pulas-san

[pulas-san]

Strong Winds 1

In a room among the rows of concrete, a boy sits on his bed, looking out of his window. Outside the snow storm continues. Its midday, and yet still dark outside. Inside the room there’s only the cupboard, the table and the bed and nothing else. The rest of the apartment unit is similarly barren. The boy’s family will finally leave this town they called home for 15 years. Minus 5 for eleven-year-old Rurik Alekseyevich. To be fair, theirs isn't the only family leaving this town. A few of his friends had already moved away. A lot of shops had closed. Fewer and fewer people on the streets.

He asked once on where they’re moving. His mother replied, to a better place of course. His father finally got an offer for a better job as a lecturer in a university, and now that the country had collapsed, they can move anywhere now. And thank God for that! Ever since he was little, he notices his mother contempt for this town, this settlement in the middle of nowhere. Later he finds out the term ‘closed cities’, but for now, he agrees with his mother on this one. The town is not gated, but yet, where can anyone go? To the barren icy wastelands perhaps. The only way to move in or out of town is only by the tiny airfield outside of town and the railway connecting to nowhere else but the sea, he had been told. His whole world had been this town, and he hates it.

He looks outside his room. A brown-haired boy is reflected on the window. A building like his dead ahead, blocking his view. Rows and rows of similarly prefabricated flats beyond. Permanent cloudy skies. Permanent smoke rising from a tower at the edge of town. Months-long nights and months-long days. Grey rooms and grey buildings. Grey skies and grey grounds. Colour exist rarely in this town. Only in books and the occasional winter lights. Even as they paint the walls in buildings, months later the colour began to fade. Not in the hallways of apartments, nor the walls of his school. Grey and white rules the town.

He read about other places than his town. About the capital, and about other countries. The colourful spires of the famous church, the summers of the mainland. Summers here is only marked by the unending grey of the never-setting sun, and maybe the warmer weather. One could stop wearing jackets at that time and at least the ground isn’t covered by snow. Instead of white all over, it’s now brown. Much improvement in colour. He envies the world outside. How colourful are they! He wishes for colour, and soon he will see it. Soon, they will leave this frozen hellhole.

One week before they could though, a freak storm blew throughout the town. It isn’t the season for storms yet, the summer had just ended. And yet, the strongest storms the town had experiences in years arrived. Metres high snow pileup around buildings. Winds so strong, the people were literally being swept of their feet. Naturally all business and work had been stopped during the storm. Rurik was bored. It had been three days since school was cancelled, since he was trapped here. He decides to talk a walk outside. There really isn’t much to do inside the house, most of their stuff are already abroad. His parents are too busy with worry about the big move. He didn’t tell his parents of course; he didn’t want them to worry. It’s only a short walk.

As soon as he steps out of the door, he remembers the snow pile outside. Ah, shoot, maybe he can try leaving by the window? Maybe not. He could go up to the roof of the flat and jumped down from there instead. Sounds crazy, but him and his friends had done such similar stunts before. With less snow too. Never a broken bone, they swear. Kids here do dumb shit like this all the time.

He heads up the roof level. It was almost impossible to push the door against the wind, but he somehow manages it. The first thing he feels was the chill, and then the sharp winds. Luckily his googles and the furred hat protected his head against the cold. He heads to the edge of the building. He had to crawl his way there, the wind too strong for him to stand. And now that he’s at the edge of the building, he looks down. Judging the height of the snowline and his room window, the snow is only about one floor high. As he jumps, he enters the other world.

[pulas-san]

Dogs, do you want to live forever?

Draft 1

Vogelmann

Somewhere in a town near the Teuton-Frankia border the is a hotel. The hotel is nearly empty as the tourist season hasn’t come yet, but even if it is it still wouldn’t be filled as currently most of Europe is filled with war, west, east, south everywhere. It’s the early 40s, and a young man sits on an armchair facing the window, calmly smoking away. Next to him on a table sits a birdcage, with a red stuffed macaw in it.

He has been staying there for a few days now, trying to get papers to leave the country. Usually, he wouldn’t have bothered with such things, or any authorities for that matter. He doesn’t even have any identification. Not for a long time. Free to go anywhere, everywhere, for who could catch a person who can switch between realities? And yet, for a while now, it has been harder and harder to get to the Other.

