Det her er vel egentlig en fortsættelse til en gammel historie. Jimmy vender endnu engang tilbage som detectiv og skal nu opklare en hel ny mordgåde. Den gamle historie hed vist bare Murder.
Portal Killer 1
Jimmy gave the order and 2 police officers started to break open the locked door. The door broke open with a cracking noise, revealing the body of another Aperture executor. Jimmy stepped into the room as the first person; this was the third Aperture executor that had been found dead in the past two weeks. The body looked fresh, Rigor mortis had not yet kicked in, and that meant that this crime scene could be his only chance to prove his theory. He slowly turned towards the horde of police officers waiting outside and waved the technicians in, grabbing one of them by the arm and said in a low voice so that only the technician could hear him. “Look for abnormal parasite B behavior.” The technician nodded bewildered, of course he did. The general public knew nothing of the technology developed by Aperture. Jimmy stepped out of the small office and looked back in. The Executor had been seen just 5 hours earlier by his secretary as he fled from his office. Two hours later the cleaning lady tried to enter this office but fund the door to be locked, Jimmy would gladly bet his house that the only key to the office would be found with the body. Jimmy strolled through the office at the other side of the hallway and opened the window. He lit a cigarette while looking down on the horde of journalists already gathering at the entrance to the Aperture building. “They are getting faster, those damn hogs” jimmy said to himself as the crime scene investigator Brian entered the room.
“How’s the old Box doing?” He asked as he walked in the room.
“She is doing great, Brian but remind me that if you ever call her that again I will make sure you get a close look at one of the bullets you love so much if you know what I am saying. Now tell me what you have figured out from your little investigation?” He asked angrily
“Well” he said “His name was John Jackson, he was an executor and as you said we would we found the keys next to the body. Oh, and I believe you have been instructed to keep away from my technicians?”
“Yes but what does that have to do with anything” barked Jimmy defensively throwing his still smoking cigarette out of the window.
“Well nothing exept you are very interested in Parasite B activity and one of my technicians suddenly decided to look for it.”
“Well?”
“Well what?” He asked with a smirk
“Well what did he find?” Jimmy barked back as his cigarette landed on a journalist’s cotton hat, 14 floors below.
“It seems you were right, we have discovered 400% more B Parasites activity than the normal level.”
“So it is true then.” Jimmy said looking down at the journalists, where a small fire had started on one of their hats. “I guess I might get that raise anyway.”
“Yep you might.” Brian said as he turned to leave the room. “I guess it will be your job to catch the world’s first Portal killer.”
“I guess I will” Jimmy said looking down at the panicking mass of reporters with fiery hats. “I guess I will.”
Sunday, May 25, 2008
Sunday, May 18, 2008
Hvem er jeg? og hvem er du?
Hej læser.
Har du nogensinde oprettet en profil på en dating side? Jeg gik og legede med tanken den anden dag, bare sådan for sjov du ved, jeg nåede da også at finde en side og gik i gang med tilmeldingen da jeg opdagede at man blandt andet skulle svare på 2 spørgsmål: hvem er jeg, og hvem er du.
De fleste ser nok bare disse spørgsmål og skriver løs om deres mål, vægt, favorit film osv. Men faktisk er spørgsmålene jo dybe som bare satan, er de ikke? Jeg ved ikke om jeg tænker for meget over tingene men er ”hvem er du” spørgsmålet ikke et yderst kringlet spørgsmål? Ved du hvem du er? Jeg ved ikke rigtigt om jeg ved hvem jeg er. Er vi overhovedet i en position hvor vi kan beskrive os selv? Hvem er jeg? Jeg er vel Simon er jeg ikke? Det er i hvert fald hvad min familie kalder mig, de ser mig vel som en mere eller mindre excentrisk fyr der er velopdragen. Eller er jeg i virkeligheden greve, ham mine venner kender ham der til tider virker både bedrevidende og idiotisk. Eller er jeg Greven, ham der med en karl smart attitude går imod strømmen og leger djævlens advokat på alverdens fora. Men I virkeligheden er jeg jo bare mig, ham jeg er når jeg er alene, ham der kan se sig selv i den ensomme helt, ham der skriver om folk der forsøger at finde sig selv og rigtige venner i en verden der ikke forstår dem. Ham der sidder på sit værelse i plasmaskærmens glød og høre stille rock musik fra svundne tider, ham der bliver fanget i tanker om sin egen undergang og bruger digital vold til at slippe for tankerne. Ham hvis døgnrytme er mere skæv end tårnet i Pisa. Ham som har det bedst når huset er tyst i nattens mulm og mørke. Er det mig?
