《Short stories on emotions》


 Emotion 1

    Night. The kamikaze drones buzz over my head. There is a crash and flames light up the darkness. My armoured personnel carrier is shot to pieces. Everyone is dead. Only I''m still here. Somewhere in a trench along the front line, I''m still there. Or am I already dead too?


    My tears make it difficult to see my surroundings. A dark trench. An attack that went completely wrong. I''m probably only alive because the enemy retreated by surprise. Fortunately, it''s so loud that my sobs are barely audible. I don''t feel any pain - is that the shock?


    We were in the trench in a flash - and then died in a flash. Tracer ammunition whistles over the edge of the trench and a few volleys hammer into the rampart behind it. Stake stake stake stake. Not a nice sound. But still better than the insidious whistling of the mortars before they hit. Stake stake stake. Peter is lying next to me. Peter has three children - a son with trisomy who smiles in all the pictures. Sometime in the next few days, some soldier will put a flag with his father''s medals in his hands. And even in this boy, who is always smiling, grief and hatred will arise. Grief for his dead father. Hatred for his father''s murderers. Hate for those who thought they had to wipe out borders and people with drones and tanks.


    Another group of drones. Apparently the attack only collapsed on my section of the front. I start to move, slowly, as quietly as I can, sobbing and shaking. The trench becomes shallower, I have to crawl. This slows my progress even more, but my head remains unseen. I push myself over earth, stones, splintered wood and dead bodies.


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    ¡®Scha liau uo ba!¡¯ I wince violently and almost scream. The legs I just climbed over belong to a human being. A person who is still alive. Our eyes meet. He is covered in blood. ¡®Scha liau uo ba!¡¯. I don''t understand him. His gaze is fixed on me, distorted with pain. He repeats his sentence. As I crawl away from him, I see that his arms have been torn away at the shoulders and that far too much of his face has been destroyed. Apparently one of the kamikaze drones has landed on his weapon. Tears thin the blood under his eyes. He swallows, visibly in agony. ¡®Kill me,¡¯ he stammers out.


    I''ve never killed a human being. And now someone is begging for it. Peter could have done it, he had already been part of the last counter-offensive. A medal of honour reminded us of that. Peter had helped us newcomers to the front and explained what he could do. You don''t know if someone can kill a person until they''ve done it, Peter had said.


    A bright explosion lit up the night behind me. My armoured personnel carrier has been hit and the debris is raining down around us. The man repeats his plea, but each time it gets weaker. He cries and trembles. Apparently he reads my thoughts and realises that there is no salvation in store for him. Shit, shit, shit. Stake stake stake stake


    I raise my weapon. I take aim. I pull the trigger. I collapse, just like him. I feel sick and my sobs increase. I see the broken look on his face. I feel I''m about to throw up. Me. Me. When will it be my turn?

 Emotion 2

    A single raindrop sticks to her neck and breaks the light of the setting sun.


    Click, click, click. Refocus. Click click click. Zoom out. Click click click click. Shooting macros without a tripod is difficult. Especially something so fleeting on a living creature. Click click click click. I move closer. Click click click. A smile flits across my lips.


    ¡®Do you want me to stay like this?¡¯


    ¡®Don''t speak,¡¯ I say gently, ¡¯or the drop will go away.¡¯


    Actually, I thought we were going to photograph the seashore at sunset today. We had bright sunshine when we arrived in the afternoon. We were in good spirits. The spot between the dunes was perfect as a foreground. The grass provided the perfect anchor. Marvelous.


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    The approaching thundercloud took us by surprise. Typically, things can happen quickly by the sea. It was pouring with rain and of course there was no shelter to be seen for miles around. Although we had rainproof clothing with us, an oilskin would have been necessary. The rain pelted us in the face and we struggled to protect the cameras with our bodies. Soaked to the bone, we leaned against a dune that offered us some protection.


    The thunderstorm was finally over. We went back to our spot. A magnificent rainbow was already appearing as the clouds broke up on the horizon near the setting sun. Click click click. Even though we''re wet and cold, it''s perfect. And then ... I turn round and see her standing between me and the setting sun. There, on her neck. It glistens there. A single raindrop sticks to her neck and refracts the light of the setting sun. So perfect and so fragile.