For months now, Helmut hasn't been able to safely enter the other world. For one, he actually felt resistance when entering there. As if he was swimming in a bog. Usually, he can just switch through as easy as breathing, an instantaneous switch. But now, it’s an effort to even move there. And constantly, constantly, there was a force pulling him to the Real. The air there had gotten really thick, it’s even hard to breathe.

Another was the weather condition there. Normally, weather is something that is only for show for people like him, men who lives both in the Real and in the Other. The weather in the real does mirrors in the Other, and yet the weather in the other, the blowing winds, the freezing snow, it does not affect an Other person. They feel neither warmth, nor cold in the Other, and no matter how hard the wind blows there, it moves not a hair of them. Not until the past few months.

Now he feels the wind, he feels the warmth. Worse still, there are no longer gentle winds in the Other. Instead, the weather there has been constant storms, heavy rains. Lightning rages in the clouds. Lightning strikes the ground everywhere. Helmut had a very close call with one. He went deaf for a while, and was soon ejected from the Other. And there lies the problem. Every time he enters, he soon exits violently. The Other is rejecting him. It is rejecting everyone; he soon finds out.

Entering the Other in a building is fine though, but uncomfortable. An ever-growing ringing in his ear, until it becomes unbearable and he had to return back to the real. At least he can leave gently inside, unlike being thrown out in the open. Still though, this ringing even affected poor Rotchen. She can’t stand it, and had since retreated inside her body in the real. His only surviving familiar.

It's not that he misses that world or something, but his familiar needs to return there, being made from that world. His familiar now is currently sitting motionless in its cage, glass eyes staring out somewhere, red feathers covered in dust, too weak to move, stuck in that body. A living coffin, say his familiar. Normal people see her as a somewhat lifelike stuffed scarlet macaw. Helmut though, see her as his best friend who has accompanied him since he was very young, ever since his father bought the stuffed macaw for his own collection of stuffed animals inside the family manor. He can't bear to see his familiar, Rotchen motionless for so long, it breaks his heart.

<Mine too, master>

As he stares out of the window, he to mull on his choices. Join the Heer, running away to the new world or continue to wander around. Birds began to gather at his windowsill, and even in the square in front of the hotel he is currently staying in. A noticeable sea of pigeons in front of him, among other types. Seeing the birds reminded him on why he ran away from home in the first place, on why he wanders around the continent. Always everywhere, these birds. Eating the crops, shitting on the laundry, roosting wherever.

Back when he was living in his family’s manor, he thought it was normal for there to be that many birds in one place. Many strange things that he thought was normal was quickly repudiated when he stayed in the boarding school in the city. The one thing his family and the villagers thought was weird was his tales of the other world. Strange boy, but strange worlds? Nonsense.

In the city though, he finally encountered somebody in the other world, basically giving him a rundown of what he is and what that place. The Other place. An Other person. Of realities and unrealities. Of Helmut’s curse-blessing, or how his powers manifest itself in the real. That birds will do anything for him, follow him, die for him. That such blessing often attracts other beings, those that do not belong in the Real. That he, the man, is a Knight, one who wanders and slays such things. He soon followed that man, Wolf, and afterwards, completely dropped out of society. That was ten years ago.

And a lot has changed in that short amount of time. The rise of a dictator. The collapse of a nation and rise of another. Alliances. Talks of war. Invasions and such. Meanwhile, Helmut, learned to also be a Knight, followed Wolf (not a real name Helmut suspects), made familiars, lost Wolf in a monster hunt, and now currently on the run from Teutonic authorities. Which makes the bird gathering a bit worrisome for him because, a) he has been staying here for too long and, b) the locals and the hotel staff are going to notice something amiss.

And speak of the devil here comes two Teutonic soldiers approaching the bird filled square. Two men in grey uniform and black helmets, heading straight towards the hotel. Time to leave. He quickly packs his travel bag and grabbed the birdcage. The, from the window he gives a loud whistle. Distract the grey men, he commanded the birds, and the birds do so by flying all around everywhere in a flurry of wings. Meanwhile he also commanded some other birds to form a sort of stairs and jumps out of the window.

And lands on a bunch of birds, and another and another, stepping down like a bird staircase, until he lands on the streets where the soldiers came from. As soon as he lands, he immediately runs towards the train station. He hopes the soldiers would be distracted long enough for him to buy a ticket out the country. He pities the birds injured by his commands though, animals shouldn’t suffer for men’s actions.

