Gary's Version

I was holding this tiny woman in my arms last night and was watching over her sleep. It was fascinating to think that something like her could actually fall asleep and wander in the realm of dreams. And the long dark silky hair was practically everywhere: on her pillow, on my pillow, on the mattress, right in front of my eyes, over her shoulder and even in my hand. It was funny how it looked as through threads of her thoughts, threads right from her head were flowing all over my life.

When had I gotten myself stuck with her? Was it the day we both smelled trouble coming and had to run away from home, away from dad and Georg?

Not really. Being honest with myself, I would have to admit that it goes way further in the past.

Was it when she moved in with us? Or when dad assigned her as his student assistant? I don't know, I can not remember any more but I am stuck, I could see it in her hair last night. It was flowing everywhere, even inside my head. So I suddenly felt the urge to smell it, to know the scent of this mystery surrounding me in the dark of the night. It took me a couple of minutes before I made sure that she was fast asleep. So I firmly bent a little bit, just a little bit forward and took a deep breath. She did not wake up, she had absolutely no idea about what I was doing. I had smelled it though so I now had to grin victoriously. 
It felt good, the tiny thing I was holding.

A Unicorn Story - Warning for extreme Human Contant

It was kind of your usual story right out of the closet. The rich kid befriends the poor kid and they could not have belonged to more different worlds. Yet they made a world of their own, built up a whole universe where they could grow up together and forget all which was meant to separate them. And then just like you would read in one of those novels you pretty soon find out that the rich kid's life was being more or less dictated while the poor kid went around making experiences in life, so they both struggled, they both dreamed and eventually grew up. At first the rich family was not very satisfied with this friendship, not because of wealth but much more because of the dangerous background of the poor family: outcasts of their society for thinking differently. With time of course they got to know the kid befriending their child and grew a liking for the poor kid, the rich kid of course being welcomed to the circle of the poor family all along.

With years a friendship grows dear and strong, the bond is supposed to become unbreakable. It was no different with those two. The poor kid started struggling for the choices made and the rich kid kept trying to make as many choices as possible.
So the rich kid fell in love with the best friend who had not left this battlefield all these year, who had been there regardless of weather or not that kid liked the rich life of the friend and the path chosen for the child of such family. The love of the rich kid very soon became the nightmare of the poor kid, a greatest fear. It was not about what anyone else would have thought for in due time everyone had gotten to believe in their legendary friendship. It was the very fact that the kid was unable to return the love of a best friend. Surely the poor kid felt love for the rich kid, but the affection between two friends was no longer what the rich kid was after. So she gave in, she decided she was going to play this game, to help the rich kid make the very first choices no one had dictated before, she decided she was going to protect her best friend with all she had, to protect the friend with the wings of a unicorn, since those mythical creatures were famous for their protective power. The wings took blows, were stabbed, crushed, soon the pain started and yet she kept them wrapped around the friend.

Still she could not trick herself, she was not in love and every night they spent together drag all the power out of her mind and body, living her sick and in disgust with herself the next mornings after the best friend left. The best friend saw only the burning flames of passion, an eternal love for her, an insatiable affection for her, since the responses coming from her were not exactly what the rich kid had been looking forward to. The image of the weakening friend was so obsessing that the wings protecting the rich kid from the rest of the world were not seen any longer. Soon she was bleeding all over, hated herself for putting a show in front of her best friend, despised for deceiving herself, lying to her mind and misleading her body. She kept rejecting every other friend who might have had awakened a passion in her, kept all whom she could fall in love with in great distance, fearing of how it could have hurt her very best friend. Nevertheless she knew she was not able to keep pretending much longer, that she was not going to be playing this role to the satisfaction of the other one, simply because it was a fake.

Yet inside she felt proud of her friend who had finally come to making a choice, not an easy one but a real choice, without letting what others said or did make this person turn back. She felt so proud that she kept her wings even tighter around the kid, taking more blows.

The rich kid never knew, how the price she was paying for her best friend to make a choice and to stand up to it was way beyond the amount on any bank account.

And then she was left. She was suddenly left all alone in the midst of winter. The friend had seen something in her eyes, something unknown to scare the hell out of the rich kid. The thought of not knowing her after all these years seemed impossible to this one, the kid did not bear the sight, was frightened by the thought of so much more about her still left unknown.

This frightening truth was nothing other than a look into the eyes of a wild black unicorn.

