13-beutelteufel

[13-beutelteufel]

In the heart of the wilderness

Amidst the woods, so still, so bright, A lonely tent glows in the night. The moon paints shadows on mossy ground, A nocturnal dance, so peaceful, so round.

The fire crackles, whispers low, The stars tell tales in quiet flow. The wind sings songs, so ancient, so true, Nature embraces, unseen yet through.

A breath of freedom, pure and light, The soul escapes, the world’s respite. In the tent, in the wild, where joy will stay, A place to find, to drift away.

[13-beutelteufel]

But the soul will journey on

To life belongs the end called death, like air belongs to every breath.

Let the sun shine bright once more, and wipe your tears—let sorrow soar.

But still the soul will journey on, climbs the ladder to joy upon.

Someday it finds its destined grace, and never shall it leave that place.

--

Where did this poem come from? I found this on my computer and have no idea when I wrote it lol

[13-beutelteufel]

The best time of the year

Coldness covers all the land, so people rush to shelter’s hand. Fog lies sleeping, draped so thin, above the heron, lost within.

Christmas comes, the children cheer, their gleaming eyes, so full of sheer. Yet snow is missing, skies look grey, so little ones begin to fray.

The holidays have come and passed, the old year laid an egg at last. Now snow has fallen, soft yet deep, while summer’s echoes start to sleep.

Carnival arrives so fast, costume shops are filled at last. Grandma, Grandpa watch the spree, as cold-nosed faces laugh with glee.

But even joy must reach its end, as wise old Rende does commend. Winter makes space for summer bright, until next year, you frosty sprite.

--

Winter poetry in May is wild, I know, but that's what you call artistic licence I guess.

[13-beutelteufel]

Black

TW: Suicide

Black. Black is a beautiful colour. It's such a neutral colour. You don't stand in front of the mirror and ask yourself: ‘Does this colour suit me?’. Black suits everyone. And it goes with everything, it always looks good. But above all, it covers everything. It is stronger than any other colour or brightness. All problems could be painted over with an imaginary black pen. Black is a sign of sadness, of suffering. Black can bring out inner suffering, the loss of a loved one, the desire to cry but not being able to, the desire to have someone to whom you can tell your problems and who will comfort you. But these problems are only in your head and it would be the last thing to burden someone with non-existent and irrelevant, imaginary problems, wouldn't it? Except the black isn't. It is there. It's the only thing there. It does nothing. It's just there. Silent, emotionless and so incredibly comforting. It erases all thoughts, all the pain. It takes all feeling out of the body, finally anaesthetises it. It prevents the nerves from feeling the impact, the blood. And it prevents the eyes from seeing the blade, the open wrists. It extinguishes the pain. It extinguishes the disappointment of missing desperate cries. It extinguishes everything. And all that remains is a dead body, another number in some list, another coffin, another grave. But no human being, no soul. It was dead long before that.

[13-beutelteufel]

11 pm - Tuesday, 13 July 2021

11 pm is a connected story. The correct order is in the masterlist in my pinned post

