Novell (May 2007)
Te Koop
I sit and watch. Her shoulders as they move up and down, back and forth, like slipping away from each other. Listening. She said it was one of Chopin. I'm not interested in classical music and therefore, she thinks that I am somewhat ignorant. I can not help it. My interests must be seized by something, I have to dig into and dig up things to satisfy my curiosity. I can not read music and accept them. I can not read music at all.
Yesterday I was standing in her bathroom and thought. Of the fifteen minutes I had for myself, I was ten in the shower and five in front of the large mirror on the wall. I thought of my twenty birthday, how I would remember the bathroom. The hot pink walls, the modern shower. The house with big windows and window sills of marble. Something in the house smelled foreign, as if it belonged to them and not me. They lived in Belgium, in a house in a small town at the German border. Indoors it smelled of fried vegetables, polished floors and freshly washed windows. Outdoors in their garden grew flowers. I have a picture of me when I walk in the path leading from the house to the garden. I am turned away from the camera. Around the time grows tulips, cornflowers, dandelions. I must remembering wrong, there could be no dandelions.
chair I sit in is made of wicker and cracking sounds when I change position but she does not seem to care. She played on, loud and violent exercise, and she presses the keys. Through the door curved glass wind died down, the dark clouds appear on the otherwise blue sky. A couple of raindrops falling on the roof. Something is moving inside me. A lump, a wave, a feeling of nausea. She sits crouched in front of the piano as a small, old man who must cover themselves from the wind. The melody is beautiful. How many people do not listen to this song and felt like an insect under sole of the shoe? Where nothing penetrates, live music. As for the woman whose husband cut off her finger because she loved another. He could chop off her head and she would not touch a mine. So I sit, quietly so as not to disturb, still in my own little storm.
Her fingers stop pushing and clamoring. The melody stops as abruptly as it began. She straightens his back and turning the pages of his sheet music. Now the rain splashed against the windows and cool the green bushes out there. Everything here is perfect. I wonder if I could sit like this in my entire life without having to touch me, as long as she played and the rain rippled. Now a different tune, a brittle and light. Her fingers glide over the keys. The piano is vibrating tones. A small bird, a delicate flower. I sit in their houses, in their chair. I am far from home. Nothing to see here reminds me of where I come from. I feel lost but also satisfying. Also new areas of mine has been opened, who would have thought that this could make me happy? And the music that lurks and wrap me up in that sweet, thick feeling of contentment. I'm happy, I'm happy. Only she does. Only I can sit here.
Around the home her mother runs away from the rain with newly bought pastries from the bakery in a package for arm.
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Sims 3 How To Get Rid Of Carpool
Novell (May 2007)
The only sensible children
We sit in the car. The belt is like a noose over her breasts. The car is hot, I get no air. I open the window. Outside, the sun is shining like a big, heavy ball in the sky. It
is the gas that makes it so hot. The ozone layer has been broken. Polar bears drowning and small Africans who die in the heat. The warm sweat flowing from the neck down in the linen. I can not understand that choosing to die a time like this. But that was exactly what he did.
Sebastian drive the bumpy roads, He said nothing during car travel. Yesterday when the call came, he had thought that I would be sorry. He had been on the living room floor, tall as a flagpole and hugged my shoulders. He had not believed in me when I said I actually did not bother me. Yes, quite true, I spoke not. Sure, there was an interest. An interest in it actually, finally done. An interest of a legacy that plaster on the wound. He was dead. Cold and frozen like a Popsicle. Her voice had cried and congested and I replied calmly and gently on her questions. Well, I was an only child. No, we had no contact. My voice seemed to soothe my aunt, who lived for several days in the dark about his life and death. He had passed away at the hospital, she said.
car jumps and jump on the bad roads. From the radio will sound a bad pop song that I can not name. I feel the headache come slowly and resting his head against the headrest. Sebastian sighs and cranks down his window. Korsdraget is welcome. There are too many trees here in Småland. Every forest has its own soul, his own life. Not to get trample the beautiful grass that has grown there since the old hags were small and never get to pick even one flower. They are beautiful, where they are but they're pretty beautiful in my hand too. The gravel crunches under the tires and a jump into the pit of the stomach when I see the yellow house towering at the end of the road. We turn up. At the road are small trees, too small for it to be called the avenue, but they are beautiful nonetheless. For many damn trees.
The car stops. Sebastian opened the door and look at the lonely, empty house. I can not go out. I can not even look that way. He left in the dirty windows, the shiny glass. He is left in the dirt, the stone steps, in the broken railing. "Emma?" Sebastian speaks quietly to me. "Will you?" I open the door, my feet feel like lead. Through the door, I ask myself up. The angular gravel under my feet, the stubborn wind in my hair. There is nothing beautiful house. It is as if the age and the wind started to turn it into dust before our very eyes.
There was certainly a time when he played the role. I threw myself into his arms when he came to visit. That day, I was happy and I partook of my friends jealous. We were all daughters of mothers who worked until they could not manage more and fathers who were not seen in more than a few days a year. If we were lucky. Glatt could tell in school about the Great who had been visiting. How kind he was and how much He liked one. How much you like him and how many times you would see him over the summer holidays. When he went climbing, I settled myself at my mother as if I was afraid she would disappear.
kitchen is cleared of furniture except for a chair. There are wet spots on the floor after my aunt who had been here and clean. But the dirt has not gone away, it seems ingrained in the planks. The kitchen is small and out to the living room has no door. There is a leather sofa without cushions. I wonder if it ever had any cushions. The whole house smells of stale cigarette smoke. I've always associated the smell with him. Not I knew it was a house that smell was stuck in. Sebastian wrinkles her nose. I know I've been here once before. I remember we sat in the kitchen and the Mazarine. My mom, my dad and me. "What did he look, your dad?" Asked Sebastian while he looks up at the ceiling, like calling it. I shrugged. "He was fat. He drank a lot. He had a mustache. "The memory of his mustache to scratch my face when I hug his neck. The small stain on his mouth as it grew hair on. "He had green eyes." I feel sick, my head is spinning. I sit down on the lone chair and leans her head in my hands. The small pieces that I lost and forgotten in front of my eyes. They remember how he looked.
On my sixteenth birthday was no phone call. The usual five hundred patches, neither did. The latter stung more than the former. He had said he wanted to see me, that I could stay with him over the summer. I shouted to the mother that she had to protect me for hell, blame anything. I did not want to live there. He was a stranger. A drunk, a dirty old man. He drank Lapin Kulta and drove off the road in his Cadillac. I read about it in the newspaper as if it was someone else and wanted to joke that he had died. A call in the middle of the night. I replied. His swelling, slurred voice that told me to fuck off. Institute of the handset when he put on without me saying a word. The maintenance was not in the month of July, Mother had to borrow money from his brother. I went to my sister's clothes, we could have each other because she was tall and narrow and I was shorter and rounder. At the same time he bought a new Cadillac, a new house, new wife. I was not angry, not sad. More hopeless, I began to look for his name among the death notices in the newspaper. He was owed me.
bedroom upstairs is in the shade. I stand in the doorway, on the threshold. In here are all there, untouched. Still, they are pink, tattered sheets on the bed and still his clothes on the chair together with Office. There is a sadness that descends. Something still and quiet as still living in his clothes, the sheets, the rag rugs. I wonder if it was that he died in the hospital or if she lied, and he actually died in this room. Lying in bed. Or on the floor when he tried to put on her clothes. I open one clothes closet. There are a couple of shirts. It smells of sweat and old in there. Under the bed is a pair of sandals with Velcro closure. I wonder if he was so tired that he had not managed to tie the strings on the other. On the wall hangs a photo of him as a child. He stands with the Finnish flag in his hand on a lawn. His hair is blond, almost white. He smiles weakly.