Hvem er du? Et interessant spørgsmål faktisk, hvem er du og hvad kan vi egentlig gøre for hinanden? Lad mig droppe dating vinklen og spørge dig direkte, hvem er du?
Er du en Youtube junkie på jagt efter dit næste fix, bare en lille ting der kan holde dit stressede sind underholdt i et par minutter? En filosof der leder efter den dybere mening med livet? En litteratur interesseret tosse der prøver at spotte den næste store forfatter? Jeg kan ikke hjælpe dig, og du kan ikke hjælpe mig. Jeg leder efter hr. og fru Danmark hvor plat det end må lyde. Jeg leder efter den gennemsnitlige dansker, den person der er fundet herind for at være en del af et lille fællesskab og måske endda lære sig selv at kende lidt bedre på samme tid. Jeg leder efter dig der kan læse en historie uden at tænke over hvor mange minutter denne historie mon tager at læse, dig der ikke tænker over hvordan denne historie passer ind i din livsopfattelse, dig der ikke krummer tær ved synet af en kommafejl. Jeg leder efter en der forstår hvad det er jeg gør, en der forstår at det ikke bare er ord og sætninger jeg skriver, en der forstår at det er en lille del af min sjæl jeg lægger til skue. Jeg leder efter en der kan se ind bag de ord jeg skriver og måske endda få noget ud af historien som de ikke regnede med. Måske ser de en ny side af sig selv, måske lærer de at forstå noget om andre, måske går de bare derfra med et smil på læben. Hvis jeg har givet en person lidt at spekulere over, lidt at grine af, eller lidt at græde af betyder ikke så meget for mig, hvad der betyder noget er at få rørt en anden sjæl. At få puffet lidt til et andet individ, er en forunderlig følelse og hvis jeg kan gøre en enkelt persons dag lidt mere interessant så er de timer jeg har brugt på min historie givet godt ud.
Har du nogensinde oprettet en profil på en dating side? Jeg gik og legede med tanken den anden dag, bare sådan for sjov du ved, jeg nåede da også at finde en side og gik i gang med tilmeldingen da jeg opdagede at man blandt andet skulle svare på 2 spørgsmål: hvem er jeg, og hvem er du.
De fleste ser nok bare disse spørgsmål og skriver løs om deres mål, vægt, favorit film osv. Men faktisk er spørgsmålene jo dybe som bare satan, er de ikke? Jeg ved ikke om jeg tænker for meget over tingene men er ”hvem er du” spørgsmålet ikke et yderst kringlet spørgsmål? Ved du hvem du er? Jeg ved ikke rigtigt om jeg ved hvem jeg er. Er vi overhovedet i en position hvor vi kan beskrive os selv? Hvem er jeg? Jeg er vel Simon er jeg ikke? Det er i hvert fald hvad min familie kalder mig, de ser mig vel som en mere eller mindre excentrisk fyr der er velopdragen. Eller er jeg i virkeligheden greve, ham mine venner kender ham der til tider virker både bedrevidende og idiotisk. Eller er jeg Greven, ham der med en karl smart attitude går imod strømmen og leger djævlens advokat på alverdens fora. Men I virkeligheden er jeg jo bare mig, ham jeg er når jeg er alene, ham der kan se sig selv i den ensomme helt, ham der skriver om folk der forsøger at finde sig selv og rigtige venner i en verden der ikke forstår dem. Ham der sidder på sit værelse i plasmaskærmens glød og høre stille rock musik fra svundne tider, ham der bliver fanget i tanker om sin egen undergang og bruger digital vold til at slippe for tankerne. Ham hvis døgnrytme er mere skæv end tårnet i Pisa. Ham som har det bedst når huset er tyst i nattens mulm og mørke. Er det mig?