I've seen him! I have seen Willy! And heard him! Probably the last thing I'll hear. It's 10.37 pm and I went to bed an hour ago. It always takes me a long time to fall asleep and since I can feel Willy's presence, it takes even longer. I always sleep facing the room now, even though it's even harder to sleep then. I don't want him standing behind me again. Now I regret not having turned round. I can always feel his presence when I fall asleep. He's always between my bed and the desk; sometimes closer, sometimes further away. I had just closed my eyes when I heard a scratching on the beams. If I remember correctly, I've mentioned before that the house makes creepy noises, so I didn't think anything of it. Then something hit the wall. I didn't think anything of that either. My brother's room is right next to mine and he often kicks the wall in his sleep or talks crazy. But then I heard a voice that undoubtedly couldn't have been my brother, because it was in my room! I can't quite describe it, it was deep, rough and raspy and very difficult to understand. Its tone was threatening. It only said one word and it took me a few seconds to understand it. It was my name. It said my name! I'm sure of it! And I don't doubt for a second that it was Willy who wanted my attention. Unfortunately, I gave it to him. I was scared and opened my eyes. And there he was, standing next to my desk. I only saw him for a few seconds, but they are etched in my memory forever. It was very difficult to distinguish him from my desk chair, in front of which he was standing, because he was just a shadow. A black silhouette, illuminated by the light that filtered through the pleated blinds. It's easy to imagine shadows and people with active imaginations, like me, often see things that aren't there. But I swear that I really saw Willy! I only saw him briefly. About a second, then he was gone. I stared at the spot where he had been standing for a while, then I grabbed my laptop and wrote this before the memory was lost forever. It's now 10.55 pm and I have a bad feeling that I won't survive the night. 22:57 pm. I started writing this because I wanted to find someone similar. 10:58 pm. If anyone out there is experiencing something similar to me, if anyone is hearing, seeing or feeling things that shouldn't be there, do everything you can to get rid of them. Move, paint your room, the whole house or the whole flat red if you like. Protect yourselves, because no one else will. 22:59. I can feel Willy's breath on the back of my neck. I'm so cold. 11:00 pm.

The end.

--

I swear it's a coincidence that the last two chapters are by a thirteenth. I just used the dates on which I wrote them as titles, I only realised now that there's exactly one month between them.

[13-beutelteufel]

11 pm - Sunday, 13 June 2021

11 pm is a connected story. The correct order is in the masterlist in my pinned post

I told my friend about the ‘evil’. I don't know why, maybe because I wanted to talk about it with someone who believed me. That helped me and I became less scared. And he now has a name. Willy. I actually find the name ambiguous and therefore don't like it, but that takes away some of the fear. We've also done a bit of research into necromancy to find out if there's a way to get in touch with him. Unfortunately, most of these summonings involve summoning specific spirits and not contacting a spirit that is already present. The only way we have found to do this is with Ouija's, but they are far too easy to fake. I want clear proof that what he says is true. We don't even know if it's really a ghost. Willy could be something completely different. I now have a second theory as to why he can't rest, if he really is a ghost. One of Willy's characteristics is that I feel his presence at night as well as during the day and in our house, even there only on the first floor. Especially often at my bedside. When I was still homeschooling, I heard a knock on the wall above my bed during a video conference. On the other side is the staircase, so it could have been my parents or my brother, but if it's quiet enough, you can hear where someone is in the house. We just had a task and so the conference was quiet. My brother was in his room and my parents were downstairs, no one was on the stairs. Apart from that, the wall is thick and noises on the other side sound different, I know that from experience. The knocking came from inside the wall and not from behind it. I tried it later in the passageway between my brother's and my room and the living room and a thin person can just about stand in this wall. I've already mentioned that my bed is in the sloping roof, so you can't stand upright. But there's not enough space in the wall below to sit down. In addition, the plaster above my bed is missing in some places and you can see the stones that make up the wall. They are red. It actually looks nice, but now it scares me. Red is a protective colour. It's also used in rituals to summon demons and the like. What if something was bricked into the wall between the stairs and my room? Was a person walled in there or something much worse? That would explain why Willy's presence at my bedside is so strong. Maybe he has evil intentions and only the red colour and the other one, the one protecting me, keep him from killing me. Maybe the other has something to do with the red colour. While I'm on the subject of the other one: He's still there, protecting me. As I said, maybe it's my guardian angel that protects me from Willy. Whenever I'm scared, I try to think of him and see where he is to calm myself down. That helps. It seems like I'm safe from Willy so far. I will continue to look for ways to communicate with him and find out who or what he is and why he is following me.