One last time I would see him. It was two years ago. He lived in Hillerstorp a while before moving to the yellow house. I went to visit Mom when she stopped for the day, I had went to buy chocolate balls. There, on the other hand, the way he stood. The brown leather jacket and a cigarette in his mouth. He was very still. The mustache was still thick and also the hair of his head. This time I threw me around his neck. I felt a lump in his stomach and pulled back the foot that was on way across the street. He stood there and waited for something. He looked up, straight at me. For a second I thought he would recognize me. But then he dropped the cigarette and his eyes saw the foot stepped on it. I kept going. Maybe I had received someone else's face during the night. Perhaps there was nothing left that he could recognize.
From the window I can see how Sebastian goes over gravel. Suddenly he stops and looks out over the lawn. There are no trees that can disturb on. Tomorrow my father buried in the cemetery. His heavy body lies in a coffin, dressed, combed. Perhaps shaved. Tomorrow we will wear black clothes and put a flower on trälocket. There is a bureau near the window. The buds have been broken in all cases except one. I pull it out. There is an empty can of Lapin Kulta, paper with Finnish words that I do not understand and a photo. I'll take it up. A little girl with blond, almost white hair smiles at me in the photo. I recognize her. I know who it is.
Tomorrow we go to church for the first time in a long time. We will sing with the hymns we can not, listen to the words that we know are true. We will go from here and not be one bit wiser.
The only sensible children
We sit in the car. The belt is like a noose over her breasts. The car is hot, I get no air. I open the window. Outside, the sun is shining like a big, heavy ball in the sky. It
is the gas that makes it so hot. The ozone layer has been broken. Polar bears drowning and small Africans who die in the heat. The warm sweat flowing from the neck down in the linen. I can not understand that choosing to die a time like this. But that was exactly what he did.
Sebastian drive the bumpy roads, He said nothing during car travel. Yesterday when the call came, he had thought that I would be sorry. He had been on the living room floor, tall as a flagpole and hugged my shoulders. He had not believed in me when I said I actually did not bother me. Yes, quite true, I spoke not. Sure, there was an interest. An interest in it actually, finally done. An interest of a legacy that plaster on the wound. He was dead. Cold and frozen like a Popsicle. Her voice had cried and congested and I replied calmly and gently on her questions. Well, I was an only child. No, we had no contact. My voice seemed to soothe my aunt, who lived for several days in the dark about his life and death. He had passed away at the hospital, she said.
car jumps and jump on the bad roads. From the radio will sound a bad pop song that I can not name. I feel the headache come slowly and resting his head against the headrest. Sebastian sighs and cranks down his window. Korsdraget is welcome. There are too many trees here in Småland. Every forest has its own soul, his own life. Not to get trample the beautiful grass that has grown there since the old hags were small and never get to pick even one flower. They are beautiful, where they are but they're pretty beautiful in my hand too. The gravel crunches under the tires and a jump into the pit of the stomach when I see the yellow house towering at the end of the road. We turn up. At the road are small trees, too small for it to be called the avenue, but they are beautiful nonetheless. For many damn trees.
The car stops. Sebastian opened the door and look at the lonely, empty house. I can not go out. I can not even look that way. He left in the dirty windows, the shiny glass. He is left in the dirt, the stone steps, in the broken railing. "Emma?" Sebastian speaks quietly to me. "Will you?" I open the door, my feet feel like lead. Through the door, I ask myself up. The angular gravel under my feet, the stubborn wind in my hair. There is nothing beautiful house. It is as if the age and the wind started to turn it into dust before our very eyes.
There was certainly a time when he played the role. I threw myself into his arms when he came to visit. That day, I was happy and I partook of my friends jealous. We were all daughters of mothers who worked until they could not manage more and fathers who were not seen in more than a few days a year. If we were lucky. Glatt could tell in school about the Great who had been visiting. How kind he was and how much He liked one. How much you like him and how many times you would see him over the summer holidays. When he went climbing, I settled myself at my mother as if I was afraid she would disappear.
kitchen is cleared of furniture except for a chair. There are wet spots on the floor after my aunt who had been here and clean. But the dirt has not gone away, it seems ingrained in the planks. The kitchen is small and out to the living room has no door. There is a leather sofa without cushions. I wonder if it ever had any cushions. The whole house smells of stale cigarette smoke. I've always associated the smell with him. Not I knew it was a house that smell was stuck in. Sebastian wrinkles her nose. I know I've been here once before. I remember we sat in the kitchen and the Mazarine. My mom, my dad and me. "What did he look, your dad?" Asked Sebastian while he looks up at the ceiling, like calling it. I shrugged. "He was fat. He drank a lot. He had a mustache. "The memory of his mustache to scratch my face when I hug his neck. The small stain on his mouth as it grew hair on. "He had green eyes." I feel sick, my head is spinning. I sit down on the lone chair and leans her head in my hands. The small pieces that I lost and forgotten in front of my eyes. They remember how he looked.
On my sixteenth birthday was no phone call. The usual five hundred patches, neither did. The latter stung more than the former. He had said he wanted to see me, that I could stay with him over the summer. I shouted to the mother that she had to protect me for hell, blame anything. I did not want to live there. He was a stranger. A drunk, a dirty old man. He drank Lapin Kulta and drove off the road in his Cadillac. I read about it in the newspaper as if it was someone else and wanted to joke that he had died. A call in the middle of the night. I replied. His swelling, slurred voice that told me to fuck off. Institute of the handset when he put on without me saying a word. The maintenance was not in the month of July, Mother had to borrow money from his brother. I went to my sister's clothes, we could have each other because she was tall and narrow and I was shorter and rounder. At the same time he bought a new Cadillac, a new house, new wife. I was not angry, not sad. More hopeless, I began to look for his name among the death notices in the newspaper. He was owed me.
bedroom upstairs is in the shade. I stand in the doorway, on the threshold. In here are all there, untouched. Still, they are pink, tattered sheets on the bed and still his clothes on the chair together with Office. There is a sadness that descends. Something still and quiet as still living in his clothes, the sheets, the rag rugs. I wonder if it was that he died in the hospital or if she lied, and he actually died in this room. Lying in bed. Or on the floor when he tried to put on her clothes. I open one clothes closet. There are a couple of shirts. It smells of sweat and old in there. Under the bed is a pair of sandals with Velcro closure. I wonder if he was so tired that he had not managed to tie the strings on the other. On the wall hangs a photo of him as a child. He stands with the Finnish flag in his hand on a lawn. His hair is blond, almost white. He smiles weakly.
One last time I would see him. It was two years ago. He lived in Hillerstorp a while before moving to the yellow house. I went to visit Mom when she stopped for the day, I had went to buy chocolate balls. There, on the other hand, the way he stood. The brown leather jacket and a cigarette in his mouth. He was very still. The mustache was still thick and also the hair of his head. This time I threw me around his neck. I felt a lump in his stomach and pulled back the foot that was on way across the street. He stood there and waited for something. He looked up, straight at me. For a second I thought he would recognize me. But then he dropped the cigarette and his eyes saw the foot stepped on it. I kept going. Maybe I had received someone else's face during the night. Perhaps there was nothing left that he could recognize.
From the window I can see how Sebastian goes over gravel. Suddenly he stops and looks out over the lawn. There are no trees that can disturb on. Tomorrow my father buried in the cemetery. His heavy body lies in a coffin, dressed, combed. Perhaps shaved. Tomorrow we will wear black clothes and put a flower on trälocket. There is a bureau near the window. The buds have been broken in all cases except one. I pull it out. There is an empty can of Lapin Kulta, paper with Finnish words that I do not understand and a photo. I'll take it up. A little girl with blond, almost white hair smiles at me in the photo. I recognize her. I know who it is.
