Tag Archives: abduction

Sweat House

Trigger warning!



I can’t understand it. I never will. Why? And why me?

And why my sister?

He shook my hand with a sweaty group of sausages. He smiled and said his name and even in that short moment of meeting him, with two steps of distance between our bodies and his thick and soft fingers in my hand, I noticed the smell.

From that day on it was always there. I walked past his nodding face behind the reception desk, unsure whether to breathe in deeply or to hold my breath. It was not something that made me jump out of my shoes, but it made my nose itch and my feet sweat. The smell was musky but light, intruding and penetrating but relaxing and, even as that is hard to admit, arousing. Continue reading

“You’re one of them, aren’t you?”

He stared straight into my eyes.

“You’re one of them, aren’t you?”

“Of whom?”

“How do I know what you are?”

“I’m trying to help you,” I said.

“Oh, fuck you. I know you aren’t. You are trying to figure me out. How many of us do you keep here?”

“Most are here only for a few weeks.”

“Stop stalling. How many?

“There are several hundred patients on the closed wards.”

Nick groaned.

“Several hundred! I knew it!” Continue reading

The Donor

“Just so you know,” the doctor said. “It’s an imported one.”

Back then I just nodded and signed. I didn’t know what that meant.

Emma was in a comma. There is not much of a choice if your choice is “save her” or “don’t save her:”

They operated.

I sat in that all-white waiting room with the plastic flowers in the corner and stared at the wall. That’s when the thoughts came. The worries. Continue reading

In My Blood

I woke up. When I looked to my right Roxana was just climbing out of bed.

“What are you doing?”

She didn’t respond. Her movements were slow but directed.

“You okay?”

She started walking. Her hand pressed the door handle down.

“Roxana?”

My childhood wasn’t easy. First there was no father, then there was one, then my mother was gone.

They arrested her partner. I remember sitting in a large room with brown walls. Many people were staring at me. I sat at a small table. The old man that sat higher to my right scared me. An old woman kept asking me questions.

“Did you hear a fight?”

“What did you see that night?”

“Did he hurt you?”

At some point I started talking. I remember wondering what answers the old lady was looking for. Sometimes, when she seemed unhappy with my answer, I said I remembered something else. Continue reading

The Boy with the Paper Hat

Marvyn stumbled into the sandpit while his sister still sat on the stones, unsure what to make of the yellow material in front of her. That day, in early March, I saw the boy for the first time. He was older than most of the other kids, maybe eleven or twelve. his t-shirt and jeans had holes.A paper hat sat slanted on his dirty blond hair.

The boy just stood at the other end of the playground, staring towards the sand and sometimes at the other kids. I remember thinking that he must be cold.

It was Anne’s first time at the playground, at least she wouldn’t remember the first time. For Marvyn it was the first time in a few months – and he was accordingly excited. Marvyn was five. Anne was only one. Continue reading