Chapter 4 will be published on 10 May 2025

[13-beutelteufel]

11 pm - Thursday, 1 April 2021

11 pm is a connected story. The correct order is in the masterlist in my pinned post

He's back. Not now, as I write this, but since the other day. I've put the writing on hold for now because I might have got a bit carried away with the whole thing. Or maybe not? In any case, when I finished the first part, the ‘bad guy’ disappeared and I didn't feel him again. The “good guy” was still there, but he seemed to have distanced himself from me a little. Until the other day. I was vacuuming upstairs. Somehow they always approach me when I can't perceive everything in my surroundings. I heard footsteps coming towards me and felt this presence behind me again. I'm now sure that I'm not imagining it. I don't even know how to describe the feeling of him standing behind me, but it's definitely real. And it triggers a fear in me that I don't feel anywhere else. My parents still don't believe me, but that's no wonder. I wouldn't believe myself either. At least that's what I think. One thing is clear: I can't communicate with these identities. So I'm not a medium. I can only sense their presence, which apparently not all people can do. I haven't met anyone yet who I know can do it. I repeat myself. Unlike last time, this time I turned round, but the feeling had already gone and I didn't see anything. Even when I switched off the hoover, there was nothing. No noise, no smell either. So I can't physically perceive them directly. I can hear footsteps and feel the draught of their movements, but these are consequences of what they do. I cannot perceive what they are doing. The only thing that tells me I'm not imagining them is this feeling. It's one hundred per cent real and so are they. I feel a bit safer right now than I did when I first wrote this, especially because I'm in a different environment. I'm not at home and the ‘bad guy’ isn't here. I have been here many times and have never felt his presence here. The “good one”, on the other hand, is still here and I'm going to call him my guardian angel for the sake of simplicity. So it's not because of our house. I suspect that the “evil one” is banished to the house. In any case, he doesn't follow me, not like my guardian angel. I now also have a theory about the ‘evil’. We live near Berlin and my father told me that not too far away from us, many soldiers (I think there were thousands, but I'm really not sure) fell in the Second World War. Most of them were never given a proper burial, some were not even identified. You can see that in the area. I once saw a man there with only one leg in the forest. I believe that the ‘bad guy’ is one of the unfortunate ones who fell there. He was probably never buried and it is now impossible to identify him. That would make him a restless spirit who never found peace and therefore lives in a house that was already standing at the time. Maybe he doesn't even want to scare me and I'm just unlucky because I can feel his presence. Somehow I feel sorry for him. Maybe I'll find a way to help him.

--

Chapter 3 will be published on 3 May 2025

[13-beutelteufel]

11 pm - Saturday, 6 March 2021 - Part II

11 pm is a connected story. The correct order is in the masterlist in my pinned post

I was lying facing the wall and couldn't sleep. Suddenly I started to feel unwell, but I didn't turn round. The discomfort increased and turned into fear. The kind of fear I only have when something supernatural is near me and wants to harm me. Then I felt someone come rushing into my room. I didn't just feel it, I fucking heard footsteps! It wasn't the first time I'd heard something like that, but it had never been so real. I thought it was my brother at first, but then it stopped in front of my bed and I felt a breeze. I swear I felt it. Like someone was waving their arms behind me and I was sure it wasn't my brother. That it was something indescribable that I couldn't even imagine. I didn't turn round, maybe because it all happened so quickly. He stood by my bed for maybe a second and then he was gone. Just gone. I didn't turn round that night for fear that I might see something that would shatter my mind. And when I woke up the next morning, I noticed something that still haunts me. My room is in the attic, so the ceiling is slanted. And my bed is in the corner. I can barely stand there. So it's impossible for a person to wave their arms there.

--

Chapter 2:

[13-beutelteufel]

11 pm - Saturday, 6 March 2021 - Part I

11 pm is a connected story. The correct order is in the masterlist in my pinned post