Tomorrow we go to church for the first time in a long time. We will sing with the hymns we can not, listen to the words that we know are true. We will go from here and not be one bit wiser.
Birthday Verbiage Idea For 35 And Older
Novell (October 2007)
Storm
She opens the door and step out on the stairs. She needs to move now. A lump in her breast that she does not know where from it will make itself felt. Ute is the grass wet, dark green. The clouds up there heavy. They fall to the ground at any second. The road ahead of her, she can hear his own footsteps in the gravel as she walks. She has to move, she can not stay a moment. She leaves the door standing.
Careful, as on a rocking boat, she takes up. At the road the heather grows in large, purple drifts. Scent, diluted in the water, reaching her nose. Her step is the only sound, it is the rattling, scattered sound of pebbles that are turned up, exposing its dark side. She thinks about how she walks, how she must look like if a stranger were to run into her on the road. She tries to walk as normally as possible. The hands are wet with milk, she dries them on the pants. Behind her house disappear behind the hill.
On the other side sees the sheep back on her. She smiles at their long faces and dark eyes. From the corners sticking out grass and dandelions. Some are and resting in the tall grass. She sends greetings and hopes that it will reach there may be closest. From where she stands, it looks like it smiles back. She goes reluctantly, the way a bit back. Now the gravel disappeared and turned into gray, broken asphalt and her feet hurt. Only now, she discovers that she is not wearing any shoes.
trees leaf receives the first raindrops. Soon they fall around her. Her hair gets wet and her jacket is colored dark red. The high winds get hold of the trees and shaking them back and forth, as if they were clothes hung out to dry in Winter acid. A violent crash and a glow in her eyes makes her stop. The sound cut through her mind and the instinct that she still carries with him makes her crouch. The clouds torn up by another flash, a clearly visible one. The lump in her breast is replaced by fear. It is a welcome feeling. Quickly she turns off the road, down a path down to the water. Here stands the trees high and wide, open landscapes, she has left behind. As in a ballroom of the towers all the way up to heaven. She puts her jacket over a tree without too much web and lays down on it. Her head is tired and tugnt. Soon she sleeps with head in the moss.
She wakes with a start. Still falls the last raindrops, which has disrupted her sleep. For a moment she woke up almost happy, she does not remember the reason why she should be sorry. The next moment it strikes her as an open hand across his cheek. Her head sank down to the ground. The tanks weaves skeins of the skull, trying to intimidate her and show the worst. She already knows what will happen. Therefore, she continued. She gets up and picks spruce needles from her hair, shakes his jacket and puts it on himself. It smells a little fishy, but it is not as wet as she thought. She walks up to the water's edge. Lake is still and clear. On the other hand, she glimpsed a small house. Her fingers were sticking to each other, she looks down on them. They are covered with blood. Her pants also. Quickly dip her hands into the water, rubbing them against each other and see the red dissolving of the clear, transparent. She washes her face and she knows how to awaken to its cooling.
She remembers that she held in her mother's arm as she sat on the floor. She looked out the window and did not hear what was going on in the background. Her ears weed out the sounds that she would not hear until they fell silent. Oh my god, was the only thing she remembered her saying. As a heavy lid is something over and will not let up. She remembers her father's face, though it was black and dark as at night. Out on the lawn a sparrow hopped around in search of food. Now and then flew away and searched for their luck elsewhere.
Although it makes no difference, she asks a short prayer to God. For a moment think she could hear a voice answer, she turns around. But the road behind her is silent and deserted. She leaves the scent of pine needles and resin behind them, turning once again into the road. She sees the bright sky behind the black clouds, they start to crack and break. Here comes the sun. The shining and warms her cold face. It's still summer, even though the leaves have started to fall to the ground. Silence where she goes is thick, only the faint rustle of wind in the trees and her wet feet on the asphalt can be heard. She thinks that now I'm alone. Just as lonely as the old man's father told me about who had a wife who had died. He had no children, no dog or cat. So will it be now. She could build a shack in the woods and gather mushrooms and berries to eat. Never would anyone have to go there and ask. The thought makes her happy for a while.
Now, there are no trees left. The few trees that she can see is sparse birches. Otherwise, there is only green grass and high hills. The fence that previously followed the road has vanished. She does not know how long she was gone. The way she see something small and white a few feet away. There she stands, it looks like something someone forgot. A plastic bag, a hat, a rain coat. When she gets closer she sees the white wool covering the lamb's body. Its eyes are bright, glossy and transparent. Red blood leak from the deep wound in his throat. She walks over and puts his hand against its short wool. It is soft, but cold. She underlines the curious lamb face and its hooves. Ear and tail. She tears off tall grass and pull up tufts and add the lamb. In her mind she buries it.
She remembers what the clouds formed when she was little. What visions she could see in their fluffy bodies. And then, how the changed form and became the new thing. Now the sun on the horizon, its round shape inflated like a balloon. As a black hole will open up and devour the world in pink and orange. She puts her hands in jacket pockets when rates are falling. She digs his feet into the earth to get them warm, but it is useless. She has lost feeling in his toes, they are just ice blocks. One day has passed since she left the door open and walked away. She would never dare if no sound consulted. If not everything had been quiet after the cries and fights. She misses her mother. When she finally falls asleep she dreams about the smell of clean sheets.
Her mother's presence in her clothes when she wakes up. A button buttoned, a flap unfolded. Her hair ruffle of the wind that sweeps across the land. She forgot to turn off the lights before she left. The air is colder than she had ever known, when she pulls it into their lungs. The head feels heavy on the grass, she remains. The idea, she goes on, fly high, disappearing behind the clouds. No one sees or hears and no one comes by to look for her. She was digging in the ground and not even the sheep can see a difference between her and a tuft of grass. The dog is fast and had wind of her several mil away. Now looking its nose frantically in the grass. The steps behind trying to keep up as best they can, but it is wet and slippery and the slipping constantly.
When she decided, and opened her eyes she sees the dog. He has stopped in the grass a few feet in front of her. She looks into his big, black eyes. She could move, running quickly over the grass and hoped that he would not follow suit. But she remains. Through the grass, she sees his black pants, the big feet. Soon he will see her.
Storm
She opens the door and step out on the stairs. She needs to move now. A lump in her breast that she does not know where from it will make itself felt. Ute is the grass wet, dark green. The clouds up there heavy. They fall to the ground at any second. The road ahead of her, she can hear his own footsteps in the gravel as she walks. She has to move, she can not stay a moment. She leaves the door standing.
Careful, as on a rocking boat, she takes up. At the road the heather grows in large, purple drifts. Scent, diluted in the water, reaching her nose. Her step is the only sound, it is the rattling, scattered sound of pebbles that are turned up, exposing its dark side. She thinks about how she walks, how she must look like if a stranger were to run into her on the road. She tries to walk as normally as possible. The hands are wet with milk, she dries them on the pants. Behind her house disappear behind the hill.
On the other side sees the sheep back on her. She smiles at their long faces and dark eyes. From the corners sticking out grass and dandelions. Some are and resting in the tall grass. She sends greetings and hopes that it will reach there may be closest. From where she stands, it looks like it smiles back. She goes reluctantly, the way a bit back. Now the gravel disappeared and turned into gray, broken asphalt and her feet hurt. Only now, she discovers that she is not wearing any shoes.
trees leaf receives the first raindrops. Soon they fall around her. Her hair gets wet and her jacket is colored dark red. The high winds get hold of the trees and shaking them back and forth, as if they were clothes hung out to dry in Winter acid. A violent crash and a glow in her eyes makes her stop. The sound cut through her mind and the instinct that she still carries with him makes her crouch. The clouds torn up by another flash, a clearly visible one. The lump in her breast is replaced by fear. It is a welcome feeling. Quickly she turns off the road, down a path down to the water. Here stands the trees high and wide, open landscapes, she has left behind. As in a ballroom of the towers all the way up to heaven. She puts her jacket over a tree without too much web and lays down on it. Her head is tired and tugnt. Soon she sleeps with head in the moss.