Hvem er du? Et interessant spørgsmål faktisk, hvem er du og hvad kan vi egentlig gøre for hinanden? Lad mig droppe dating vinklen og spørge dig direkte, hvem er du?
Er du en Youtube junkie på jagt efter dit næste fix, bare en lille ting der kan holde dit stressede sind underholdt i et par minutter? En filosof der leder efter den dybere mening med livet? En litteratur interesseret tosse der prøver at spotte den næste store forfatter? Jeg kan ikke hjælpe dig, og du kan ikke hjælpe mig. Jeg leder efter hr. og fru Danmark hvor plat det end må lyde. Jeg leder efter den gennemsnitlige dansker, den person der er fundet herind for at være en del af et lille fællesskab og måske endda lære sig selv at kende lidt bedre på samme tid. Jeg leder efter dig der kan læse en historie uden at tænke over hvor mange minutter denne historie mon tager at læse, dig der ikke tænker over hvordan denne historie passer ind i din livsopfattelse, dig der ikke krummer tær ved synet af en kommafejl. Jeg leder efter en der forstår hvad det er jeg gør, en der forstår at det ikke bare er ord og sætninger jeg skriver, en der forstår at det er en lille del af min sjæl jeg lægger til skue. Jeg leder efter en der kan se ind bag de ord jeg skriver og måske endda få noget ud af historien som de ikke regnede med. Måske ser de en ny side af sig selv, måske lærer de at forstå noget om andre, måske går de bare derfra med et smil på læben. Hvis jeg har givet en person lidt at spekulere over, lidt at grine af, eller lidt at græde af betyder ikke så meget for mig, hvad der betyder noget er at få rørt en anden sjæl. At få puffet lidt til et andet individ, er en forunderlig følelse og hvis jeg kan gøre en enkelt persons dag lidt mere interessant så er de timer jeg har brugt på min historie givet godt ud.
Sunday, May 11, 2008
En Stille dans
Jeg er ikke helt tilfreds med mine andre historier i øjeblikket de trænger til lidt mere finpudsning, så i stedet får i noget filosofisk sjov fra mig.
En stille dans
Velkommen kære læser, velkommen til min verden.
Når du læser disse ord befinder du dig i min verden, mit rige, mit domæne. Her i mit rige har jeg den fulde kontrol over alt der sker, en stille dans over tastaturet er alt hvad jeg skal bruge for at vise dig fjerne lande, mægtige drager, sindssyge sind og tragiske begivenheder. Jeg følger i nogle af verdens mest berømte mennesker når jeg skriver: Mozart lod sine fingre danse henover tangenterne, Da Vinci lod sine pensler danse over et lærred, Muhammed Ali lod sine nævner danse over et ansigt og jeg lader mine fingre danse over et tastatur. Mozarts arv var smuk musik der farver sjælen med de skønneste følelser, Da Vincis arv var skønne malerier fyldt med farver der er smukkere end en solnedgang i maj, Muhammed Alis arv var fyldt af inspirationen og blå mærker, men min arv er blot 2 simple farver: sort på hvidt. Disse to farver som knap nok kan betegnes som farver er alt hvad jeg bruger til at skabe mine værker. Ligesom Da Vinci brugte sine tusind farver til at skabe smukke værke bruger jeg mine 2 farver til at skabe simple historier der kan berolige og forundre sindet. Men alt kan i virkeligheden skabes med sort og hvid, der er uendelige nuancer der kan udnyttes og undersøges. Med en stille dans over tastaturet blander jeg de to farver og skaber sorte tordenskyer over den hvide tundra, jeg skaber snehvidt skumsprøjt på den truende sorte bølge.
