Black Door

Black Door


Dirt rained from the ceiling of the dome. A deep rumble went through the cave. The Carpathians woke up. “Did you feel that?” Farnsworth couldn’t keep the scare out of his voice. Pathetic. A tiny earthquake was enough to get the man terrified. My flashlight illuminated the ancient pictograms on the basalt slab. This must be Ostra. “Let’s take some pictures, and go back!” His breath made little vapor clouds. Continue reading “Black Door”

Greater Good Protocol (3)

Greater Good Protocol (3)

Part 3 – Judge, Jury & Executioner

Part 2 – I’m that kind of Guy

Part 1 – Safe Atmosphere

published here

also trigger warning: murder, death, insanity… the usual darkness, you have been warned

Larry stares over Tycho Crater, arms hanging by his side, like broken wings. “Last murder.” He sighs. Rustling with its feathers, the vast blackness above him stirs. Its many empty eyes blink down on him curiously. He deactivates the jammers – still, the silence of the lunar remoteness echoes through his com.

Cold and loneliness pierce him, like an insect to the ash colored background of an oversized display case. He needs to move. The suit adds weight to his lazy limbs. Only the oxygen injectors hiss their reliable song.

Continue reading “Greater Good Protocol (3)”

Dead Serious and Not Sorry

Dead Serious and Not Sorry

Published here

The undertaker lied. It wasn’t comfortable at all! His buttocks had gone dead a while ago.


That wasn’t how he was going to put it!

He was lying in his coffin – yes – but he was very much alive.

“This is the best you can buy for money, Mr. Jones. Pure silk and lace. Our bestseller! The epitome of comfortableness, elegance and beauty,” the undertaker preached. Not how he imagined it… The forever-box was uncomfortable. On the other hand, no one could ever tell the man, that his coffins were crap.

Continue reading “Dead Serious and Not Sorry”

Taxes to Pay

Taxes to Pay

I got my loneliness flat-tax invoice, on a sunny day in July. It was a Wednesday.

Oprah preached from the tube in the kitchen, living room and bedroom simultaneously. I studied the comings and goings down the street, from my third floor balcony. Felix scratched and dug in his litter box. I hoped, he didn’t strike oil. My landlord pulled up, and occupied two parking lots. I was about to point that out to him, but then I noticed the man. Continue reading “Taxes to Pay”

the lion roars (2)

the lion roars (2)




The police station was accommodated in an old building, a school from the 19th century.

It took me three hours to get anywhere near Benny.

They had me fill out seven forms, both sides, all identical. The policeman in charge ripped two forms apart, and I had to start again. “Hand slipped.” His comment slapped my ears. This was nothing but mile high harassment. I knew it. The police man knew it, and I tried not to get too angry.

Then they had me write down what happened from the phone call on, till now.

Time delaying tactics. Maybe they searched and bugged my apartment right about now. They must have turned Benny’s upside down already.

 I tried to remember, if there was anything suspicious in my flat, something that could get me in jail.

Nothing to hide…

No political literature, beside what was permitted and encouraged. Some family photos, but I’m the only one left alive, so no danger on that end. No newspapers or magazines, no radio – lucky me. Only cigarettes, coffee and booze and dirty laundry.

Continue reading “the lion roars (2)”

the lion roars (1)

the lion roars (1)



The gutter dripped and the raindrops rapped hard on the kitchen window. My eyes were already open. The bedsheets felt cold and damp. The shutters in the living room rattled with the wind gusts.  I’ve been staring at the dark ceiling for nearly three hours. I sat up. Sleep was busy somewhere else.

Another rotten night. Continue reading “the lion roars (1)”

the experiment

the experiment
content warning

I got you a blanket, so you won’t freeze.“ Steve smiles and hands Tom a grey woolen cover.

Already half undressed, Tom furrows his brows. He stops mid motion, shoe laces around his fingers. „It looks scratchy. I’m hungry, and it’s freezing.“ He looks at Steve’s face and stops again, irked. „Don’t stare like that!

Like what?

Like I was a piece of cherry pie. Stop that. It’s awkward.

The blanket flies to the autopsy table. „I just can’t please you, huh?“ Steve smirks. „When did you eat the last time? Continue reading “the experiment”