She wakes with a start. Still falls the last raindrops, which has disrupted her sleep. For a moment she woke up almost happy, she does not remember the reason why she should be sorry. The next moment it strikes her as an open hand across his cheek. Her head sank down to the ground. The tanks weaves skeins of the skull, trying to intimidate her and show the worst. She already knows what will happen. Therefore, she continued. She gets up and picks spruce needles from her hair, shakes his jacket and puts it on himself. It smells a little fishy, but it is not as wet as she thought. She walks up to the water's edge. Lake is still and clear. On the other hand, she glimpsed a small house. Her fingers were sticking to each other, she looks down on them. They are covered with blood. Her pants also. Quickly dip her hands into the water, rubbing them against each other and see the red dissolving of the clear, transparent. She washes her face and she knows how to awaken to its cooling.
She remembers that she held in her mother's arm as she sat on the floor. She looked out the window and did not hear what was going on in the background. Her ears weed out the sounds that she would not hear until they fell silent. Oh my god, was the only thing she remembered her saying. As a heavy lid is something over and will not let up. She remembers her father's face, though it was black and dark as at night. Out on the lawn a sparrow hopped around in search of food. Now and then flew away and searched for their luck elsewhere.
Although it makes no difference, she asks a short prayer to God. For a moment think she could hear a voice answer, she turns around. But the road behind her is silent and deserted. She leaves the scent of pine needles and resin behind them, turning once again into the road. She sees the bright sky behind the black clouds, they start to crack and break. Here comes the sun. The shining and warms her cold face. It's still summer, even though the leaves have started to fall to the ground. Silence where she goes is thick, only the faint rustle of wind in the trees and her wet feet on the asphalt can be heard. She thinks that now I'm alone. Just as lonely as the old man's father told me about who had a wife who had died. He had no children, no dog or cat. So will it be now. She could build a shack in the woods and gather mushrooms and berries to eat. Never would anyone have to go there and ask. The thought makes her happy for a while.
Now, there are no trees left. The few trees that she can see is sparse birches. Otherwise, there is only green grass and high hills. The fence that previously followed the road has vanished. She does not know how long she was gone. The way she see something small and white a few feet away. There she stands, it looks like something someone forgot. A plastic bag, a hat, a rain coat. When she gets closer she sees the white wool covering the lamb's body. Its eyes are bright, glossy and transparent. Red blood leak from the deep wound in his throat. She walks over and puts his hand against its short wool. It is soft, but cold. She underlines the curious lamb face and its hooves. Ear and tail. She tears off tall grass and pull up tufts and add the lamb. In her mind she buries it.
She remembers what the clouds formed when she was little. What visions she could see in their fluffy bodies. And then, how the changed form and became the new thing. Now the sun on the horizon, its round shape inflated like a balloon. As a black hole will open up and devour the world in pink and orange. She puts her hands in jacket pockets when rates are falling. She digs his feet into the earth to get them warm, but it is useless. She has lost feeling in his toes, they are just ice blocks. One day has passed since she left the door open and walked away. She would never dare if no sound consulted. If not everything had been quiet after the cries and fights. She misses her mother. When she finally falls asleep she dreams about the smell of clean sheets.
Her mother's presence in her clothes when she wakes up. A button buttoned, a flap unfolded. Her hair ruffle of the wind that sweeps across the land. She forgot to turn off the lights before she left. The air is colder than she had ever known, when she pulls it into their lungs. The head feels heavy on the grass, she remains. The idea, she goes on, fly high, disappearing behind the clouds. No one sees or hears and no one comes by to look for her. She was digging in the ground and not even the sheep can see a difference between her and a tuft of grass. The dog is fast and had wind of her several mil away. Now looking its nose frantically in the grass. The steps behind trying to keep up as best they can, but it is wet and slippery and the slipping constantly.
When she decided, and opened her eyes she sees the dog. He has stopped in the grass a few feet in front of her. She looks into his big, black eyes. She could move, running quickly over the grass and hoped that he would not follow suit. But she remains. Through the grass, she sees his black pants, the big feet. Soon he will see her.
Drink Beer Toothaches
Novell (September 2008)
September
They start embedding so small. So small that you do not notice it before it lands on the nose. Way up there let the tree's first leaf. A fantastic sense of loss. Having to let go of what you created, something that grew out of one. The singles soundlessly to the ground. The yellow color will burn out the brown blanket. One more second of silence before we get the birds throw their wings around themselves, and fly upwards.
And tempers are lost, I sit alone in the bedroom and do not want to talk. Because I know I will not have anything to say and that you will mistake what little I utter. I may put on thick clothes to keep warm. I embed my thoughts in soft cotton for that they should not corrode the head. They seep out and contaminate everything else. But you seem not to care about them, you pretend not to see them like everyone else.
And we mess of dust and dirty dishes as if their lives depended on it. Otherwise, should we hide under the bed, shaking with fear. But we brushes by us and standing up tall, we run into those thick walls head first. They think we have gone mad. Why the bloody gore when you can safely continue his career. Why not choose the already trodden way. Taste the wine, send remote control. You will get lost out there.
The faces I see around town, I have never seen before. At the shop, I meet no one I know. I deals with apples. I raise them, underlines the red skin, smell them. Their fragrance dig up memories I had forgotten. We sat among the bushes and the red apples shone among the branches. In the shadow disappeared behind the curtains and we ran so fast that I forgot to breathe. We pulled them down from the tree and hid them in our pockets. Ten seconds later, a door creaked behind us and an angry voice shouted our names. And legs bar like never before, over rocks and branches, over small streams and thousands of yellow leaves.
They sleep through all day. All of September, all winter. Only when the sun peeps out, they lift their head and get up. I see how they change before my eyes. Their transparent skin is colored, the black spots under the eyes disappear. And they run, sunbathing and swimming. They live life and happiness. They lift up the children in his arms. Soon they forget that there is something else. It goes as fast as the blink. In the morning the grass covered with frost and the sky is turning out only the bare branches.
Our hands are empty, we have no reason to go here. We do not know the path, not the trees around us or the glowing stones at our feet. Soon it will be dark and cold. They put out the lights and pull the covers over their heads. All while we continue to go further and further away. We are exactly where we want.
September
They start embedding so small. So small that you do not notice it before it lands on the nose. Way up there let the tree's first leaf. A fantastic sense of loss. Having to let go of what you created, something that grew out of one. The singles soundlessly to the ground. The yellow color will burn out the brown blanket. One more second of silence before we get the birds throw their wings around themselves, and fly upwards.
And tempers are lost, I sit alone in the bedroom and do not want to talk. Because I know I will not have anything to say and that you will mistake what little I utter. I may put on thick clothes to keep warm. I embed my thoughts in soft cotton for that they should not corrode the head. They seep out and contaminate everything else. But you seem not to care about them, you pretend not to see them like everyone else.
And we mess of dust and dirty dishes as if their lives depended on it. Otherwise, should we hide under the bed, shaking with fear. But we brushes by us and standing up tall, we run into those thick walls head first. They think we have gone mad. Why the bloody gore when you can safely continue his career. Why not choose the already trodden way. Taste the wine, send remote control. You will get lost out there.