Okay, I need to write this down somewhere. I don't know what's going on here. I think I'm getting paranoid. I've always had a thing for horror. Films, books, radio plays, everything. I love listening to creepypastas on YouTube. But I'm afraid I've overdone it. Or there's something really wrong here. I've always believed that there are things that can't be explained scientifically. In short: I've always believed in the supernatural. I'm not a believer or anything, I just think that there are beings that you can't physically perceive directly. You can't see them, hear them, smell them, taste them, feel them and so on. I don't know what they are, you can't talk to them directly. So they are entities. However, I am firmly convinced that there are people who can feel them. And I think I am one of those people. My parents are rational people, especially my father, so it's not always easy to talk to them about it. But it really scares me and I need to talk to someone who believes me. I can't be the only one who feels this way. Okay, I'm getting a bit dramatic. It's best if I just start from the beginning so you understand. Everyone knows the feeling of being scared at night as a child and hiding under the duvet. I've had nights like that too. But sometimes the fear is different. I've struggled with an anxiety disorder since kindergarten and have had to deal with anxiety and fear a lot, albeit involuntarily. And I realised that there are different types of anxiety and fear. One is anxiety caused by traumatisation. For me, it occurs with bright flashes of light and loud noises such as fireworks or balloons. Then there is anxiety caused by the so-called ‘shadow child’. This is caused by early childhood memories. The shadow child doesn't always have to manifest itself as fear, but it does for me. And then there's the fear of monsters. When we've seen a scary film or something. Of course there are more fears, but I won't list them all now because some of them are very difficult to explain. Back to the fear of monsters. I had this fear very often as a small child. In the meantime, however, I'm sure that it wasn't always just this I'll-hide-under-the-blanket-and-then-everything-will-be-okay fear. Through my anxiety disorder, I have learnt that there is a second part to this fear. And that is more of a feeling. Something that I feel deep inside me. Namely the presence of an entity. Right now, as I'm writing, it's in the room with me, watching me, I can feel it behind me. But he can't do anything to me. Not because entities can't do anything to us living people, but because he is stopped. Through him. I saw him for the first time during a meditation. I was in a place in my head, a clearing, and he was standing among the trees. As I said, the place was in my head. But I didn't make it up. He was just standing there, between the trees, watching me the whole time, with his golden eyes. I swear they weren't yellow, they were a deep golden colour and so incredibly calming. Since that meditation, I feel him all the time. I can feel it. If there really is such a thing as a guardian angel, then he is definitely mine. He is always there and protects me. From the other. The one who wants to do me harm. The one who haunted me last night.

--

Part II:

[13-beutelteufel]

Dog

It was a cold night. It pressed against the window panes like a wall. And as if to combat it, the warmth from the other side pressed against it and caused the panes to fog up.

The duvet did the rest to keep her warm. She had closed her eyes and really just wanted to sleep. Her Christmas holiday started tomorrow, but she was tired and wanted to finally get some rest. Her last day at work had been exhausting. She heard the soft tapping of paws in the corridor. Had she left her door open or was her poor dog wandering around the house alone looking for her? She was just about to get up when she heard him pawing through the door frame into her room. Obviously the door was open. The paws stopped in front of the bed and she heard the dog panting. He sniffed her hand with his wet, cold nose, then turned round and ran off again. She had let him out into the garden before going to bed, so he was probably still too excited from the cold to sleep. She just hoped he would get tired soon, because the infinitely loud clicking of claws on the wooden floor in the quiet room kept her from sleeping. Fortunately, the problem disappeared when the dog settled down somewhere in the house or at least moved far enough away from the bedroom that she could no longer hear him.

She must have fallen asleep immediately afterwards, because she woke up a while later because she heard the claws again. Her dog came back into the room. She heard him grunting as he wandered around the dark room, apparently examining it thoroughly. He probably smelled the chocolate she had eaten here that evening. She just hoped there weren't any leftovers lying around for the animal to eat. The tapping claws approached the bed and her dog stopped in front of it. He panted as he had done a few hours ago, only now he wasn't sniffing her hand but standing at the foot of the bed. She felt the mattress being dented as he put a paw on the bed and swung himself up. He stepped on her legs as he climbed over her and began to make circular movements at the left foot end, trampling the blanket. This went on for a while until he finally dropped onto the mattress with a grunt and curled up with a sigh. They both fell asleep quickly.

