Meike Schrut

As the rain came

From M.A. a peculiar being had become. Since the companions looked for him, it had rained incessantly, not only on the island: also in the fields under the island, because there the desperate stayed. He was neither a person nor was he like the others which surrounded him up to now: the rain ran by his transparent body, solved arms, legs, the head of the rest of the body. They drifted towards the wall, M. A. near stood, his eyes, his voice: only this told of the fact that somebody stayed here. The voice asked the other invisible minds where it went then and the eyes still looked for the other beings which he had had however, thus with pleasure. With pleasure? What meant this? He could start nothing more with the word of feelings. Everything in him was dead, at the same time he felt how his body parts submitted in new manner to him, he floated and felt buoyant, as it were as drunk. When the other beings arrived where M.A. had resolved, did they feel only the presence of foreign uncanny minds, did they differ so much from these? „Where is he only?“ RF turned round to his darlings who had become quiet strangely. She nodded and pointed to a place in the wall. His blue eyes had multiplicated themselves, they stared of all sides, rather mockingly as sad. „He seems to mock us, why?“ „There wanders your You, I do not mock, but I am sorry if you were here, you would note that here in the mind world no more feelings are possible. Not to starve tried like I to be thirsty, because here by these stupidities I came.“ Yes, his words sounded neither sad, nor wistful, it the melody of the death, thus awfully, was cruel that the searching asked themselves honestly whether they should follow him in that strange world, because: what waited there for them? Would the present imitation of a living actor remember, now to the fictive figure Michael Adam become, them? And if: would an existence be possible there what one could call anyhow life? Would he want to live with them? 

And the history ends with it around broken dreams. Since if a being must recognise that it looks though like his ideal, so speaks and also partially in such a way thinks, but just no one is and probably a person can never become, then dreams break. If it was a fairy tale, it would maybe go on in the mind world. And: is it then no fairy tale? RF may forgive me, I have dedicated this story not only especially to him, but also to all people who have dreams, dreams which seem so strange sometimes that other shake only the head.

And as the compassionate person who has anyway invented a fictive history: should I leave the figures from an uncertain future now? Fairytale worlds can be so nice, but also so cruelly. Where will the trip of the immortal beings go? However, these are quite new dreams which maybe do not break once more.....

 

 

Alle Rechte an diesem Beitrag liegen beim Autoren. Der Beitrag wurde auf e-Stories.org vom Autor eingeschickt Meike Schrut.
Veröffentlicht auf e-Stories.org am 04.05.2010.

 

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