Bitter Farewell

You gave me a grapefruit.

Definitely.

After all the exotic fruits we ate together,

I'm now having a grapefruit on my own.

Its skin is uneven -

unjust is your behaviour.

I tear it open with my fingers, nails

Until the bitter juice spouts

Into my eyes wide open.

It is a prick

That makes my eyes sting.

Do you enjoy seeing me sting?

I'm having this grapefruit, twisted in pain.

Peeled and ripped into pieces,

One by one,

Slices full of freshness

It seems.

Reminding me of sweet delicious fruits we've once had

Together.

But after the first bite

The sour taste shocks.

Tears in my eyes.

Bitterness.

And still I swallow,

Eat every single piece of it

'Till it's gone,

Until it's finally gone.

© Vanessa Wohlrath

Disturbance ( a short story)

Disturbance

                The bench is hard. It’s cracking with every movement. Left to right, you will be shaken, regardless of if that’s what you want or not. It’s packed and smelly. The distinct smell is a mixture of perfume, bubble gum and your bench neighbor who has seemingly never seen the insides of a bathroom. The smell of alcohol joins the others, silently disturbing your nose in intervals.

                And there she is; the next perpetrator. She wears a burqa. Black from head to toe, with only a little bit of space to breathe through, she is covered in this sack that does not offer you any insights into her soul. You feel like you can’t breathe. It’s a feeling as if you wore the burqa, not her. To intensify the feeling, she has brought a backpack. The backpack looks filled up, with no space left for any freedom. Not even the insides of her backpack have liberty.

                You can see her eyes scanning you. You feel naked, because you are not granted the chance to hide behind such an extraordinary piece of fabric. Is she angry? Does she have a plan? You stare back. Somehow though, you feel this is inappropriate and thus, you scan the cabin. There are several people who apparently share the same images in their heads. One man even has some sweat on his forehead.

                If only sweat was the only bothering thing in here, you think. Your eyes meet hers again. You wonder if you should switch into another cabin, or if this would be even more inappropriate. Life can be over, within the blink of an eye. There are more people joining the scene and some leave. The ones that leave actually survived.

                Your heart beats faster, as she is tightening the grip around her backpack. You begin to count. One, two … three… five, there are several people in here that would definitely die. It is even inappropriate to think about this, but what if? And when is she finally going to leave, to give you some peace? How long can a train ride possibly be?

                The normal fifteen minutes you need from one stop to the other stretch out to an eternity. Uncountable masses of people come and go, but you are stuck in this mess with the strangest feelings plaguing your mind. You wouldn’t even have time to reminisce about your life.

                Then, a black lady joins the scene. She smiles at the burqa woman and greets her. Apparently, they know each other. It takes a load of your mind, but it also leaves you behind, feeling more than ashamed. What if you were in her shoes? Still thinking, you hear the announcement of the stop that you have to get off at. Life is too short to waste fifteen minutes.

And then the elevator goes up... ( Joana)

                Hmm. I love this Mango pie. It’s so delicious! Almost reminds me of home. Auntie Anna makes the best Brazilian food outside of Brazil ever! Too bad, I’m leaving. I’m not even sure if I want to go back to Bahia. Fernando will be waiting. I hope he won’t bring roses again.

                I could still go back, back to Anna… stay here, but Brazil means home. And Germany, ohh… I don’t know. Ahh, yet another elevator. There are too many. How I hate them. Too tight, too stinky and I already feel exhausted. Okay. Maybe they should build bigger ones, this is an airport after all! There are three of us and I already feel trapped.

                Okay. Is it only my imagination, or did this elevator just stop?And what was that noise? Ahh, we are not stuck, this can’t be. Hey, guy over there, looking like he would know how to handle this…do something? Why won’t he do something?

                I should relax. No, forget about it! We are trapped! I am pregnant! I need to go to the bathroom! My plane is leaving in thirty minutes! “Let me out, let me OUT!”, I scream, trying to fight back my tears.

                There, there is a button with a bell on. Let’s push it. Nothing. I can’t believe this. Hello? Hello? Oh well. My legs hurt. I can’t stand anymore. I might as well sit down.

