good advice

It’s no fun, being dragged behind a car at breakneck speed.

Just in case you were wondering, or planning on doing it… DON’T!

Half of the time you try to dodge stones and sharp rocks, and you try not to get too close to the tires of the following car, for obvious reasons. The other half, you try not to swallow too much dirt and fumes, so you won’t get dizzy. You have no time to enjoy the view. Besides, it’s most likely, that some moon tanned idiots scream profanities at you; all seven of them at once. This makes it even harder not to damage anything vitally important, like head, neck, spine, hands, or eyes. God of skull integrity, stay with me!

Some of those volume bloated harsh statements about your family and your origin are pure fiction and wishful thinking. Their promises of where which of their and your body parts will go, is mildly off-putting and fly off of the politeness chart. The newly imprinted courtesy protocol in your neural language hub does its best to bleep the sense out of words lodging themselves into your auditory canal. Thank you, universal translator. Well done, courtesy protocol.

So, how did I get myself tied up and dragged behind a car, you ask? Not on purpose. I’m not that crazy, despite the gossip – I swear. It chalks up to being at the wrong place at the wrong time. I’m the odd one out, not fast enough to hide in the nooks and crannies of my gallery, down in sub-level five.

It’s questioning from the lunatics’ point of view. It’s a full grown lynch mob, if you ask me. But no one ever does.

med bay snippets #2

The soft purring of the monitoring alarm on my watch wakes me, by vibrating. I’m up…

I tell the watch and it recognizes my voice. The command kills the alarm.

Sleeping at the med bay is seldom a good idea, and sleeping at a working station – uh, table – is downright irresponsible. I rub my face into some kind of wakefulness and wish I could rub my back into a painless state.

I wish I would have slept in one of the E-beds, but shake my head at the idea. The beds are semi-autonomous, so they can keep an exhausted man in stasis, till he gets all the tiredness out of his system. No matter how long that may take.

In case you are the ship’s doctor, this is a very bad idea. They tell you that in doctor’s school. Don’t get high on E-beds pain or sleep medication. I guess some of my colleagues must have tried, during their long trips to the Kepler System.

I have Lieutenant Decker in one. The screen above his E-bed flashes red.

Let’s check you then. 

I download the most recent parameters the bed has measured to my watch. I throw out my thumb and index above its display to activate the tablet function. Blood pressure: 100 to 80. Good, pulse: 110. Almost okay. Oxygen saturation: 85%. Not okay… Breathing frequency dwindling under 10. Bad. I shake my wrist to retract the tablet. The antidote is wearing off.

Load E-bed 2 with enough Naloxone. Doctor Oscar Welligton, authorization 00.01, code 672779-0.

The unconscious man in front of me looks like he just hopped from the grim reapers grasp, with a nearly translucent, pale skin.

What a disappointment… I do not recall Decker to be a genius, or  even smart. The flashing red on the E-bed monitor stops. His breathing improves visibly, oxygen saturation climbs above 90%. That’s the spirit, Lieutenant. 

This bloke finds the most pleasant way to go. Fearless, without the hunger for oxygen, without the hunger for life. I make a mental note to stock every suit – at least mine – with enough morphine to kill an elephant. This is a manageable last resort.

It is a stroke of genius to use morphine to save himself from asphyxiation. The question remains, if he’s left with cerebral damage. No one knows how long he was cold out, or even breathing… After all, Rains is not to be trusted with precise observation about his colleagues. If I recall correctly, he even broke Decker’s nose in a brawl a month ago.

How’s the lieutenant? 

The captain’s voice rings through the med bay. The com is in override mode on my watch.

Barely alive. I answer. That’s that.

Any permanent damages? 

Can’t tell… Sleeping beauty has to wake up on his own. The morphine still has  about two hours to the  pharmacological half-life. Ask me again in two hours. 

The Captain seems satisfied, and the com dies down. I pull the footage from Decker’s and Rains’ suits.

the onks

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The vicious little thing, that looked like an ordinary eight years old boy, had a rotten day. He had the onks. Gnomes were prone to get the onks, especially  the young ones; and being a member of the royal family did nothing to prevent that. It was bearable in human disguise though, mingling, watching these oafs, and doing little mischiefs was entertaining enough to stand the bad days.