The faces I see around town, I have never seen before. At the shop, I meet no one I know. I deals with apples. I raise them, underlines the red skin, smell them. Their fragrance dig up memories I had forgotten. We sat among the bushes and the red apples shone among the branches. In the shadow disappeared behind the curtains and we ran so fast that I forgot to breathe. We pulled them down from the tree and hid them in our pockets. Ten seconds later, a door creaked behind us and an angry voice shouted our names. And legs bar like never before, over rocks and branches, over small streams and thousands of yellow leaves.
They sleep through all day. All of September, all winter. Only when the sun peeps out, they lift their head and get up. I see how they change before my eyes. Their transparent skin is colored, the black spots under the eyes disappear. And they run, sunbathing and swimming. They live life and happiness. They lift up the children in his arms. Soon they forget that there is something else. It goes as fast as the blink. In the morning the grass covered with frost and the sky is turning out only the bare branches.
Our hands are empty, we have no reason to go here. We do not know the path, not the trees around us or the glowing stones at our feet. Soon it will be dark and cold. They put out the lights and pull the covers over their heads. All while we continue to go further and further away. We are exactly where we want.
How Do I Update Ume 24
Novell (August-September 2009)
After the wedding
There is a longing. One that tickles your stomach, which leaps out of his fingers. She recognizes it. Therefore, she must count the teabags, to correct the cushions of the sofa and wipe the kitchen table again. Elin goes around and around in each room, searching for something she can put the tanks on. She should not feel as she does. She should be angry and muttering to herself until he step through the door. There will be a burden to her. But it is not. A quick glance at the clock. Just two minutes since the last time. She must take it easy now, just breathe, relax. There is a doorbell that rings. Elin goes out into the hall, put his hand on the doorknob. Take a deep breath and decide. When she opens the door he stands there. In his face where the smile. He puts his arms around her. Speaking with her, but she can not hear what he says. Only his thick jacket fabric against her ear.
She ordered food for the wedding. Lamb fillet with morel sauce. Asparagus and ricotta cheese. She bought linen in exactly the right shade. Jogged the length of the round for weeks to lose that last kilo. The dress took months for the seamstress to get ready, now hangs in the closet and wait. Yesterday she tried it together with the earrings for the first time. Andrew came in and threw her arms around her. He said Elin you are so beautiful and then he kissed her on the cheek. Just then I felt as if she had chosen the right. What would otherwise tend to weigh on her like blown away, she fills all the valleys. Cover them with soft grass. She sent out the invitations in time. Some said yes, so that it should be. Most people phoned and congratulated, said that she deserved everything she wished for. But unfortunately, they sighed. It was so far to go. If they wanted to have the wedding in his hometown would have been a different story. Money and time it was nothing that they wasted. Not on her. She hung up the phone before they say goodbye.
She had met Andrew two years ago shortly after she moved here. It was through the church. He helped to organize lotteries and sometimes played the piano during church services. Every Thursday at eight, when the choir stopped practicing he was waiting for her outside entrance. He was handsome and funny. He laughed out loud if he wanted, with his mouth open so that you could see the teeth farthest back. He did not care if anyone heard. They had met in a few weeks when he kissed her. She had wanted to get closer, to know him just around the bare skin. Breathing hard into his mouth and feel him explode. But Andrew wanted to wait. Where other people drank themselves redlösa he wanted to be the only sober. He wanted to save himself and his body. He called it morality,'s power over the flesh. A last stand against humanity. She did not understand but she respected it, as always. A year later he proposed marriage to her. He bought roses, got down on knee and the whole konkarongen. Elin looked into those kind eyes. Just wanted to hear him say the words.
long time she sat with invitation in hand. The Mats. A year ago she saw him last, and only his back in a crowd. But still, she had been looking for a few seconds, among the faces as if she had actually wanted to see him. She tried to understand what it meant. What would happen if she sent it to him. They thought she forgot, put the lid on, forced out of his head would come back. Only if she had them. So she wrote where his family name and his address as clearly as she could. On the way to the mailbox threw her card in the trash. Three days later he called. She thought it was her mother when she promised to call but forgot. She cheerfully replied, and waited for the mother's voice, but instead she heard his hesitant, slow. He had seen the ad in the newspaper and wanted to congratulate. A few seconds she stood and did not know what she would say. She held the phone so hard against your ear that she felt the pulse pounding behind the skull. It was not that she thought about it before she asked him, and seconds later she regretted it. And the enthusiasm in his voice when he said yes, made her nauseous. What did you say that the street name? and I wondered just what you did today and It was so long since we talked and I wish it was me you wanted . But she heard no.
Mats rises over the threshold, into the house.
- You look different, "she says.
- Do you?
- Yes.
- You too. I would not say earlier, but more adult.
- I will remember next time I get to show ID.
He smiles.
- Where's your husband then?
- He is not my husband yet, "she says.
- Where is he that is not your husband do?
- At the store. He'll be right.
He hangs his jacket off. Together they enter the kitchen.
- Do you want tea or coffee?
- I do like tea.
She turns towards the fridge, takes out milk carton.
- Do you have any milk, I take it also.
- Did you or did you train?
- I took the car. Four hours without stopping, if you do not count the twenty minutes I drove down the wrong road. I was slipping in Oslo.
She handed him the cup and he sets it in front of him. Then she sits down opposite him.
- You have done something with your hair, "he says.
- I've dyed it. For the wedding.
- It's nice. But I felt better on the red.
In her head, she made a list of things to talk about. Now she can not bring himself to mention even one. It is something that is different. The low, slow voice is still there, but it is as if what he says actually means something this time. Carefully, he chooses his words for him if anyone knows how far they can push a man.
- How to tell if your man is not your man, "he says.
- What should I tell?
- Anything.
- His name is Andrew, he works in insurance. He is twenty-three.
- Do you love him?
She looks at him.
- I will marry him, "she says.
- There is no guarantee.
- How's Helen, by the way?
- She's fine.
- And the kids?
- Anna move soon, she will start school after graduation. Philip struggles with school. If he could decide he would not go there at all.
She hears the door open and Andreas footsteps in the hall. His face appears in the doorway and he walks towards her and kisses her on the cheek. Only then he noticed the man sitting there.
- Hey, you have to be measured?
Mats nods and shakes his outstretched hand.
- Andreas.
- Nice to meet you.
- You work as a pastor, right?
- How do you know?
- Elin told a bit about you, "says Andrew.
- Oh. Well, I'm a pastor. Or was, rather. I stopped for a few months ago.
- Why?
She says it more emphatically than she meant, and he looks at her. But it is impossible to know what he thinks. Not a line, not a gesture gossip.
- There are other people who are better suited to the profession.
- But you have always been a pastor, "she says.
- Yes, but sometimes you have to innovate.
He drinks in deep gulps. The dark hair has become more gray. Still, it attracts at the temples. She looks at his hands, looking for the gold ring he always used to wear. But his fingers are bare. Slender, delicate.
- How long are you staying? asks Andrew.
- I go home after the wedding.
- So soon?
- I have work and family waiting at home.
- You're welcome to sleep here, there is always room for Elin's friends. We have a room next to the living room as ...
- I do not think Mats would be in the way, "she says.
His lips that jerk, he presses them together tightly.
- The is ok. I have a hotel room, "he says.
He says goodbye and gives her an awkward hug. Shaking Andreas hand and wish them both good luck. Only when she sees the tail lights of the car disappear off she goes into the apartment. She closes the door to the bathroom behind him and locks. And what is so heavily in her, that she can bear no longer escape. She had forgotten how he smells. How his eyes light up. She ties her fists and holds them against his mouth. Andreas may not hear, do not know. If he never asks she does not respond. This is the moment she fails, the only one she allows herself. But it must come out. She must feel it leave the body. He is her headaches, her stomach pain. She must hide it away now because otherwise it can be seen on her when she laughs. It turns your face. She sits on the faucet, wash off the mascara under my eyes and dry with towel. Then she goes into the kitchen.