Men det er ikke en symfoni jeg komponere på et klaver, det er ikke et maleri jeg maler med en pensel, og det er ej heller et ansigt jeg farver gult og blåt med mine næver, det er et tastatur jeg danser over og et a4 ark jeg klistre til med ord. Ord er farver og nuancer der ses, læses og fortolkes forskelligt af alle, det gør at en historie læses forskelligt af alle og alle får deres egen syn på begivenhederne. Disse ord er mit skaberværk, mine børn, mine brødre, mine venner og mine fjender. Nogle dage strømmer ordene i en evig flod fra mit sind, og ordene strømmer ud på skærmen igennem en stille elegant dans over tastaturet, andre dage føles det som om at floden er tørret ud og den stille dans bliver til en tung travetur. Så jeg danse når dansen kommer til mig, som en smed der smeder med det varme jern leder jeg floden af ord ud igennem fingrenes dans, kontrollere den, bøjer den og former de sætninger der kommer frem i mit sind.
Denne stille dans jeg udføre ser ingen, igen ser det arbejde der lægger bag, lige som ingen så Mozart da han komponerede sin første melodi, ligesom ingen så Da Vinci da han blandede farverne, og ligesom ingen så Muhammed Ali da han trænede som ung er der ingen der ser den dans jeg danser her i PC skærmens glød. Men dansen er der og denne usete stille dans vil danse hen over tastaturet så længe der er ord der flyder, sætninger at bygge og luft i mine lunger.
En stille dans
Velkommen kære læser, velkommen til min verden.
Når du læser disse ord befinder du dig i min verden, mit rige, mit domæne. Her i mit rige har jeg den fulde kontrol over alt der sker, en stille dans over tastaturet er alt hvad jeg skal bruge for at vise dig fjerne lande, mægtige drager, sindssyge sind og tragiske begivenheder. Jeg følger i nogle af verdens mest berømte mennesker når jeg skriver: Mozart lod sine fingre danse henover tangenterne, Da Vinci lod sine pensler danse over et lærred, Muhammed Ali lod sine nævner danse over et ansigt og jeg lader mine fingre danse over et tastatur. Mozarts arv var smuk musik der farver sjælen med de skønneste følelser, Da Vincis arv var skønne malerier fyldt med farver der er smukkere end en solnedgang i maj, Muhammed Alis arv var fyldt af inspirationen og blå mærker, men min arv er blot 2 simple farver: sort på hvidt. Disse to farver som knap nok kan betegnes som farver er alt hvad jeg bruger til at skabe mine værker. Ligesom Da Vinci brugte sine tusind farver til at skabe smukke værke bruger jeg mine 2 farver til at skabe simple historier der kan berolige og forundre sindet. Men alt kan i virkeligheden skabes med sort og hvid, der er uendelige nuancer der kan udnyttes og undersøges. Med en stille dans over tastaturet blander jeg de to farver og skaber sorte tordenskyer over den hvide tundra, jeg skaber snehvidt skumsprøjt på den truende sorte bølge.
Men det er ikke en symfoni jeg komponere på et klaver, det er ikke et maleri jeg maler med en pensel, og det er ej heller et ansigt jeg farver gult og blåt med mine næver, det er et tastatur jeg danser over og et a4 ark jeg klistre til med ord. Ord er farver og nuancer der ses, læses og fortolkes forskelligt af alle, det gør at en historie læses forskelligt af alle og alle får deres egen syn på begivenhederne. Disse ord er mit skaberværk, mine børn, mine brødre, mine venner og mine fjender. Nogle dage strømmer ordene i en evig flod fra mit sind, og ordene strømmer ud på skærmen igennem en stille elegant dans over tastaturet, andre dage føles det som om at floden er tørret ud og den stille dans bliver til en tung travetur. Så jeg danse når dansen kommer til mig, som en smed der smeder med det varme jern leder jeg floden af ord ud igennem fingrenes dans, kontrollere den, bøjer den og former de sætninger der kommer frem i mit sind.