He strolled down the Bridle Path, enjoying the sweet shadow patches beneath the canopies of the trees,  minding his own business, slurping his fifth Vanilla jalapeño tabasco topped tripple Espresso, when a big bright blue man knocked him down hard, spilling his coffee. “BRAT! Look were you step,” the man yelled at him.

Since when dared a man to step on a prince’s foot, knock him over, spill his coffee, call him brat, and expect to get away with it? His eyes flashed red, his back burned, summoning enough magic to vaporize the whole park in one heartbeat.

That would be too easy on the human, annihilation went too fast. Severe punishment was waiting for that man, for more than a lifetime. Something nasty… Nasty… He had a brilliant idea. He snapped his fingers. Clap of thunder filled the air.  The man who jelled at him, transformed into a small pug.

The boy went to the dog. “I’ve always wanted a doormat,” he said, grinning from ear to ear. He picked it up by the scruff and shook it.“Who’s the brat now?” His eyes lit up with magic. The dog yelped and wiggled his little body out of the sweaty electric blue spandex shirt.  It started to pee itself, terrified beyond the capabilities of his little doggy brain; the bulging eyes, and the heavy shorty breathing made the gnome prince giggle. “Now you’re mine! Forever.” The pug whined. “What’s your name?” The dog whimpered. “Fine. Don’t tell me, pug.” The boy plucked a blade of grass and twirled between thumb and forefinger. A long green rope emerged between his fingers, and tied it around the dog’s neck. He put it down and looked at it quizzically, tapping his forefinger to his chin. “Hmmmm… Let’s see. Sit!” The dog sat. “Speak!”

“Hi. My name is Carl.” The dog answered with a yelp of surprise.

The boy grinned  satisfied. “Take that onks.”

Foto: http://xgram.tumblr.com

I dare not look

inspired by Jacob Ibrag’s “Crawl

*

I’ve put myself together,

too many times…

*

my jagged edges protect me no more

from examining eyes,

nor protruding words

*

fissures streak down my cheeks’n  limbs

barely visible to others;

hiding under patches;

covered by lies…

*

Cutting myself when feeling for my heart,

unknown regions of  emotions –

safely ribboned off,

like a crime scene;

I dare not  look

*

I dare not breathe the dark atmosphere

I dare not touch the chalk white lines

on the wet concrete

I dare not look

*

– at you

London Dispersion Force

inspired by ‘Hold on‘ by Jacob Ibrag

*

Gray comet ice melting in green ocean water,

that’s what your eyes remind me of… salty cold.

Our time, the bright of friction heat and falling,

the mess this ‘Us’ refuses to be –

I remember, grasping, understanding, holding,

clinging – all the same to me: believing, hoping,

My love can keep both of us safe, I’m sure

becoming haven to stormy waters…

And the comet crashes. Burning, bleeding,

consuming all I have to give, and all I am

My hull  keeps you company,  memory of warmths

I have lost, I crumble…

and let you go…

I let you live, to find your own idea of… happiness

little red riding hood

*

a drowsy little witch, with eyes like the angry sea

dressed in crimson, mouth shaped like a plea

she walked down the road to the black forest

right into its darkest, to a circle of fairy rocks

*

nobody dared to look at her

nobody dared to speak to her

nobody dared to go with her

*

a drowsy little witch, with eyes like a storm

and limbs white, innocent as a lamb, newly born

once a month, she went to the full moon

the midnight flowers blossomed and bloomed

*

nobody knew she’d shed her clothes

nobody knew she’d shed her skin

nobody knew she’d clad in claws’n fur

*

At full moon, nobody goes into the black forest

not to work, not to run or stand still, not to rest

All know, a monstrous wolf hunts there

Hellish howls, ghostly lights fog up there

What’s a heart for?

inspired by “Ache” written by Jacob Ibrag

*

What’s a heart between beats?

Useless pieces of wind-up mechanics

a still lump of  faulty desire,

shaped by struggle,

tireless in its longing

molten rock spiked with shards of glass

broken words, silence of salty tears

frozen into piercing ice

and where my blood should whisper and flow

I got silence and… regret

So-

What’s a heart between beats?

Mine – a coiled snake ready to bite

– a lump of hurt, confusion and anger.