Pastor Lööf was already old when he began his service. When she went and confirmed himself, he never remembered her name but she was called "you" throughout the years. It was no wonder he died. He would put up a lamp on the top floor when the stool gave way and he fell down the stairs. Thirteen steps marble. She was sixteen when Mats was the service. One day he stood outside her door in the wind with his black coat flapping around his legs. It was her father he came to talk to. Something about the plumbing and the root system and drainage and other important things that could not wait. She said he was not home but that he could come anytime. So he stepped in, sat on their couch. He asked for her name and she replied. It was the first time they spoke to each other. He came from Skåne, but the accent was barely audible. The tanned face shone white smile. When he laughed it sounded like a foghorn that has broken down, but it infected. It made her happy. She liked him.
When summer vacation came Mats asked if she wanted to work in the church a few weeks. The basement was full of the old junk and he needed help to clear it out. She said yes. Mostly to see him. Stand close to him. She did not want to admit it to herself, she was content to have a look. Every day after they were finished, he offered a coffee. Tea with milk and chocolate bars. He always sat next to her even though there were other vacant seats. His eyes were blue. IbIand he told scania but mostly he sat and just looked at her without saying anything. When she asked him why he did what he did not respond. So she talked instead. And he listened, nodded, agreed. Once he took her hand in his and it was like she could no longer say everything she thought of him. It has popped up in her head and did not find any way out. When she was alone in her bed and could not sleep she thought of those hands. How they would feel.
On his desk was a photo of a woman and three children. She knew it was his family. He never spoke of them and when she asked, he replied briefly. Every day after school he waited for her and followed her home. He stood among the trees so that he would not be visible. He drove her wherever she wanted when she wanted. In the middle of the night she called and he came and picked her up. She said she wanted to swim and he drove to the little lake on the outskirts of the village. She went into the water with clothes on, high on insomnia and that other stuff. That has swelled in her, which made her warm and smooth. He stood on the shore and laughed, threw her arms around her as she came up and rubbed her skin with his hands. But she froze not. Before him, she took off her clothes. Just thought that now she has gone too far. He would ask her to get dressed and get in the car. He would drive her home and the next day would all be back to normal. But he said nothing. She remembers his hard, angular body under the soft skin, his weight pushing her down into the ground. Spruce needles got tangled in her hair when she crawled around under him, earth in her face, it covered every inch of her body. But when she thinks back, it is not what she remembers. It is his mouth. How his voice chafed when he pushed, pushed into. And afterwards, how the last dry tinder of her tingled and burned. She still burning.
She had been and looked at the church two months before the wedding. She chose it because it was romantic. Like a rotten tooth stood alone among the paddocks and neighing horses, free from all forced modernity. She stops on the gravel outside. Looking up at the gate. It is half past six in the morning and the sun has begun to creep over the horizon like a child taking its first wobbly steps. Although it is still summer, the air is cold. As the smoke rises from her mouth. She enters. The priest stands in the choir, he still has his usual clothes. Elin feel the soft carpet under her feet as she walks. It drowns out every little step. Her pounding heart behind the thorax, it strikes the heaviest battles. It could be any morning at any time. But not she been waiting for. Through the high windows lit the carpet in the morning of the floor of Jesus hanging on the cross. She stops and looks at him. His face was one big grimace. This is where I will stand, she thinks. During his naked body, they promise each other eternal fidelity. In his blood, she is wearing her white dress. During his agony, they make a toast to his new life. They wonder why he does not share their happiness.
Her mother has put flowers in every window. Elin is behind the curtain. As a face is a flower in her hand. Smile at her in all the yellow. So soft is the small leaves, she wipes them with her fingers. She looks through the window on the tail of people who winds from the gate and out over the gravel path. Their bright clothes in contrast to the wet gravel, the dark sky. And they draw cloaks around them. She does not want to see them. Do not listen to their congratulations, do not feel their hugs. As a statue, she must stand completely still for the dress is too tight knot in the chest. It spans when she breathes. Not even when she hears steps behind her, she turns on.
- It's bad luck to see bride before the wedding, "she says.
- Only for those who are getting married.
Mats puts her hands over her shoulders. She knows how to shake.
- Say you are happy for me sake.
- I'm happy for you, "he says.
- You're lying.
- It does not matter. You can not do anything about anyway.
- I love him.
- Why are you here then?
She could feel the heat from his tummy to his back. As if no time has passed he leans against her. When she moved, she left everything behind and never turned on. For each type of tåghjulen lost everything that ever said about her. One by one the words tumbled from her. As mirages in the sand faded they look. And he was left without a scratch, with gleaming white robes. She wants to remember it now. Entice forward it, do it as images in his head. But there is only the thick smoke.
- You're right, "he says. I have lied to you. Helena and I'm going to separate us. Anna does not want to meet me. When I call and talk to her, she puts on the handset.
- And as usual it's not your fault, right?
- Please, do not be mad at me.
- Why did you come here?
- Because you asked me. Because I wanted to meet you.
And he is so close now. She takes hold of the windowsill, remembers that she has to breathe in the heavy dress. She thinks about the makeup, the hair. For the people waiting down there. At Andreas viewing again at the clock and counting minutes until she stands by his side.
She would ask him to go. Just turn around and show him the door. It would be so easy. But he comes with fire. It follows him in his step. The round fingertips over her skin and her heart is deceptive, it sounds easy to be fooled. Because of course she remembers. The head remember, my stomach remembers every little stone she was carrying. The skin of the sharp eyes of the subject. Only heart forget and forgive everything.
- I waited so long for you.
It will not look like the high, crisp Meeting in her head. More like a whisper, as if she was speaking for himself. She would like to scream until it runs out, until the fabric defects. But it is something that sits in the road.
- I know, "he says. Forgive me.
She wants to let the days go and be bland without him. See the children she will give birth, they no curls at all. See all the heavy clouds that will pass during their lifetime, but the roof is a lightning rod so she need not worry as she does. Still, she'll go out on the patio. For it is said that the blood boil in his veins and the meat is bursting from the heat. When her body matured and she is not longer recognizes her own face in the mirror, she wants to think about him. When Andrew is sleeping with her sweet head on the pillow, she is awake and remember the outlines of his hands over her neck.
Now ring the bells. The white plates are still empty at the decorated tables. The roses are set in their vases. And a flower is dead in her hand. She is one step outside the door. It opened and she knows it is her mother standing there before she said anything.
- Elin, is due.
She turns around. The white shirt against his tanned skin. Tie around his slender neck. He has not a stain.
- I must go now, "says she said.
Now the sun shines for the first time all day. Her mother helps her to the trailer and she lifts the veil over her face. When the organ starts to play, she goes in and she bites down hard on the teeth stop chattering. The music fills her from the toes to the hairs on his head and though the sun warms her shudder. She goes in and where they sit. Their faces are round, small nest boxes in a row in the pews. At the front of the altar stands Andreas. He stretches out his hand and she takes it, closes his fingers around it. Now it will be quiet. So quiet that she can hear the coughs and clears throat are, the little squeak from infants. His own breath against the veil. She looks over the crowd gathered for her sake. For him when he goes unnoticed along side a time. He stays in the shade.
After the wedding
There is a longing. One that tickles your stomach, which leaps out of his fingers. She recognizes it. Therefore, she must count the teabags, to correct the cushions of the sofa and wipe the kitchen table again. Elin goes around and around in each room, searching for something she can put the tanks on. She should not feel as she does. She should be angry and muttering to herself until he step through the door. There will be a burden to her. But it is not. A quick glance at the clock. Just two minutes since the last time. She must take it easy now, just breathe, relax. There is a doorbell that rings. Elin goes out into the hall, put his hand on the doorknob. Take a deep breath and decide. When she opens the door he stands there. In his face where the smile. He puts his arms around her. Speaking with her, but she can not hear what he says. Only his thick jacket fabric against her ear.