Denne stille dans jeg udføre ser ingen, igen ser det arbejde der lægger bag, lige som ingen så Mozart da han komponerede sin første melodi, ligesom ingen så Da Vinci da han blandede farverne, og ligesom ingen så Muhammed Ali da han trænede som ung er der ingen der ser den dans jeg danser her i PC skærmens glød. Men dansen er der og denne usete stille dans vil danse hen over tastaturet så længe der er ord der flyder, sætninger at bygge og luft i mine lunger.
Citat quiz
Så er der citat quiz, send jeres svar til min mail, eller send en besked til min profil. Og nu ingen Google!
Let the game BEGIN!
Citat quiz.
1. Would you give another man a footmasage?
2. So let me get this straight: I am paying you to kill somebody, and you are getting someone else to do it?
3. Immortality, Take it! It’s yours!
4. What the eyes see and the ears hear the mind believes.
5. Aren’t you a bit short for a stormtrooper.
6. Well isn’t that convenient for you, and the clock.
7. Is my nose to big mom?
8. I’m tired of these motherfucking snakes on this motherfucking plane.
9. Nothing gets between me and my AK.
10. Keep your head in the game.
11. Tell him about the Twinkie.
12. Simon says: Die!
13. To infinity and beyond!
14. Shop Smart, Shop S-Mart
15. She got a… FINE ASS!
16. We dont sell tik taks for crist sake we sell cigarets.
17. And Shepherds we shall be For thee, my Lord, for thee. Power hath descended forth from Thy hand Our feet may swiftly carry out Thy commands. So we shall flow a river forth to Thee And teeming with souls shall it ever be. In Nomeni Patri Et Fili
18. I’m gonna give him an offer he can’t refuse.
19. So tell us mama, why make Buffalo's biggest cookie?
20. There never was much hope, just a fools hope.
Let the game BEGIN!
Citat quiz.
1. Would you give another man a footmasage?
2. So let me get this straight: I am paying you to kill somebody, and you are getting someone else to do it?
3. Immortality, Take it! It’s yours!
4. What the eyes see and the ears hear the mind believes.
5. Aren’t you a bit short for a stormtrooper.
6. Well isn’t that convenient for you, and the clock.
7. Is my nose to big mom?
8. I’m tired of these motherfucking snakes on this motherfucking plane.
9. Nothing gets between me and my AK.
10. Keep your head in the game.
11. Tell him about the Twinkie.
12. Simon says: Die!
13. To infinity and beyond!
14. Shop Smart, Shop S-Mart
15. She got a… FINE ASS!
16. We dont sell tik taks for crist sake we sell cigarets.
17. And Shepherds we shall be For thee, my Lord, for thee. Power hath descended forth from Thy hand Our feet may swiftly carry out Thy commands. So we shall flow a river forth to Thee And teeming with souls shall it ever be. In Nomeni Patri Et Fili
18. I’m gonna give him an offer he can’t refuse.
19. So tell us mama, why make Buffalo's biggest cookie?
20. There never was much hope, just a fools hope.
Sunday, April 27, 2008
A map of my mind
Jeg var sgu lige ved at glemme at lægge den op men her er ugens historie.
De historier jeg nævner til sidst eksisterer, i får dem ikke at se men de eksisterer og findes i den masse jeg har valgt at kalde min hjerne.
A map of my mind.