She woke up a second time because she heard the tapping again. The dog had probably got up again. He rarely slept in one place all night. He usually got too warm in bed or in his basket and got up to lie down somewhere on the cold floor until he got too uncomfortable and moved back into bed. He barked. She heard him. He sounded unsure, frightened. She knew her dog's barking and she could hear that something was worrying him. Had someone set off firecrackers outside and frightened him? The dog fell silent and it became quiet again. Except for the breathing. She moved her legs and still felt the weight in the left corner of her bed. She heard the breathing. The breathing of her dog. Except that her dog wasn't in the bedroom at all, but barking frightened somewhere in the house.

[13-beutelteufel]

Dark, sleepy, woody

The room was shrouded in darkness, but it wasn't just dark. It wasn't the darkness that covers the earth at night when everything is asleep. Nor was it the darkness that spread when the blinds were closed. No, this darkness was even deeper, even blacker, even darker. It was like an all-consuming nothingness, like the nothingness that a blind man sees through his dead eyes. It was a sheer, endless emptiness and yet so full. So full of darkness. It wasn't even black.

It was just… dark. This complete absence of all light was noticeable. It felt as if this full, heavy darkness was forcibly pressing his body onto the bed, holding him down and draining his body to the point of complete exhaustion. The result was an all-encompassing, heavy sleepiness that spread through him. His entire body was so heavy, especially his eyelids. The effort to keep them open seemed endless and so he gave in to the dark force and let them fall shut. He didn't move. He just lay there quietly, savouring the fact that he finally didn't have to move any more. He wasn't exhausted, his body didn't ache, he didn't feel drained, he didn't feel weak. He was just… sleepy. He smelled of wood. He didn't know which one, but it filled his nose. It couldn't spread through the room because there was darkness, but it rested beneath him while the darkness lay above him. He couldn't tell what kind of wood he was smelling, his mind was simply too sleepy. Thinking took too much energy and so he didn't think. He just lay there and smelled the wood. That full, resinous odour. No, it didn't smell resinous at all. What did it smell like? What does wood smell like? Heavy? No, the darkness was heavy, but not the wood. Strong? No, it was rather gentle. Full? Rather, but it was too subtle, too light for that too. It didn't smell penetrating either. It just smelled… woody. He continued to lie on the bed, his eyes closed, the darkness above him, the wood beneath him. It felt good. It was good. Everything was good. Everything was good and he could sleep. Give in to the sleepiness, the darkness and the wood. His thoughts had long since stopped, his body hadn't moved for minutes. He was completely still and his senses were slowly fading. He felt his body becoming heavier and heavier until he finally fell asleep. He would never wake up again. Because what he didn't realise was that the darkness had not been in the room around him, but only behind his closed, never opened eyelids. That the smell of wood had come from a wooden bedstead, but that his own bed had been far, far away. And that the sleepiness had not been caused by the darkness and the wood, but by the drug that had flowed slowly and sluggishly through his veins along with his blood.

[13-beutelteufel]

The thing in the lake - Part II

Please read Part I for complete understanding!

A body shoots out of the water that does not deserve this all-too-human, all-too-living designation. Because it is older than life, older than existence itself, much older. It is large, misshapen, impossible to grasp completely. A jaw closes around the much smaller body, tendons and muscles tear, bones burst, a scream wants to break free, is about to do so. Splash. The lake is peaceful. The sun and wind play with the water, making it glisten and creating fascinating patterns. The boats chug along in the fairway, their engines a steady hum on the shore. There are a few paddlers on the other side of the lake. They pay no attention. Nobody is paying attention. The SUP coming out of the tiny side arm, the small waves lapping quietly at its bow. Without a paddle and with a torn catch strap, it drifts out onto the lake, ownerless.

[13-beutelteufel]

The thing in the lake - Part I

Splash.