                 I don’t even have a tissue. How awful! Oh, the girl from the left corner offers me one. How nice. Now the tall man with the RayBan glasses comes over to me. “It will all be fine”, he says. Oh really? As if he had any idea what is going on. I am not even showing!

                10.30pm. Fifteen minutes left until departure.’Suppose I won’t make it. Oh, well. I don’t want to be stuck! My plane! My PLANE! It’s hopeless. How can they stay so calm? It’s too tight, too stinky..too…Argh! Ouch, that hurt. Banging my fist against the buttons doesn’t help either.

                Dude, could you take your hand off my back? “Excuse me, but I am pregnant. I cry a lot. I am from Brazil” I hear myself sobbing. “I’m meant to go to my boy…friend, well, technically I don’t want to.” The girl looks at me in shock, while the man keeps rubbing my back.

                “I wish I loved Fernando, but I don’t know. I don’t. And what’s going to happen to the child if it has no parents that love each other?” I don’t even know why I am asking this. It’s none of their business. “My father was always gone”, the girl says. Oh, she looks sad. I know, girl, I know. I am meant to love Fernando, but I don’t. It’s just as tragic for me, believe it or not.

                 I wish, I wish , I wish I could love him. Maybe I am unable to love. Maybe the flattering comments and all the gifts don’t touch me anymore, because I heard them too often. What is love anyway? And what about my baby, will it love me? Will I ever come out of this elevator again?

                “Joana”, the man says, and then the elevator goes up. The door seems to be open. I see a group of people coming towards us. Maybe they will also get some time to think. Maybe they also have families? Maybe they know what love is.

Home - Finally

     It’s been six months now, since I moved in. Six months ago all I cared about was decorating my flat; giving it the specific “Becca-Touch” that included various colours, things that people consider to be rummage and most important of all, rubber duckies ( I happen to collect them). My flat does represent all that I like, even in the smallest corner, but one specific aspect was missing; the feeling of being home.

     What I did not seem to be able to create though, was that very feeling. The first time I figured out that it may take a while until I will feel home was when I went to bed for the first time, realizing that I was scared of possible robbers, monsters, or simply the darkness that may come hunting me. Adding up to that, I was always on the go. I left for Denmark almost every month and spent my weekends with my parents for the most part. I felt alone and I would feel alone for quite a while, until yesterday.

    Yesterday, after getting up, I looked at the mirror and I saw myself being in between tired and awake, with a face that would scare the hell out of every topmodel. But this was when I realized that I had actually slept quite well. So well, that it took me at least 45 minutes of constantly pushing the snooze-button, before i considered getting up. So well, that I had forgotten about who may ever could potentially catch a glimpse of me, when I walk into my kitchen to have some breakfast. So well, that I just felt home.

Your fluorescent starry eyes

You're a nightcat, I'm an owl
Saturday Nights they make us howl
Your hand on my glowing cigarette
leaves no space for regret
We breathe the same nostalgic air
when we shoot arrows through our hair
These fabric beats will make you shiver
as you pass the starry nightsky's river

Your fluorescent starry eyes
they cristalize my neon skies
Your mouth a golden firework
my make-up layered lips won't hurt

You're the most aesthetic thing I've ever seen
You're part of a vintage chiffon dream
Triangles they hide our faces
like prides of wolves in shady places
Your hands covered in glitter
make my paper-white lips shimmer

Your fluorescent starry eyes
they crystalize my neon skies
Your mouth a golden firework
my make-up layered lips won't hurt

© Natalie Moser

The Mirror

photograph via Yelda Yilmaz

There she was in this empty room. Their flat it used to be. Now, everything was gone except the mirror in the corner. She was standing in front of it, staring at her bare feet. The tiled floor was cold, and she felt the coldness trickling up her legs.

Taking a deep breath, she started to undress herself. Little by little she dropped her clothes: first her trousers, then her shirt, the stiff bra and her slip. Everything went down to the floor and was pushed aside, so that she could observe the skinny body in the mirror completely. Naked.