Why do I write what I write? Why do the horrors of twisted minds, the fables of lost lands and the everyday story turned supernatural intrigue me so much? What is it that makes me connect with a mutant trying to get back his humanity or a detective who tries to make the world a better place? To tell you the truth: it happens. I do not make op stories, I just write them down. Now don’t get me wrong, I don’t steal stories and take credit for them, I just write what I see. Where you see a drunken mother yelling at her 12 year old son, I see a dictator trying to oppress the youth of the people. Where you see a dog burying a bone, I see a pirate hiding his treasure so that no living man can find and steal his things. Where you see a hobo on the sidewalk, I see a life worth of stories waiting to be put on paper, leading to the sad end of today.
I see stories where most see nothing, but when I really see the twisted ones, are when I look inside my own head. I do so often, trying to grasp what it is I am, and what it is that makes me tick. It is when I look upon that growing field of fantasy flowers and rivers of ideas flowing from the everlasting mountains of creativity that I imagine new things, most of them stay in the river of ideas though. But every once in a blue moon a small creature emerges from the river and crawl unto land. Here the creature grow, eating the flowers of fantasy and the grass of possibilities, the creature steadily grow into a story or a joke or one of the countless of other creatures that have inhabited my brain. As the stories are written, or the jokes are told, the bodies of them start to decay, they’re slowly wither away on the field and their corpses provide nutrition for the fantasy flowers and the grass of possibilities, thereby creating an endless circle of creation and destruction. Some time two creatures emerge from the river at the same time, these two creatures develop a symbiotic existence, they live together, grow together and they will eventually either blossom or die together.
Sometimes the stories are forced to stay in my mind before they can be put into writing, when this happens they are taken to the farm. The farm is where they meet other ideas, and most importantly, the place where they meet my greatest secrets and my most treasured memories. Sometimes the stories and secrets are brought together and becomes one. I think of them as chimeras, stories spawned from a multitude of different ideas, memories and secrets, these chimeras are some of the most twisted and private stories that I have ever created. Most of them are never turned into writing because I fear the reaction from my readers. They are stories unlike anything else I write and they strike fear in my own heart, not because of the story itself, but because I know that I created it. These stories cannot be destroyed and they still live and haunt my mind when I go to sleep. I’ll let you into a little secret: Just before sleep takes and drags me into the place they call the dream land, I start thinking about them, they sneak into my mind and for a short while I think about them, I figure out what will happen in them, and that is how these stories evolve in my mind growing into monstrous beasts that threatens to latch on to every piece of paper I come across, and thereby gain entry to the real world.
You may think that this is but poor joke, a way for me to entertain you and please myself. You may wonder what I mean when I talk about this wonderland in my mind. Well let me put it this way: where you see a field I see a mind, and where you see a twisted chimera I see an obsession. You might be curious about these forbidden stories, but I am afraid they will never be seen by any other mortal man than I. They are too close to my heart as they contain my most private wishes and my most treasured memories.
De historier jeg nævner til sidst eksisterer, i får dem ikke at se men de eksisterer og findes i den masse jeg har valgt at kalde min hjerne.
A map of my mind.
Why do I write what I write? Why do the horrors of twisted minds, the fables of lost lands and the everyday story turned supernatural intrigue me so much? What is it that makes me connect with a mutant trying to get back his humanity or a detective who tries to make the world a better place? To tell you the truth: it happens. I do not make op stories, I just write them down. Now don’t get me wrong, I don’t steal stories and take credit for them, I just write what I see. Where you see a drunken mother yelling at her 12 year old son, I see a dictator trying to oppress the youth of the people. Where you see a dog burying a bone, I see a pirate hiding his treasure so that no living man can find and steal his things. Where you see a hobo on the sidewalk, I see a life worth of stories waiting to be put on paper, leading to the sad end of today.