    ¡®Don''t move,¡¯ I say as I stop her with my hand.


    Click click click. Refocus. Click click click. Zoom out. Click click click click. Even though it''s cold, even though my clothes are completely soaked. Here it is, one of those moments that are precious and fleeting.

 Emotion 3

    Ten years have passed. We no longer know each other, or rather, we hardly speak more than a few lines every year. I don''t even know why I''m writing about this. I made a mistake. More out of an impulse, an urge, a fixed idea.


    Let''s be honest, there are always shit times. I was also cowardly enough to simply address the problems and present them for what they are. My insecurity, my image of myself as having to be strong. My awkwardness to talk about feelings. At least my feelings. Sure, I do talk about feelings. But about others. I would make myself vulnerable if I talked about mine.


    In the bad times it all comes together, fear, hurt, cowardice. And then there was this opportunity to just feel good. No big questions, just relaxing for a few hours, peace and quiet. But after that, it''s no longer fear, hurt, cowardice. Afterwards, it''s this other feeling that gnaws at me. Was it wrong, even though it felt good? Yes. Did I admit it, talk about it? No.


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    Somewhere in my head there is this old story about the man who once came to a new village. He was capable, clever, strong. Everyone was happy to take him in. And nobody really asked him where he came from. And, above all, why he left. Even when he was dying, he said nothing. And that''s exactly the point. These stories that change completely when a single sentence is said or written or played. Life-changing, a chasm that runs through everything.


    I stand on one side of this ravine. The other person is on the other side. It is my job to cross this chasm. Between all the great values, the great speeches and sayings, there is this ravine. It is perhaps only 10cm wide, perhaps 10 light years - what difference does it make. Silence envelops it for everyone else. But for me it is a daily companion. It''s been gnawing at me for a shitty time.


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 Emotion 4

    He was there for 28 years. 28 long damn years. And me, I''ve been here for four days and I''m almost going crazy. I''m gripped by ... Yes, what is it that grips me? Contempt, amazement?


    Let''s be honest, the guy had a few guns, a few seeds and faith in some deity. And me? I have a multitool, an intact shuttle with no fuel and a complete map of the area. And still, I''m going crazy here.


    How am I supposed to put up with this? I read his story again yesterday when I realised what my fate is. Alone, on an uninhabited planet. There is life, but no life like me. There doesn''t seem to be anything else very dangerous here either. I can breathe the air and the protein structure seems digestible to me.


    And at the same time, it''s the first time in my entire life that I''ve been completely alone. I have survived, yes, as the only one. But without a connection to the outside world, without the possibility of being able to make an emergency call in the near future. Without all that. I am alone. Alone. Alone with myself.


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    I am terrified. Of myself and of him. How could a person put up with that? So many years - ok, at some point Friday was there. But years had passed before that. Years. Without conversations, without communication, without a hug, a laugh, without kisses. What a life that is. What a person.


    I have it easier than he did back then, I have blueprints, tools, I can get myself out of this situation. The computer thinks it will be done in two or three years. At first I thought she''d taken a knock when she landed. Years. She said years! I''m going crazy here. How did he manage that back then? I''m stunned. Downright speechless. Last night I shouted his name to the heavens.


    I just want to know how he did it. How did he stand it, this silence, this absence of others, this silence of words? How strong must he have been?

 Emotion 5

    The good old days. Capitalised because they are over, because they have disappeared. My fingers stroke the glass-ceramic windows of my space glider. In a few minutes we''ll be within range of the Oortians. Just three weeks ago we thought we were alone and hoped so much for contact with aliens. And now we''re throwing the last defence units against the Oortians, hoping to get at least one of the colony ships through.


    Never before have we Terrans faced something that overran us so brutally, leaving us so completely hopeless. The first contacts couldn''t even send out distress signals before they dissolved into glowing plasma. Even our strongest armour only lasted seconds against their weapons. There was no communication - so we don''t know what they are called, what they look like or what they think. They came from the Oort Cloud and changed everything.