Slowly and deeply, the paddle plunges into the water, which glistens in the reflection of the sunlight. It sparkles like countless tiny diamonds on the small waves beneath which the water, broken by individual rays of sunlight, shimmers like green glass and whispers of another, deep world. A swan sticks its head into the water a few metres away and floats across the lake like an indefinable shape shining in the sun. It bobs up and down on the small waves of wind, like a small boat among the scattered lily pads. Splash. The paddle hits the water again, while the single bark of a dog sounds across the lake. The animal eyes the water suspiciously before turning round and fleeing quickly to the safety of the shadow of its master fishing on the shore. Splash. Another paddle stroke. The lake narrows, forming a small tributary, too small for motorboats to navigate. Too small, in fact, to be seen from the lake. Only those who glide slowly alongside the shore, like the SUP, can discover it and turn into it. Splash. The SUP turns towards the river, driven by curiosity. Behind the trees, another, smaller lake appears, framed by trees with dark leaves. Unnatural, dark and never seen before, they let no sun through and make the water of the lake appear opaque, deep greyish, almost black. Splash. A powerful stroke that sends the SUP drifting out onto the lake. The trees shield not only the sun but also the wind, creating a mystical, almost eerie silence. The leaves on the trees are thick and furry. They look as if even a single breath would cause them to spread across the lake like stinking pollen. The branches they hang from are black, smooth and pointed like lances, certainly capable of hurting a human, but they are only slender trees after all. Not able to move. Splash. No paddle stroke. The SUP is still drifting under the force of the previous one. But it's probably just the wind playing its little game with the water, eliciting small, surprisingly regular and beautiful patterns. Or the waves of a boat drifting by on the other lake, the noise of its engine not penetrating through the rows of dense trees. The paddle approaches the surface of the water again, gliding slowly towards it as the realisation rushes across the small lake like a gust of wind. Rips through the trees with their furry leaves and makes them seem to whisper. The wind does not reach this lake. There is no wind. Splash. The paddle lands in the water before it can be stopped. It lands in the water and hits something. Something hard and slippery. As the paddle slides across its surface, the outline of scales can be glimpsed. Silence reigns for a moment. As if the scaly body beneath the surface of the water would let the touch sink in, this undoubted attack. As if it wanted to create the right atmosphere, as if it wanted to stir up fear. Splash. The SUP sways and chases tiny waves across the lake as terror and fear shake the balance. To whatever is waiting down there. Waiting and continuing to stir up fear. Splash. The paddle falls into the water at the sight of the large shadow that approaches the surface. Barely visible in the dark water but always undoubtedly in motion, slowly getting bigger, growing, growing, coming from below.

Part II:

[13-beutelteufel]

Creatures - Part II

Please read Part I for complete understanding!

Another half hour passed, during which Snow simply followed the straight path, but although she tried to distract herself, she felt increasingly uncomfortable. The onset of dusk didn't help either. Unconsciously, she drove faster and faster as she tried to work out how much longer it was until she reached home. She probably wouldn't get there before dark. At least not if she didn't take the shortcut. She didn't actually like the narrow path through the forest, as it was very difficult to navigate and in parts it was almost impossible to see in the snow. But this would save her a whole five kilometres and she wouldn't have to ride through the hilly and spookiest part of the forest in the dark. Despite burning lungs, Snow raced up a small hill and then turned onto the small path. Between two small fir trees, she rode through the forest on a small path that was more of a game trail. The ground was uneven and soft, which made riding extremely difficult. Nevertheless, Snow refused to slow down. She sped through the forest at breakneck speed. It felt like a motocross tour. At any moment, Snow expected to lose control of the bike and crash into the nearest tree. The slushy, untravelled snow slowed her down, but didn't stopped her from going any faster. The melted snow mixed with sweat and Snow was sure that water would come out of her jacket if she squeezed it now. After a while, the sparse pine forest gave way to increasingly dense fir trees. It was actually quite beautiful in daylight, especially in summer, when the green boughs provided restful shade and dappled the ground with golden light, but now, in winter, as darkness fell, a deep blackness seemed to lurk among the firs, reaching for Snow with cold claws. The girl felt uneasy at the thought that the darkest part still lay ahead of her. Every time a branch brushed against her, she looked round, scared to death. Until she saw something that really made her blood run cold. A man was standing in the woods to her right. She only saw him for a split second. He was wearing a black suit and his skin was as white as paper. His arms and legs seemed disproportionately long and lanky. But the worst thing was his face. Or rather, the fact that he didn't have one. Snow thought she saw small hollows where his mouth and eyes should have been. Horrified, she pedalled even harder. She knew that the eerie figure was just a figment of her imagination. Her brain tried to fill the increasing darkness with familiar shapes. But her panic didn't weaken one bit. Snow shot through the forest faster and faster, more and more frightened. She was no longer interested in the fact that the fir trees were getting closer and closer together and the sharp needles of the branches were hitting her in the face. She just wanted to get away. Simply away. The darkness moved between the fir trees, further and further towards the path. It intensified the feeling of being followed even more. Snow kept looking around frantically, but she could recognise less and less in the increasing blackness. She should have switched on her lights long ago, but she didn't dare stop. A branch hit the back of her neck as she looked over her shoulder and when she turned round, it was right in front of her.