I see stories where most see nothing, but when I really see the twisted ones, are when I look inside my own head. I do so often, trying to grasp what it is I am, and what it is that makes me tick. It is when I look upon that growing field of fantasy flowers and rivers of ideas flowing from the everlasting mountains of creativity that I imagine new things, most of them stay in the river of ideas though. But every once in a blue moon a small creature emerges from the river and crawl unto land. Here the creature grow, eating the flowers of fantasy and the grass of possibilities, the creature steadily grow into a story or a joke or one of the countless of other creatures that have inhabited my brain. As the stories are written, or the jokes are told, the bodies of them start to decay, they’re slowly wither away on the field and their corpses provide nutrition for the fantasy flowers and the grass of possibilities, thereby creating an endless circle of creation and destruction. Some time two creatures emerge from the river at the same time, these two creatures develop a symbiotic existence, they live together, grow together and they will eventually either blossom or die together.
Sometimes the stories are forced to stay in my mind before they can be put into writing, when this happens they are taken to the farm. The farm is where they meet other ideas, and most importantly, the place where they meet my greatest secrets and my most treasured memories. Sometimes the stories and secrets are brought together and becomes one. I think of them as chimeras, stories spawned from a multitude of different ideas, memories and secrets, these chimeras are some of the most twisted and private stories that I have ever created. Most of them are never turned into writing because I fear the reaction from my readers. They are stories unlike anything else I write and they strike fear in my own heart, not because of the story itself, but because I know that I created it. These stories cannot be destroyed and they still live and haunt my mind when I go to sleep. I’ll let you into a little secret: Just before sleep takes and drags me into the place they call the dream land, I start thinking about them, they sneak into my mind and for a short while I think about them, I figure out what will happen in them, and that is how these stories evolve in my mind growing into monstrous beasts that threatens to latch on to every piece of paper I come across, and thereby gain entry to the real world.
You may think that this is but poor joke, a way for me to entertain you and please myself. You may wonder what I mean when I talk about this wonderland in my mind. Well let me put it this way: where you see a field I see a mind, and where you see a twisted chimera I see an obsession. You might be curious about these forbidden stories, but I am afraid they will never be seen by any other mortal man than I. They are too close to my heart as they contain my most private wishes and my most treasured memories.
Thursday, April 24, 2008
Kage-Ken 1: Hatchi Zuki
Tillykke med dagen Bjørn!
I B's ære kommer den første del af min nye serie, Kage Ken idag. Jeg har arbejdet med det her første afsnit i 2 uger og omskrevet det 4 gange. Jeg syntes det er blevet godt.
Jeg bruger mange Japanske udtryk og de vigtigste vil blive forklaret i fodnoter, jeg vil starte med at sige at Zuki betyder stød (ikke som et lyn, men som det engelske ord 'strike').
Kage-Ken vil blive afsløret senere, og i kan formentlig selv regne ud hvad Ha
Kage-Ken 1
Hachi Zuki
“Get away from the bar, man of the east! We are the Trejina guard, trained by lord Grede in the forgotten art of the hounsel swordstyle and we demand that you move your yellow ass away from the bar!”
The inn went completely quiet as the swordsmen spoke, they were known as ruthless drunks who would pick a fight for no reason, men with no honor or morals. The lone man who sat at the bar lowered his cup, he carried a slim sword concealed in a simple sheath with the word Kage-ken written on it and a Kimono with weird symbols written on the back. He didn’t look up nor turn around as they ordered him to stand, nor did he do as he was told and when he spoke his voice was calm, as if they had simply made a comment about the weather. “You should ask politely when you wish someone to move for you.” The inn was completely silent as he spoke those words, except for a creature sitting in the back of the inn that was choking in its beer. This creature was covered in light brown fur, had big cat like ears and two small horns.
The lone stranger was met by a roar of laughter from the 10 swordsmen, the laughter was heard all the way out on the dirt street where people realized what was about to happen and hurried into other houses for protection, in case all hell broke loose. “I don’t think you heard us so let me repeat myself: We are the Trejina guard, trained by lord Grede in the forgotten art of the hounsel sword fighting style, when we ask something of someone, they either do as we say…” he smiled a gruesome smile as he continued “or die.”
“A style can only be mastered by the one who created it, all who tries to learn another man’s style will be but a shadow of the true master. Besides forgotten styles, fancy titles and good trainers only means things to men who knows them, they mean nothing to me or my blade.”