So she stood in front of the mirror. Her bare feet standing on the cold tiles. Her thin legs ended in her womb, turning into a flat belly. Her chest was moving slowly up and down with every breath she took. Her arms and hands were kept neatly at her sides. From her neck sprouted a head full of thoughts. It was covered slightly by her brown short hair which lay straight above her ears and eyebrows.

Her lips were dry and pale and she licked over them several times to soften them. But it did not help. With glassy eyes she looked at the person in the looking-glass. Glassy blue eyes she saw, empty. And then these eyes filled with tears. She could see how the room filled itself with a double bed, cushions and clothes everywhere lying on the floor. The chest of drawers and the oddities arranged on it. A photograph showing a happy couple at the Swedish seaside. She closed her eyes and tears dropped on her chest.

When she opened them again, there was nothing anymore. In the mirror, a person staring at her. She touched it, touched the other one's fingers, hands. The ring on her finger loosened and fell down. And when she wanted to lift it up, she broke down onto the floor. There she lay on the cold tiles. With her eyes closed she tried to listen to what was going on inside of her. But there was nothing. All she felt was an empty stomach, longing for something lively to be filled up with. And there was her heart beating softly. And it would not stop. It would carry on with all the emptiness inside of her. And this meant that she would carry on despite all this emptiness.

The ring lay close to her hand. It was golden, with a name engraved on it: Tom. She stared at the ring, the curved gravure. Now this had left her, too. It was all gone. She pressed her face on the floor and forced herself to look in the mirror once again. The other person was also lying on the tiling. She made a sad impression. Listening thoroughly to her breathing, she stared and waited for something to happen. But there was nothing. No one would enter the room and make her laugh. Nobody would touch her shoulder and help her to get up again.

She sat up and turned away from the mirror. The other person disappeared. Then she stood up, got dressed and went to the door. The mirror in the corner reflected the ring lying on the floor. Without turning around, she locked the door.

© Vanessa Wohlrath

And then the elevator goes up (Hanna Franzen)

10 pm - There is still enough time to go to the gates. My plane will leave in one hour. But I will take the elevator to be there in time, maybe to buy a coffee.

Dad, I will see him tomorrow when he picks me up from the airport in Nice, France. My Daddy the seafarer, we have not seen each other for a long time. You left us alone, my mother crying all night. But she has her acting career, and I am just someone she occasionally drinks a cup of tea with, during her stay in Frankfurt.

While moving into the elevator I have seen a man who looks just like you, Daddy. I mean, his appearance reminds me of you. And now I am standing next to him and another blond woman in this elevator. Isn't it strange? But - wait, what is happening? The elevator has stopped. This man has already pushed the security button but there is no answer.

"Oh my God! Let me out... let me out...," the blond woman cries. When I hand her a handkerchief I can see that she is shaking all over her body. I pat her on her shoulder and smile. She seems to be from the South, and I wonder which flight she is going to take.

"It will all be fine, young Miss. Everything will be alright," the man says, kneeling down next the woman. "No, no - my flight, I'm going to miss it! I'm going to miss my flight to Brazil!" The man tries to console her, but in such an inappropriate flirting manner. "Oh, leave me alone," the Brazilian woman says. "I'm pregnant! And I'm not even sure if I want to stay with the father of my child, Fernando... What am I going to do if I miss this flight? And my baby, my boyfriend - is this how life should be? I'm still young..."

I cannot stand this anymore and so I turn around, sitting down in one corner of this small elevator. She is pregnant and does not even love her partner. That is not right. I cannot believe it! That baby, what is she going to do with it? All innocent and sweet, growing up in an unbearable setting, with parents who are not in love anymore.

I know what it feels like being alone. I know what it feels like when Mommy and Daddy do not get along very well, when the one is always paying more attention to her career and the other takes the next ship to leave his family for another adventure. Being a good parent is not easy, I know. And I did not have a bad childhood. Money has never been a problem. But there should be more than that.

"A child needs to be loved," I say to myself. It is so very important to make choices in life, and to become aware of what you really feel. I know, my parents love me and that they do not mean to be the way they are. What I really need is talk to them about my wishes and feelings. They shall listen to me like loving parents. That is all I ask of them. And then the elevator goes up.

© Vanessa Wohlrath