I never thought I'd write such a stereotypical CP, but here it is. Incidentally, the inspiration for this came from a route I travelled to and from school for a while. In winter it was just getting light in the forest and because I once heard in some YT video (very reliable source, I know) that Slenderman lives in dark forests, I found it correspondingly creepy at the time (a few years ago now). And I actually found an old bike there once and was startled just seconds later by a mushroom picker who suddenly appeared in the forest. I'll be uploading things on a weekly basis again, but only CPs and poems for the time being, as I haven't started a new book yet.

[13-beutelteufel]

Creatures - Part I

‘You're our miracle child, Snow. Our little miracle child.’

The words circled around in Snow's head like a swarm of bees looking for a nest they wouldn't find. There was no room in Snow's head for those words and the fake love that clung to them like sticky goo. How could you call someone you didn't even know your miracle child? After all, her parents had never shown much interest in her. How did they know what she was like? Who she was. They didn't even know what she was like inside. Furious, Snow pedalled even harder. The ground made muddy noises as it came into contact with her tyres and even muddier snow splashed up. Snow didn't really feel like going home, but pedalling through the forest in the dark, completely soaked, seemed even less inviting. There was still a pile of work waiting for her at home, which she would have liked to finish before dinner. She was also getting colder with every second she spent outside. The heavy, slushy snowflakes soaked her clothes effortlessly and sucked all the warmth out of her. And all because the Sir and Madam were too stingy for a bus ticket. She would get home so late because the bus only ran every two hours. As if she would be quicker on her bike. In a bad mood, Snow leaned forwards and tried to get rid of her negative thoughts by pedalling even more obsessively when she suddenly noticed something strange. It flashed past her for a moment, but it caused her to slam on the brakes. More slushy snow splattered up as the bike skidded across the wet white and cut a deep skid mark. Snow turned the bike around and rode the few metres back to get a closer look at the thing that had caught her attention. It was a bike. Not a modern one, but apparently so old that it would be better in a museum than in the middle of the forest. Snow was surprised. Hardly anyone lived in the woods that stretched for miles and even fewer people travelled through them. Especially not on a bike this old. The old, rusty thing was leaning against a tree and even seemed to be covered in moss for the most part. It really must have been there for ages. Snow looked around for the owner of the bike. They had to be somewhere. It was so far away from the nearest village or sign of civilisation that it was impossible to leave the bike in the woods and then walk home. Perhaps the owner had to relieve themself for a moment. But where was he or she then? Snow had never met another person on this path in the two years she had lived here. No one would go deep into the forest to relieve themselves, as there was no one around to see them anyway and they would get hopelessly lost doing so. Maybe that was what had happened. It would also explain why the bike had apparently been there for ages. Snow felt a cold shiver run down her spine, even if it wasn't surprising. A few people had probably already disappeared in the miles of woods. She decided to do a bit of research when she got home. She looked up the moss-covered hill again to be on the safe side as she steered the bike back in the direction of travel, but apart from pine trees and a few bushes, she saw nothing.

Part II:

[13-beutelteufel]

Drawn in winter colours - Christmas Special 2024 - Part II

Please read Part I for complete understanding!