And to be punished for letting her friend see what was not meant for most humans, the unicorn was left all alone in the snows of winter, injured, hurt, stabbed. 

Write Aida, write thousand seas!

Write the tears you can not cry!

Write for the dreams you need to keep alive!

Write when you have the feeling you can not run anymore, you can not run fast enough!

Write for the hands torn apart from yours!

Write remembering all the eyes set lovingly upon you!

Write whenever you can not speak the words!

Write when the pain makes your fingers numb!

Write all the songs you are not supposed to be singing!

Write the nightmares that have come true before your eyes!

Write all the madness which is driving you crazy!

Write the broken pens, guitars, bones and promises!

Write the bars, the barbed wire, the shackles, the coffin!

Write all the forbidden colours!

Write all the dances tied down by lashing!
Write the drunkenness of the forbidden wine!

Write all the passionate hearts which will eternally beat!

Write for every silenced scream!
Write for every blood smeared smile!

And do not forget to write your name...
Wright your name  just in case you should forget why it mattered,
for the case that you should not have any strength left to shout your existence.
Write your name so that those who have been missing your arms wrapped around them
will know where to look
and will know that you are still with them regardless of the earthly distance. 
Write your name for the days your voice is silenced
and for when those who have been lovingly calling you are silenced. 
Write your name so that you will remember, 
and so that they would know.

The Young Schwarzinger

"Sie sind jung, sind wie Esel, sind dumm, verstehen nichts!", mentioned by so many about the younger generation and yet the legacy goes on!

"!جوونن، خرن، احمقن، نمی فهمن"

...

The Story of our World*

Once upon a time, in a place not far away, where we all lived

There lived a child, there lived many children

And they dreamt every day, of things they would do

Of the world they were growing up into

They dreamt of what would be, of the years to come

They dreamt of how they would make the world

To fit their dreams and their wishes

The child kept playing hard everyday

Playing the games of how this dream world should be

For the children knew how serious it was,

Turning the world to a place of their dreams

So they played more seriously and longer

Until the grown ups could not stand them 'wasting their time' any more

So they called the children back to their homes

Back to their 'homework', trying to raise them properly

So eventually the children forgot playing together

And were engaged in the plans of their parents for their future

Eventually, they forgot their own wishes

And forgot the world they had dreamt for themselves

They even forgot all the hard work put into their dreams

And became tiny mirrors of the grown ups

And so the world turned out to be...

 ____________________________________________

 *And again I can not be really creative with names. X_x

Accounts of the Story Teller

The wind is telling stories again, way too many all at the same time.... How can I pick one to tell?

Back at Home in Dresden

I was waiting, sitting there invisibly among other patients. Some had company and some were there on their own like me. The clinic in Dresden was absolutely silent despite people whispering to each other and doctors and nurses running up and down the corridor.

And suddenly it was Gary sitting there on the wheelchair and not me, waiting for the doctor to pick him up for more tests. He was about 12 years old, his dad had brought him to the university clinic and had waited there with him for about an hour before he had had to go to work. At that time he knew that complaining was not going to make any difference so he was just watching everything with a cruel patience, watching the time he did not have anymore go by in the hectic of the university clinic in Dresden. Sometimes he just watched the adults around him and sometimes he stared at the shiny stones under the wheelchair.

The pain was unbearable but he had stopped reacting to it, for one because he had already had enough of painkillers and for another, cause at that stage he knew how little difference it would have made, it would just make other patients mad at him or what was even worse, it would have caught too much attention and then pity of the grown ups, esp. since there was no one by his side. He thought of how he would have loved to shout at his twin brother and tease him again but then the memory of Georg's crying all the time made him regret his wish. No one had felt so desperate, so horrified by the thought of what was happening inside Gary's young body than Georg.

The two of them never understood each other well although they were the only ones who knew what the other was really thinking, what he wanted and how he felt. Nothing ever changed this absurd closeness of the brothers, not until death did them part.

So Gary did actually miss Georg while he was sitting there on his own, focusing on the wheelchair in order to feel less pain and in order to at least look patient on the outside while waiting for the doctor, who had already passed by him several times without even looking at the young boy awaiting more and more tests and examination than he had already went through.

At the end, it was Gary Schwarzinger on the wheelchair the nurse picked up, it was Gary shivering in pain, it was Gary holding back tears and not me.