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    Just three weeks ago, I was working towards a future for my family. Today, none of that matters. They''re not on the colony ship. They are waiting on Earth for their end - whatever that looks like. I am a pilot and I am flying towards my death. I am proud of my commitment to Terra. It''s hard to nurture that pride when everything I do seems useless. All I do is fight for a few milliseconds. Maybe it''s just the milliseconds it takes to start the hyperdrive on the colony ship.


    When I was a child, female soldiers were the great heroes. They fearlessly defended the borders and our freedom. It seemed like every death made a difference. I would like to have that impression too. The feeling of making a difference. How wonderful those good old days must have been.

 Emotion 6

    The jaw cracks through my thighs. For the thousandth time it devours me, but only halfway. What a gruesome fate I have suffered, I, the saviour of Rome from the shameful dictatorship. Alone, the freedom of many was more important to me than gratitude to the one.


    For eons I have tried to weep, but my tears freeze here, in the icy depths of hell. The monster gnaws and gnaws at me. But no redemption, no more mercy, no more thanks. Why? Why did the Romans cast me out - just because of a little silver?


    Once I was a senator, today I am the toothpick of the most horrible monster. Once I was a Roman, now I''m just a shadow. Once I was a proud man of honour, today my fellow prisoners only look at me with grief. Not even Cassius has a good word to say. How could he - he''s next to me and has the same fate.


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    Two travellers came by. Nobody ever passes by here. One spoke my language, the other a gibberish that I only understood a few things here and there. The latter just looked at me with contempt, hissing my name. Then he mentioned Caesar - and beamed. Why does this man enjoy talking about the dictator? I don''t understand it. I don''t understand it.


    Nobility, chivalry, the good of the people. All that was important to me. The freedom of the Senate was dear to me. So dear that I even killed the one to whom I was indebted. But this seems to have meant nothing to God and the two travellers. They preferred the dictator to the Senate. How could Rome have degenerated like this? My thigh cracks again. My tears and screams die away in the icy hell in which I am trapped.

 Emotion 7

    Heracles opens his eyes. His eyes were not closed before. They were blinded by the curse of Hera, his namesake. The hellebore had saved him. But oh, what grief immediately seized his gaze.


    Before him lay his children and Megara, his faithful wife. All pierced by arrows. His arrows. Their blood forms a large pool that reaches down to his feet.


    Heracles, who realises that he has killed his children. Disgust shows on his face, fear and hatred. Hatred of himself. His deed is horrible, he knows that. But he does not know how Hera blinded him and that it was not his fault.


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    Heracles collapses, the strongest of all the living. He gazes madly at his bloody hands, at his reflection in the blood of his beloved family. He hides his face in his hands, his huge body trembles. He throws up.


    Antikyreus puts his hand on his shoulder ¡®It''s not your fault, Heracles¡¯. Heracles flinches, pulls himself up and staggers back. ¡®Don''t look at me,¡¯ he shouts, ¡¯I''ve done a terrible thing.¡¯ ¡®It''s not your fault,¡¯ Antikyreus repeats. ¡®Turn away, even Hades is too good for me,¡¯ Heracles shouts again. He falls backwards, picks himself up and runs away.


    Even after all his heroic deeds and being washed clean, Heracles never picked up a mirror again. He never looked at his face in the water again, so great was this feeling towards himself.

 Emotion 8

    Letztens sah ich eine Frau im Caf¨¦, wie sie ihr Knie am Tischbein einhaute.


    Herrje, das tat weh. Hab direkt auch mitgezuckt. Sie schien soweit ok, hat sich aber ganz sch?n das Knie gerieben. Also, keine Ahnung, ob sie ne sie war, ich hab sie oder ihn oder sie halt eh nur kurz von hinten gesehen und ist ja auch egal.


    Ich meine, der Mensch h?tte sich ja einmal die Kniescheibe ausrenken k?nnen. Obwohl, sagt man das so? Kniescheibe ausrenken? Oder aushebeln? Ausschlagen? Aushauen? Immer diese anatomischen Fachbegriffe. Keine Ahnung, aber ist ja auch egal.