And then the bacteria, the microorganisms, even the viruses And then the animals disintegrated, except for the humans. And the humans now stood alone, alone in their grey, soundless, ashen world. Standing alone in the grey plain, silent in the ankle-deep ashes. Standing all alone in the world that they had not appreciated until the end. They had destroyed it and nagged at it until the world had tired of them and left. And left the people alone. Alone. Really alone.

Merry Christmas to you all! Even if this story doesn't exactly invite you to celebrate merrily. Or does it? That's actually the message. I had initially planned a longer CP for Christmas, but I didn't like it so much that I cancelled it. Maybe I'll finish it when I have time. Somehow I think grey, silent and ashen doesn't describe winter badly, even if it's not as extreme as in the story here. I think it's also the first time I've deliberately included a message in a story. Normally I just start writing and then the deeper meaning somehow emerges by itself. And true to this message, I'm going to walk the dog and try to appreciate the colours, sounds and life, even if I don't feel like sneaking around outside in the cold. But even though this world can be a very uncomfortable place full of injustice, we should also sometimes silence the criticism, which is admittedly justified, and simply enjoy what we actually take for granted for a while. Because, unfortunately, nothing in life can be taken for granted and there will always be someone who does not have what we have, even if it is humanity in this story. Small, inconspicuous and constant things can also be beautiful if you let them be. In our hectic society, where it's all about being perfect and eradicating mistakes, this can be very healing. That was the word for Sunday, even though it's actually Tuesday.

[13-beutelteufel]

Drawn in winter colours - Christmas Special 2024 - Part I

It began in December.

When warm lights illuminated the streets and brightened up the short, dull days and long, dark nights. When families sat in their warm homes and baked cookies and listened to Christmas music and looked forward to Christmas Eve. When the snow fell softly, gently and silently on the streets outside. When everything was romantic. Everything was good. Then the colours disappeared. One morning, or rather one night. No one noticed at first, because the snow and the black night turned everything grey anyway. But one or two people may have noticed that the lighting on the houses looked duller than usual. Drearier. But it was probably just the fog, the thick snowfall or the darkness. After all, winter was dull. As the world slowly woke up, it became more noticeable. But in their morning drowsiness, people didn't notice. And those who woke up quickly assumed that they weren't really awake yet and that their optic nerves simply weren't sending them enough information. After all, there weren't many colours to send, the winter was dull after all. But the colours never returned and people slowly realised what real gloom was. How dull everything was, so completely devoid of colour. They would never see them again.

It continued in January. When the world was quiet. When the animals had retired for the winter. When the trees had shed their leaves. When no more birds sang in the woods. When there were no more cars on the icy roads. The grey had made people silent, gloomy, depressed. And so they walked around silently. No laughing, singing, talking as they went about their daily lives. No nothing at all. And so they didn't notice at first either. That the world had gone quiet. So quiet. They didn't even notice at first that cars and trains and aeroplanes were no longer noisy. It just fitted so well into the grey picture. But at some point they noticed. A few at first, but then more and more. They wanted to tell the others, ask their fellow human beings what was going on, whether they couldn't hear anything either. But no sound escaped their lips. Their vocal chords worked and their tongues worked, but no one heard the sounds they were trying to make. It was as if someone had stolen the words from their lips. They were never to hear them again.

It ended in February. The people were even more silent, even more gloomy, even more depressed. Without colour and without sound, the already dreary winter had become even more of a wasteland. They went through their lives so gloomy that they didn't realise it at first. Some realised that their houseplant had died. That it had bloomed colourlessly in the evening and the next morning there was only ash mixed with the soil in its pot. But they didn't question it. Who wouldn't die in this desolation, this greyness, this soundlessness? But at some point, the grass disintegrated and the fields, pastures and meadows were covered only in grey ash. Then the hay in the stables, the concentrated feed and the straw disintegrated and the animals began to die. It continued with the trees, the bushes, the mushrooms, until everything was gone. Then the houses, the roads, the bridges, everything that had been built. Then the mountains and valleys, until the world was just a flat plain.

Part II: