Tag Archives: soil

They Keep Digging

Okay. This is going to sound crazy, but I promise I’m not crazy. It’s 4am now and I might be dead tired, but this is real and I’m not just imagining it.

Those diggers outside, they keep moving.

There’s two of them. It’s one of those annoying building sites where the workers start around 6:30am, just so they can wake normal people up, and they keep going until the early afternoon. They started shortly before Christmas and this must be an important thing because this hole is massive and they’ve been at it every day. But like those building sites are, not a single time did the workers stay until the evening and they certainly never worked during the night. And I’ve been looking out there for the last hours and there was definitely no worker out there.

But I have no doubt anymore that those diggers keep moving by themselves. Continue reading

Listen to the Graves

I grew up next to a graveyard. As a child the calm darkness made me uncomfortable – my bedroom looked out over the graveyard and often I found myself at night pressed against my bedroom window. I stared at the flickering candle lights and the shadows they threw and imagined things climbing out of graves.

As a teenager that fear faded. The graveyard was the only green area in the neighborhood and until the security was tightened it actually became our smoke-and-meet spot, a place where our parents would never look for us.

Since then graveyards seem to me more like parks. I think of them as places where I can go to relax and read a book without disturbance. There are always pretty flowers around.

I got my job offer before I even graduated. I didn’t have much time to go apartment hunting. So I wouldn’t say that I particularly looked for an apartment near a graveyard, but I certainly didn’t mind it either. Continue reading

Why I will never hitchhike again

This happened to me about eight years ago. I had hitchhiked regularly for more than two years. This was the last time I ever did.

When you hitchhike overnight there are two options: Either someone offers you a place to stay or you find yourself a place to crawl into. I always had my one-man-tent and a light sleeping bag with me but I rarely needed them. I’m a rather talkative and friendly guy and usually those people that are ready to let a single young man in their car and enjoy his company don’t mind offering said man a bed or at least a corner in the garage at night and a shower in the morning.

I had been on the road for six days and every single night I was lucky enough to score a bed. The second night I had even been invited to come along to a house party. The third night I was offered to join some sort of family reunion where a father met his kids for the first time in years, but I politely refused because his ex wife obviously minded having a smelly stranger around. In return for being polite I got a beer and a pack of yoghurt and was allowed to sleep in the car. Continue reading

Solid Ground

Water can swallow you. You can fall from the sky. I can’t count the times that I left a shaky ship or airplane and finally set foot on solid ground. I always felt relaxed when I was back “home” in our element. I always thought the ground was safe.

Soil, stone and wood. Only wooden floorboards sometimes disturbed me with a creepy creak or their slight elasticity. Still the ground seemed safe. It seemed so solid.

Then the shaking started.

Molly woke us up. She was six.

“Mom! Mom! Mom!”

I pulled Molly into our bed and hugged her.

“I want mom!” Continue reading

The Little Ones

Roxy’s left hand was sitting calmly on the table; her right hand was pulling on and playing with her ear piercing.

“Okay, so how does this work?” She was impatient. “I told this two times already and every time the people smiled and nodded and later I was told by somebody else that I’d have to stay here. I want out of here. I need to get out of here!”

I smiled, nodded and told Roxy that our interview was the last step before she was allowed to leave; we just needed to make sure that she would not be a danger to herself or anybody else. Roxy didn’t seem convinced.

“Fine,” she finally said. “They are real, I’ve seen them. And if that’s too much of a leap of faith for your kind tell me straight away that you want to keep me locked up.” Continue reading

Work for the Night

Kevin was struggling against the handcuffs.

“I know what I did was disgusting. But I didn’t have a choice.”

He looked at me with angry eyes.

“Life has thrown so much crap at me – and still I always was the nice guy. I always was caring and loving and let others go first. I tried getting jobs, but I don’t have a car and my neighborhood has barely any public transport. I was a pizza baker and a checkout guy and even a cleaner, but every time there was a strike or the bus broke down and I ended up late and they kicked me right on the street. They always said that I was lucky that they gave me a chance, but that I blew it.”

“I didn’t even know what to put on my CVs anymore – it’s probably better to pretend I was unemployed or even to say I had drug problems or anything like that, rather than list the number of times I was fired.” Continue reading