    Da muss ich direkt dran denken, wie ich mir mal am Stuhl den kleinen Zeh eingehauen habe. Gott tat das weh. Ich war schon dabei 112 zu rufen. Ganz ehrlich, das ist ja fast wie der Tod. Wer hat sich das eigentlich ¨¹berlegt, Zehen und Knie so sensibel zu machen. Wenn ich mit dem Oberschenkel irgendwo dagegen renne passiert fast nichts, aber so am kleinen Zeh. Da haue ich so n bisschen seitlich gegen irgendwas und kollabiere fast schon direkt. Mann mann mann. Aber ist ja auch egal.


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    Ellenbogen ist auch echt schlimm. Da ist ja dieser Musikknochen, der macht zwar keine Melodien, aber es tut weh und wackelt so vor sich her f¨¹r ne Weile. Da frage ich mich schon, was passieren w¨¹rde wenn viele gleichzeitig sich den einhauen - h?rt man das dann? Wie so Gemurmel, bei einer Person ist es leise, bei hundert ist es laut wie ein Sturm. Ist ja auch egal.


    Naja auf jeden Fall hat sich die Person wieder berappelt und ist dann weiter zum Klo gegangen. Der Mann der der Person gegen¨¹bersa? hat auch hinterher geschaut. Wahrscheinlich aus Mitgef¨¹hl oder so. Der war ein Mann, oder eine sehr b?rtige Frau oder so. Naja, zumindest habe ich einen Bart. Der ist nicht egal.

 Emotion 9

    The discus flies and flies and flies. Wump, it hits the barren ground. A murmur goes through the crowd. In the name of Olympus, 214 podiums. How can Man¨®lis throw like that? The gods must be in his favour. The crowd certainly favours him.


    Rox¨¢ni, how can I fulfil what you asked me to do? ¡®Win with the discus at the temple of Zeus and I am yours.¡¯ Your words are etched in my mind like a prayer. I practised, sweated, suffered with the best teachers. I have paid tribute to Perseus, Hermes and Apollo.


    And now I stand here, I, Varn¨¢vas of Memphis. I stand here and know that I have lost. I have not yet thrown, but Zeus himself would have to wield my discus to reach 214 podes. Even with the favour of Hermes, I can only reach 200 podes. And that''s with a lighter discus than is customary in Olympia.


    Man¨®lis, son of Kassandros of Mycenae. Who sent him? Rox¨¢ni is already looking at him with a bewitching gaze. I may not be standing near her, but I can see it. A fire burns inside me, it seems to distort me. It is not the fire of the will to win.


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    My name is called. I step forward. The ground is firm, my muscles are ready. I pick up the discus, it''s a foot tall and heavy in my hand. My blood glows inside me. I pray to Apollo for strength and inner peace. As my teachers showed me, I step onto the ring and prepare myself. I twist and let my strength and the fire and I run free. The discus flies, a perfect throw. I hear the disc whirring away. But my eyes are fixed on the ground because I know what''s going to happen. I look at Rox¨¢ni. She knows it. She knows it too. Because her eyes are not on the disc either, but solely on him, Man¨®lis, who is standing there confident of victory.


    Wump. I hear another murmur. I look round, the judge calls out the result. 213 podes. The greatest performance I''ve ever achieved. Indifferent. Because it''s not what she asked me to achieve. I turn round and leave the stadium. Why, oh Zeus. What a test you put me through. Why does he win and not me!

 Emotion 10

    I''m standing in the fog, it''s cold and a fine drizzle is hitting my face. We''ve been travelling for 5 hours - we should have made it in 3 hours. Another 3 hours lie ahead of us - or is it 5? We knew Northern Norway would be an adventure. But does it have to be one? We were already cursing the day before yesterday as the path here in the mountains slipped under our feet. It rained without end, 30 litres per square metre. It was wet, slippery, foggy. 10 metres visibility doesn''t make for safety in an unknown mountain range. I felt queasy.


    And now I''m standing here, in the fog. My companion in front of me. He''s climbing over the rock that I made it over. I did it mainly because I go climbing. Since when do I have to have climbing skills for a hiking tour? He pushes himself carefully, slowly over the rock. We''re alone here and nobody can find us in this fog. He pushes on to the other side of the rock. Where he can step well. He lacks the extra 5cm of leg length that I have. It''s close and he''s lying half in the stream running down the rock.


