Tag Archives: time

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

On the Wire

I’m not the only one that remembers him.

Lisa too saw him, sitting there.

We were watching TV. I remember it was a Christmas special, two Indiana Jones movies and then something only for the adults. Lisa didn’t like Indy and the Nazis and when the screen turned black she laughed, at first.

Dad looked for a torch to go downstairs into the pitch-black basement. Mom found candles somewhere and put them up on the dinner table, but every time she turned around they went out again. Lisa and I just huddled on the couch and watched the snow outside.

Dad found the torch. He went downstairs, guided by that strangely round light of the torch. A flickering light.

“This thing is broken,” he said, while taking careful steps with every flicker.

When he was downstairs he called up for mom to bring a candle. Continue reading

Married

Trigger warning: Domestic violence.


Noah J. was so kind to narrate this story:


“They forced you?”
“No,” she said. “They just chose him for me.”
“But you said Yes?”
Her lips stretched into a shy smile.
“It was the right thing to do. It is my culture, you know?”
“Oh,” I said.
“If it’s my culture it must be a good thing, doesn’t it?”
“It could be,” I said. “It just seems strange to me.”
Saraswati pushed her lightly curled black hair behind her ear.
“It’s strange to me too. I’m not really connected to this culture anymore, but I wanted to make my parents happy.”
“And that is more important than your own life?” Continue reading

The Minimalist

Noah J. was so kind to narrate this story in English. You can listen to it here:

This story was also translated to Polish and made available as a Polish YouTube reading.


His name is Sven. He is 27, blond and used to have a well-shaped body.

We lived together for three years, him and me. Nights with beer and peanuts and good talk and days that we barely saw each other because of my busy schedule. He is an architect, or maybe he just was, I’m not so sure.

In March he made his life dream come true. He travelled to Japan and for three weeks his Facebook wall was plastered with photos of temples and streets and people. But most of all there were pictures of houses, large and small, finally photos of houses and apartments from the inside. Besides one of the pictures, to this day, stands a sentence that I think started his obsession:

“The people here are really nice. Tell them you are an architect and ask nicely and any stranger will show you their house – just make sure to take your shoes off!”

In his posts and the two short phone calls we had during his time in Japan I noticed that he seemed to have a new passion: Minimalism. Simplify and declutter your life and you will simplify and declutter your mind.

“You know,” he said. “They have apartments here, not even bigger than student rooms, but they have everything! A shower, a kitchen, everything in just one room and you don’t even notice it!”

The first thing Sven did when he came back was to pack most of his life – first spare clothes, his game consoles and his TV, then also old gifts or random memorability – into boxes. He placed the boxes on the sidewalk and within the hour they were gone. Within a week more and more left his room: Old birthday cards, photos, trophies, even his heirloom grandfather clock. Soon all was at the side of the street. Soon all of it was gone.

A room with a near-empty shelf, a near-empty wardrobe, a desk and a chair.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” he asked.

And I had to agree: So simple, so clean, so relaxing.

No clutter. No memories.

No worries. Continue reading

He was always there

Tyler entered my life as if he had always been there; it was almost surreal, the way he came and approached me and made a joke and the next and the next and I couldn’t stop laughing. There was a second date, then a third, and I knew that there would be no one else, ever, that could be like him.

His smell made me think of home. His voice made me calm and relaxed. His hobbies were like mine and he care about all those little, weird things that I cared about.

He was not my type physically, but no matter if you are man or woman – someday you will find that the physical doesn’t matter and that there is an attraction deeper than the physical, an attraction that you can neither stop nor increase, an attraction that just lives like a silent flame in the basement right below your heart. It got warm, hot even, when he came closer. His touch made me tingle, his words made me bite my lips.

Like a little girl, a fifteen or sixteen year old, in love for the first time; that’s what I felt like. That’s what I was. Mentally and emotionally reduced to the level of an early teen. I was there for him, and only for him. Continue reading