She ordered food for the wedding. Lamb fillet with morel sauce. Asparagus and ricotta cheese. She bought linen in exactly the right shade. Jogged the length of the round for weeks to lose that last kilo. The dress took months for the seamstress to get ready, now hangs in the closet and wait. Yesterday she tried it together with the earrings for the first time. Andrew came in and threw her arms around her. He said Elin you are so beautiful and then he kissed her on the cheek. Just then I felt as if she had chosen the right. What would otherwise tend to weigh on her like blown away, she fills all the valleys. Cover them with soft grass. She sent out the invitations in time. Some said yes, so that it should be. Most people phoned and congratulated, said that she deserved everything she wished for. But unfortunately, they sighed. It was so far to go. If they wanted to have the wedding in his hometown would have been a different story. Money and time it was nothing that they wasted. Not on her. She hung up the phone before they say goodbye.
She had met Andrew two years ago shortly after she moved here. It was through the church. He helped to organize lotteries and sometimes played the piano during church services. Every Thursday at eight, when the choir stopped practicing he was waiting for her outside entrance. He was handsome and funny. He laughed out loud if he wanted, with his mouth open so that you could see the teeth farthest back. He did not care if anyone heard. They had met in a few weeks when he kissed her. She had wanted to get closer, to know him just around the bare skin. Breathing hard into his mouth and feel him explode. But Andrew wanted to wait. Where other people drank themselves redlösa he wanted to be the only sober. He wanted to save himself and his body. He called it morality,'s power over the flesh. A last stand against humanity. She did not understand but she respected it, as always. A year later he proposed marriage to her. He bought roses, got down on knee and the whole konkarongen. Elin looked into those kind eyes. Just wanted to hear him say the words.
long time she sat with invitation in hand. The Mats. A year ago she saw him last, and only his back in a crowd. But still, she had been looking for a few seconds, among the faces as if she had actually wanted to see him. She tried to understand what it meant. What would happen if she sent it to him. They thought she forgot, put the lid on, forced out of his head would come back. Only if she had them. So she wrote where his family name and his address as clearly as she could. On the way to the mailbox threw her card in the trash. Three days later he called. She thought it was her mother when she promised to call but forgot. She cheerfully replied, and waited for the mother's voice, but instead she heard his hesitant, slow. He had seen the ad in the newspaper and wanted to congratulate. A few seconds she stood and did not know what she would say. She held the phone so hard against your ear that she felt the pulse pounding behind the skull. It was not that she thought about it before she asked him, and seconds later she regretted it. And the enthusiasm in his voice when he said yes, made her nauseous. What did you say that the street name? and I wondered just what you did today and It was so long since we talked and I wish it was me you wanted . But she heard no.
Mats rises over the threshold, into the house.
- You look different, "she says.
- Do you?
- Yes.
- You too. I would not say earlier, but more adult.
- I will remember next time I get to show ID.
He smiles.
- Where's your husband then?
- He is not my husband yet, "she says.
- Where is he that is not your husband do?
- At the store. He'll be right.
He hangs his jacket off. Together they enter the kitchen.
- Do you want tea or coffee?
- I do like tea.
She turns towards the fridge, takes out milk carton.
- Do you have any milk, I take it also.
- Did you or did you train?
- I took the car. Four hours without stopping, if you do not count the twenty minutes I drove down the wrong road. I was slipping in Oslo.
She handed him the cup and he sets it in front of him. Then she sits down opposite him.
- You have done something with your hair, "he says.
- I've dyed it. For the wedding.
- It's nice. But I felt better on the red.
In her head, she made a list of things to talk about. Now she can not bring himself to mention even one. It is something that is different. The low, slow voice is still there, but it is as if what he says actually means something this time. Carefully, he chooses his words for him if anyone knows how far they can push a man.
- How to tell if your man is not your man, "he says.
- What should I tell?
- Anything.
- His name is Andrew, he works in insurance. He is twenty-three.
- Do you love him?
She looks at him.
- I will marry him, "she says.
- There is no guarantee.
- How's Helen, by the way?
- She's fine.
- And the kids?
- Anna move soon, she will start school after graduation. Philip struggles with school. If he could decide he would not go there at all.
She hears the door open and Andreas footsteps in the hall. His face appears in the doorway and he walks towards her and kisses her on the cheek. Only then he noticed the man sitting there.
- Hey, you have to be measured?
Mats nods and shakes his outstretched hand.
- Andreas.
- Nice to meet you.
- You work as a pastor, right?
- How do you know?
- Elin told a bit about you, "says Andrew.
- Oh. Well, I'm a pastor. Or was, rather. I stopped for a few months ago.
- Why?
She says it more emphatically than she meant, and he looks at her. But it is impossible to know what he thinks. Not a line, not a gesture gossip.
- There are other people who are better suited to the profession.
- But you have always been a pastor, "she says.
- Yes, but sometimes you have to innovate.
He drinks in deep gulps. The dark hair has become more gray. Still, it attracts at the temples. She looks at his hands, looking for the gold ring he always used to wear. But his fingers are bare. Slender, delicate.
- How long are you staying? asks Andrew.
- I go home after the wedding.
- So soon?
- I have work and family waiting at home.
- You're welcome to sleep here, there is always room for Elin's friends. We have a room next to the living room as ...
- I do not think Mats would be in the way, "she says.
His lips that jerk, he presses them together tightly.
- The is ok. I have a hotel room, "he says.
He says goodbye and gives her an awkward hug. Shaking Andreas hand and wish them both good luck. Only when she sees the tail lights of the car disappear off she goes into the apartment. She closes the door to the bathroom behind him and locks. And what is so heavily in her, that she can bear no longer escape. She had forgotten how he smells. How his eyes light up. She ties her fists and holds them against his mouth. Andreas may not hear, do not know. If he never asks she does not respond. This is the moment she fails, the only one she allows herself. But it must come out. She must feel it leave the body. He is her headaches, her stomach pain. She must hide it away now because otherwise it can be seen on her when she laughs. It turns your face. She sits on the faucet, wash off the mascara under my eyes and dry with towel. Then she goes into the kitchen.
Pastor Lööf was already old when he began his service. When she went and confirmed himself, he never remembered her name but she was called "you" throughout the years. It was no wonder he died. He would put up a lamp on the top floor when the stool gave way and he fell down the stairs. Thirteen steps marble. She was sixteen when Mats was the service. One day he stood outside her door in the wind with his black coat flapping around his legs. It was her father he came to talk to. Something about the plumbing and the root system and drainage and other important things that could not wait. She said he was not home but that he could come anytime. So he stepped in, sat on their couch. He asked for her name and she replied. It was the first time they spoke to each other. He came from Skåne, but the accent was barely audible. The tanned face shone white smile. When he laughed it sounded like a foghorn that has broken down, but it infected. It made her happy. She liked him.
When summer vacation came Mats asked if she wanted to work in the church a few weeks. The basement was full of the old junk and he needed help to clear it out. She said yes. Mostly to see him. Stand close to him. She did not want to admit it to herself, she was content to have a look. Every day after they were finished, he offered a coffee. Tea with milk and chocolate bars. He always sat next to her even though there were other vacant seats. His eyes were blue. IbIand he told scania but mostly he sat and just looked at her without saying anything. When she asked him why he did what he did not respond. So she talked instead. And he listened, nodded, agreed. Once he took her hand in his and it was like she could no longer say everything she thought of him. It has popped up in her head and did not find any way out. When she was alone in her bed and could not sleep she thought of those hands. How they would feel.