Just when he is about to approach the ticket counter, he hears an uproar behind him. He looks behind. It’s those soldiers again. He panicked and immediately enters the Other. Guess being incognito is now out of the question, those soldiers will definitely remember him, and every other person watching. At least he lost those soldiers for now. Or anyone else for that matter.

He looks around. The Other is different for different places, and even different times. For now, the station look as it was before, except for the ceiling, of which reflections of non-existent waters are projected upon and shadows without objects moving around the floor rapidly. The reflections changes colours of course, reflecting the ever-changing reality of this place.

At least he’s inside now, not out there. Always a disaster whenever he’s outside. Like the months long storm raging across the land, what is in the Real is reflected in the Other. And when one is in a storm, the best place to be is inside a building. Knowing that he’s safe for now, Helmut walks to a bench in the waiting area and opens the birdcage. Rotchen immediately flies out and happily circles, glides around the hall before landing next to Helmut.

<It’s nice to be back>

“I missed you too” says Helmut. “Good to see you alright”

He doesn’t hear the ringing, but not yet, it’ll soon come. For now, a moment of peace, a moment of rest. Him and his bird.

[pulas-san]

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Crossroads - The Hole

He watched as the clouds drift along, slowly but soon moving faster, ever so slightly. And the leaves slowly change colour from red, gold, brown to blues, purples, and neon pinks. The sky now changing colour rapidly, an eternal timelapse of sky blue, dark blue, black, grey and sky blue again. The clouds raced around at impossible speed. The sun or moon nowhere to be seen, yet shadows lengthen and shorten and distort unnaturally.

Somehow, this place feels familiar. Alien and unnatural, but it feels like he has been in this place before. Or at least someplace like this. Can’t remember, should remember. Leaves swirl around him, yet he feels no wind. Despite all the movement above and the shifting colours of the leaves, this place feels strangely…lifeless. Sterile. There’s no warmth in this place, no other sound other than his own, not the warmth of autumn, nor the chill of the shifting night, or the sound of leaves rustling even as they swirl around him.

He noticed that his friends were nowhere to be found, but, well, they could’ve just wandered somewhere. Heck, he could be wandering around somewhere. Meanwhile, a voice calls out to him, urging him somewhere. A gentle voice. An otherworldly voice. An inhuman sound. Urging, beckoning, calling. He listens. He follows. It’s weird. He knows he shouldn’t. But he must. But he mustn’t. From the corner of his eye, a fleeting shadow. A hand holds his from behind.

He turns and saw the girl holding his hand. A small girl, wearing a grey cap and a blue jacket. She talks, but he couldn't hear anything. The other voice beckons him still. The girl looked so frail, so weak, like she could disappear any second. So feeble, that he can somewhat see through her. She just stood and gave a pleading look to him, but does nothing else. The inhuman voice urges still. he turned away and followed the stronger voice.

He knows the girl, she looks familiar. But from where, from when he does not know. Or he does. No matter. Follow me. Me? He follows. All around him, girls come out of the woods. They look so familiar. A teen blonde, a child with red jacket. The woman in a northern tribal attire. He feels that he should know them all. All looking at him. Judging him. Pleading. Disgusted. Ignore them, follow me. He follows.

And walks. Above, the clouds streaked like comets. Night to day to night to day in a blink. The leaves fall like snow, like multicoloured confetti. With how the leaves rages around him he expects to fill gust of wind, yet nothing. The girls beg from him to stop. And he walks still. As if guided by an unknown force. As if led by someone. Something. It feels like he’s been walking forever, yet nowhere. The shadowy presence beckons him closer to a clearing.

And finally, the voice stops. The thing disappears to thin air. At the clearing, a ring of mushrooms. And just like the leaves, the mushroom caps to shift colour like a mad LCD projection. He steps into the ring… and the ground give way. He hears splintering of wood, feels the hard stone floor. Stairs. Down and down and roll and roll. And finally, he stopped rolling, hitting the bottom of the stairs and momentarily lost consciousness.

[pulas-san]

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Fantasy Eastern Berserker

One day I'll make a story about, when fates allow it

[pulas-san]

Sylber 1

It was a very peculiar case. Normally matters of the occult are not handled by the Tysker police force, but with this operation being time sensitive and all, the police decided that they can't wait for knights to intervene and decided to mount an operation to save the victims themselves.

