me to write some last words, when a beloved one dies. I never did. Why? There are always some nasty things to shut up about, you know - and anyway: why don't they do it themselves?
This time nobody had to ask. If anybody has anything nasty to say about Peggy Kragt - it must be a very stupid or ignorant person. Or both. I'm not saying Peg was perfect - nobody is. She was one of these rare people, who accepted you just the way you are, she never asked or demanded anything. We grew up together, so I should know. I was a quiet child, very introverted - she was the opposite (or maybe just sounded like it, because I hardly said anything, who knows?) And yet she always understood what I didn't say - there was no need to do so: you're here, I'm here, we're here. And we're fuckin' (she loved that word, I dunno why) good friends enjoying ourselves!
She never cared how somebody was dressed, if their nails were long and painted or bitten off - maybe she didn't even notice. Like all of us, she wanted to be loved though, and pretty please by everyone - that was her sore point.
I visited her only twice because of the millions of cat's hairs flying around at her place. And Corona. When she visited me in Germany 2007 or 2008, I was astonished about her greeting absolutely everybody passing by and said so.
Peg: Don't you?
Me: I don't know them, Peg.
Peg: So what?
Me: This is a big city, I'd be pretty busy if I'd say hello to them all.
Peg: So what?
And she laughed.
My German family was enchanted by this Dutch lady with the beautiful voice, always singing and laughing and making fun. They loved her after less than half an hour of acquaintance - it was not only her singing, she had such a fuckin' great heart - something you suck in like fresh air in a polluted city.
Missing you already, Peg. Bye, love.
P.S. Am going to try to say hello to everyone I meet - maybe that kills the bad air a little.
But only if they don't have a piece of electricity in front of their faces, okay ....Peg? I know you're laughing.
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