On his desk was a photo of a woman and three children. She knew it was his family. He never spoke of them and when she asked, he replied briefly. Every day after school he waited for her and followed her home. He stood among the trees so that he would not be visible. He drove her wherever she wanted when she wanted. In the middle of the night she called and he came and picked her up. She said she wanted to swim and he drove to the little lake on the outskirts of the village. She went into the water with clothes on, high on insomnia and that other stuff. That has swelled in her, which made her warm and smooth. He stood on the shore and laughed, threw her arms around her as she came up and rubbed her skin with his hands. But she froze not. Before him, she took off her clothes. Just thought that now she has gone too far. He would ask her to get dressed and get in the car. He would drive her home and the next day would all be back to normal. But he said nothing. She remembers his hard, angular body under the soft skin, his weight pushing her down into the ground. Spruce needles got tangled in her hair when she crawled around under him, earth in her face, it covered every inch of her body. But when she thinks back, it is not what she remembers. It is his mouth. How his voice chafed when he pushed, pushed into. And afterwards, how the last dry tinder of her tingled and burned. She still burning.
She had been and looked at the church two months before the wedding. She chose it because it was romantic. Like a rotten tooth stood alone among the paddocks and neighing horses, free from all forced modernity. She stops on the gravel outside. Looking up at the gate. It is half past six in the morning and the sun has begun to creep over the horizon like a child taking its first wobbly steps. Although it is still summer, the air is cold. As the smoke rises from her mouth. She enters. The priest stands in the choir, he still has his usual clothes. Elin feel the soft carpet under her feet as she walks. It drowns out every little step. Her pounding heart behind the thorax, it strikes the heaviest battles. It could be any morning at any time. But not she been waiting for. Through the high windows lit the carpet in the morning of the floor of Jesus hanging on the cross. She stops and looks at him. His face was one big grimace. This is where I will stand, she thinks. During his naked body, they promise each other eternal fidelity. In his blood, she is wearing her white dress. During his agony, they make a toast to his new life. They wonder why he does not share their happiness.
Her mother has put flowers in every window. Elin is behind the curtain. As a face is a flower in her hand. Smile at her in all the yellow. So soft is the small leaves, she wipes them with her fingers. She looks through the window on the tail of people who winds from the gate and out over the gravel path. Their bright clothes in contrast to the wet gravel, the dark sky. And they draw cloaks around them. She does not want to see them. Do not listen to their congratulations, do not feel their hugs. As a statue, she must stand completely still for the dress is too tight knot in the chest. It spans when she breathes. Not even when she hears steps behind her, she turns on.
- It's bad luck to see bride before the wedding, "she says.
- Only for those who are getting married.
Mats puts her hands over her shoulders. She knows how to shake.
- Say you are happy for me sake.
- I'm happy for you, "he says.
- You're lying.
- It does not matter. You can not do anything about anyway.
- I love him.
- Why are you here then?
She could feel the heat from his tummy to his back. As if no time has passed he leans against her. When she moved, she left everything behind and never turned on. For each type of tåghjulen lost everything that ever said about her. One by one the words tumbled from her. As mirages in the sand faded they look. And he was left without a scratch, with gleaming white robes. She wants to remember it now. Entice forward it, do it as images in his head. But there is only the thick smoke.
- You're right, "he says. I have lied to you. Helena and I'm going to separate us. Anna does not want to meet me. When I call and talk to her, she puts on the handset.
- And as usual it's not your fault, right?
- Please, do not be mad at me.
- Why did you come here?
- Because you asked me. Because I wanted to meet you.
And he is so close now. She takes hold of the windowsill, remembers that she has to breathe in the heavy dress. She thinks about the makeup, the hair. For the people waiting down there. At Andreas viewing again at the clock and counting minutes until she stands by his side.
She would ask him to go. Just turn around and show him the door. It would be so easy. But he comes with fire. It follows him in his step. The round fingertips over her skin and her heart is deceptive, it sounds easy to be fooled. Because of course she remembers. The head remember, my stomach remembers every little stone she was carrying. The skin of the sharp eyes of the subject. Only heart forget and forgive everything.
- I waited so long for you.
It will not look like the high, crisp Meeting in her head. More like a whisper, as if she was speaking for himself. She would like to scream until it runs out, until the fabric defects. But it is something that sits in the road.
- I know, "he says. Forgive me.
She wants to let the days go and be bland without him. See the children she will give birth, they no curls at all. See all the heavy clouds that will pass during their lifetime, but the roof is a lightning rod so she need not worry as she does. Still, she'll go out on the patio. For it is said that the blood boil in his veins and the meat is bursting from the heat. When her body matured and she is not longer recognizes her own face in the mirror, she wants to think about him. When Andrew is sleeping with her sweet head on the pillow, she is awake and remember the outlines of his hands over her neck.
Now ring the bells. The white plates are still empty at the decorated tables. The roses are set in their vases. And a flower is dead in her hand. She is one step outside the door. It opened and she knows it is her mother standing there before she said anything.
- Elin, is due.
She turns around. The white shirt against his tanned skin. Tie around his slender neck. He has not a stain.
- I must go now, "says she said.
Now the sun shines for the first time all day. Her mother helps her to the trailer and she lifts the veil over her face. When the organ starts to play, she goes in and she bites down hard on the teeth stop chattering. The music fills her from the toes to the hairs on his head and though the sun warms her shudder. She goes in and where they sit. Their faces are round, small nest boxes in a row in the pews. At the front of the altar stands Andreas. He stretches out his hand and she takes it, closes his fingers around it. Now it will be quiet. So quiet that she can hear the coughs and clears throat are, the little squeak from infants. His own breath against the veil. She looks over the crowd gathered for her sake. For him when he goes unnoticed along side a time. He stays in the shade.
Pokemon Desmume Rom Silver For Mac
Poetry (September 2009)
I have a lump
it is deeply
I jump up here on your bed
you take your little knife and cut out the
course I went all the way
here
It's just to cut
add under the microscope and on Wednesday
you call and say that I will live on
There is no knife
and you probably think I'm a bit stupid
But yes, there is
even one knife
who love meat
Faulty motherboard
or processor
It can be screen
or fan
or
or
or
or shut the fuck up
I have a lump
it is deeply
I jump up here on your bed
you take your little knife and cut out the
course I went all the way
here
It's just to cut
add under the microscope and on Wednesday
you call and say that I will live on
There is no knife
and you probably think I'm a bit stupid
But yes, there is
even one knife
who love meat
Faulty motherboard
or processor
It can be screen
or fan
or
or
or
or shut the fuck up
She smells good
and dress nicely
she has like silhouette
and she put my hair
to the neck will be more visible
in love with the milk-white
think that he should pay attention to
that she has been extra tight pants wearing today
He has Sanader brown fultofflor
and socks
but she wants still have
his veined hands
his hajbett
his knights wreath
I can not see them sleeping together
I have to think of any other
when he measured her with his fingers
and the cock goes all the way from the tailbone
Do not you think those teeth could
rip someone to pieces?
We can talk about
shiny jewelry and how they define
you
just the long days
but you know my pussy is just as good
as any
Counter Strike Source Launch Option
One of the many filters
Coffee filters is a funnel-style filters of paper placed in coffee maker or a loose wheel brewed to be filled with ground coffee beans . The filter prevents the finely ground beans from crossing into the container.
Deep, right?
Well welcome to my blog.
Coffee filters is a funnel-style filters of paper placed in coffee maker or a loose wheel brewed to be filled with ground coffee beans . The filter prevents the finely ground beans from crossing into the container.
Deep, right?
Well welcome to my blog.
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