The operation was meant to be treated as the usual hostage situation, just with an occult flavour. As the person most familiar with the occult in the force, Kurt Silber was naturally involved in this case. Not at the forefront though, just at the rear. But hey, he gets to wear the tacticool shit like all those special operations guys wear, which is a rare opportunity for a desk-bound detective.

So, the outline of this operation. A hospital, a cult, human sacrifices. Ritual at midnight, at the hospital basement. Rush in, do stuff, rush out.

<not having any more ideas so ending it here>

[pulas-san]

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Omniscient Watcher

[pulas-san]

No smoking

Draft 1

Somewhere outside of the city, over a fast-flowing river, lies a bridge. A long steel truss bridge, about 100 meters in length connecting between two cliffs, and of an average width, with two lanes capable of supporting heavy trucks. The road used to be an important connection between two cities, but sometime ago a bypass was built to accommodate the cities’ ever-growing demand for transport, rendering the road relatively unused. Still makes for a scenic detour.

On the edge of the bridge a teenage girl sits on the barrier, looking over the river below. It’s a long way down from the bridge, remarks the girl. She takes out the cigarette box out of her tight denim jeans, and lights the last cigarette in it. The divider is finally too warm for her to sit on, so she squats on the asphalt near it. As she does, she catches her distorted reflection on the shiny divider. Short black her, squinty eyes and a short pink t-shirt. The very few shirts that she has. Not like she needs it soon.

As far as Imelda Sensen is concerned, this bridge has always been a popular ' tourist' spot. A local legend, if one can call it that. The view from the bridge is stunning, especially on sunsets and sunrise. It's remote enough that police usually take around 30 minutes at least to reach this place, and the river flows rapid and swift. A particularly challenging kayaking spot in fact. And what makes this place a popular spot for those of no hope is that the river has a tendency to pull down people, so that if somehow that person has second thoughts, he will be given slim to none. A good place to die.

She looks down the river again. Second, third and many other thoughts are welling up inside of her head. The river looks swift today. The morning sun hangs high above the sky. She has been here since dawn. The sunrise was as beautiful as rumours say, and yet she still has doubts about going through with her suicide. Despair and cynicism wells deep inside her. The question that has been haunting her bubbles up again.

“Is life even worth living?” muses Imelda, inhaling deeply into the cigarette. Ever since she was young, she has always asked this particular question to herself. And many times, the answer was yes, after moments of brief happiness. Many other times the answer has been no. And for those moments, the next action was suicide, and sometimes she finds the courage to go through with it. And yet, her attempts always fail, always foiled. Soon she finds out what it was, that which is laughing at her now….

trying out stuff

[pulas-san]

Return to Death

Is Tumblr dead? Nevertheless, I return. Planning to post my story or something here, need a place that's more text friendly than Instagram. We'll see how long I can keep up. For now, welcome back.

[pulas-san]

Spe-chan!

[pulas-san]

Uma Musume OC: Gidron Despite being a highly talented horse girl and winning the Triple Crown, she is still a slob. The self proclaimed leader of the Three Shadow Kings in the Academy. Continued studies later in Russia. P.s: trying to find out information on certain horses from Germany before 1990 is very difficult. More so if the horse comes from a country that no longer exists…

[pulas-san]

Uma Musume OC: Lomitas A spoiled but shy horsegirl who had a few bad experiences. Like being claustrophobic, but that's under control now after therapy. Despite all that she is fairly popular, and is good at running as well. IRL fact: Actual horse was blackmailed and maybe poisoned before a race, so they brought him abroad secretly where he had a new identity

[pulas-san]

Uma Musume OC: Danedream A talented horsegirl from Germany. Friends with her senior Lomitas. Won the Arc de Triomphe and King George Stakes and other G1 races. IRL Danedream was initially sold for €9000, but earned €3million in her career.

[pulas-san]

Miniseries "Pronouns" 5 "Er" like "air"

[pulas-san]

Mini-series “Pronouns” 4

Informal plural you. Because one must specify if its for one person or a lot

[pulas-san]

Mini-series "Pronouns" 3 Wiiiirrrr.....introducing Das Robomädchen!

[pulas-san]

Mini-series "Pronouns" 2 Singular informal "you". Don't use this for strangers!

[pulas-san]

Mini-series "Pronouns" 1 Unlike English, I is not capitalised