    I suddenly realise. If he slips and falls now, I won''t be able to help him. No helicopter will come in this fog. It takes at least 3 hours for the mountain rescue team to arrive. The slope disappears into the fog after just a few metres, we have no rope. Fuck. I didn''t want an adventure like this. I have no choice but to keep my feelings to myself, stand there calmly and offer him my climbing poles to hold on to. I''m half lying on the rock myself, my feet wedged under rocks so I don''t slip. Fuck.


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    He makes it, we move on. The conversations afterwards are filled with swearing. Our nerves are frayed. After an hour, we reach a signposted descent. As we still have hardly any visibility, we didn''t dare descend any earlier. We could have landed on a cliff at any time.  We are restless. As we descend, the streams around us turn into rivers. Travelling rivers. Fuck. We''re constantly crossing, having to jump. Until we can''t go any further. The river is too wide. It doesn''t get any narrower and the water shoots up from above. We''ve been travelling for 8 hours.


    My mate finds a place in the river that is less raging. He wades through, the water is up to his thighs. Every step is slow, careful, deliberate. I hold my smartphone in my hand, wanting to call the mountain rescue service. Nobody can get me in here. The fear that has gripped me for the last few hours intensifies. In the end, I take the step into the river. The step I never wanted to take. Fuck.

 Emotion 11

    A delicate scent of lavender wafted from the dunes. The gentle sound of the sea hits my ear like waves. My skin is warm, finally dry. It stretches over my bones, tanned by the sun. The sand beneath me crunches as I breathe.


    Your arm lies across my chest, your head is buried on my shoulder under my chin. Your skin is warm too, still smelling a little salty from the sea. Your breath travels along my neck like a warm breeze from time to time.


    We''ve gone to the sea, for a swim, to get out. Actually, we want to get back in. Back into our relationship, back to the homey feeling of being together. The journey was long and exhausting. Only after we''d been swimming and talked for a long time did we calm down.


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    I think we both just slept. We haven''t done that for a long time, just falling asleep arm in arm. It feels good and I miss it sometimes. I stroke your back and open my eyes. In front of me in the water, a few hundred metres out, something is jumping over the water. I raise my head further, my gaze searching for something else that is also jumping. You wake up, your gaze slightly sleepy and searching.


    I point to the sea with my free hand, you turn your head. And then, they jump again. ¡®Dolphins.¡¯ That''s all you say. We beam, look at each other, kiss.

 Emotion 12

    Grandpa is dead.


    We''re all here. It''s just really bad. People I haven''t seen for twenty years come by to pay their last respects. They''re all dressed in black, looking depressed. We go into the funeral parlour. It is quiet, silent.


    The funeral speaker steps forward. ¡®Dear mourners. A special person has passed away. He has made a final wish. This wish is very unusual. You all know him and will therefore probably not be very surprised. But it is unusual.¡¯ With great gravitas, he goes to the music system, presses a few buttons. Nods. Turns round and looks at us expectantly.


    A soft noise starts up, increases, speeds up, electronic sounds hit us and after less than 30 seconds we are bombarded with a bass-heavy trance song. Three people scurry out of a side room and start dancing to the music. Mum starts to laugh as she continues to cry. My uncle shakes his head and buries his face in his hands. We granddaughters grin wryly, my son starts swaying to the rhythm of the music.


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    The song ends and the dancers leave the room. People murmur amongst themselves and the funeral speaker steps forward again. He struggles for a moment to regain his stony seriousness. ¡®The deceased had a last wish for you, dear mourners. I will now read it out.¡¯


    ¡®I was a person with many sides and interests. Now it is up to you to preserve me in this diversity. We are more than just joy and sadness, love and hate. We deprive ourselves of many facets out of reverence, fear or because we are desperate. What is worth preserving does not have to be aesthetic or interesting, it does not have to generate envy or make you melt away with romance. It can be all that and much more. My greatest longing is for you, like me, to curiously pursue what confuses and enchants you, sometimes revelling in nostalgia and sometimes looking to the future with pride. At the crossroads of all this diversity, we will meet every day.¡¯


    I have to smile. Even in death, Grandpa still manages to make us marvel, to make us feel the immeasurable greatness of life.