“You dare mock me!? This will cost you your head, insolent whelp!” The foremost swordsman drew his blade as he spoke, but before he had time swing it he found his head staring at his body from the ground. The blood flowed from his steadily from the now headless neck as the body fell to the ground. The man had risen and cut off the man’s head in a split second, he never even knew he was dead. The rest of the swordsmen could only stare in shock as he fell and see the mysterious stranger stand as tall as he was with his sword drawn. He stood quite still, breathing lightly as if he had done nothing else than standing up. The inn was quiet for 5 seconds, then a scream pierced the air and every man woman and child left the inn panicking through doors and windows, then the inn was quiet again and only the 9 remaining swordsmen, the stranger, the weird creature in the back and the headless swordsman remained in the room.
“You know… this western stuff isn’t half bad” said the creature in the back lowering his beer to speak.
“You killed him!” yelled one of the swordsmen drawing his sword at the strange swordsman. “You will pay for this!” The swordsmen quickly surrounded him, kicking tables and chairs out of the way. “Even in their anger they think of a strategy? They have been well trained. But there is a foul stench around them, what is it? It smells similar to sake, are they drunk?” the stranger thought as he studied the men around him. One of the men yelled a command and suddenly all 9 swordsmen stormed forward. One of them accidently tripped over a chair and fell, coursing at the top of his voice. The stranger spread his legs a little to stand more firmly, grasped his sword tightly with both hands and whispered the words “Hachi zuki”. The swordsman who had tripped looked up and saw the stranger storm towards one of the swordsmen, dived under the crude sword swing from the attacker and cut him in half with one single strike. “ichi” he murmured and jumped backwards to dodge another attackers strike. He turned around in the air and landed feet first on another swordsman’s chest, his sword quickly following up by piercing the swordsman’s forehead. “ni” he said as he leaped from the dead man’s chest and stormed back into the middle of the group. He feinted a strike against the head but in the last moment he changed the direction of his swing and buried his blade deep within the swordsman’s stomach. “san” The next two strikes was barely visible to the naked eye but two more bodies joined the pile followed by the strangers low voice: “shi, go.” His sword claimed another victim as he chopped of a leg of one of the two standing swordsmen and followed up by piercing his heart with a single blow. “Roku” He caught the last swordsman desperate attack by a weak parade that allowed the swordsman’s strike strike to carry through and slamming it into the ground. The swordsman landed hard on the ground and was killed split seconds later by a quick strike to the neck. “Hachi” the stranger said quietly while quickly mopping the blood of the blade in a table cloth from a nearby table. A ray of sun hit the blade as he was sheathing it and for almost a full second the room was filled with a beautiful dark red light, for that second it seemed like the air itself burned with strange dark flames. But as the blade was sheathed, the light disappeared.
“You always have to get in trouble when we go somewhere nice.” said the creature in the back and jumped down from his chair, revealing that he was no taller than a child before falling down on all four and heading for the door.
The stranger ignored him and turned around to face the ninth swordsman who was still on the ground where he had tripped over the chair.
“Go home.” The stranger said in a sad voice. ”enough blood has been spilled here for today.” The swordsman stared after the stranger as he walked towards the door.
“Who… Who are you!?” he yelled as the stranger reached the door. The stranger stopped in his tracks and turned around to face the man before answering.
“I do not have a name anymore, but I have come to call myself: Hachi Zoki”
“What a dramatic exit, Hachi.” Said the weird creature with a voice filled with sarcasm from his low viewpoint on all four as they walked out of the door.
“Quit it. We better get out of town quick, I don’t think we will find him here anyway.” Replied Hachi as they walked out the door, leaving the choked swordsman behind.
I B's ære kommer den første del af min nye serie, Kage Ken idag. Jeg har arbejdet med det her første afsnit i 2 uger og omskrevet det 4 gange. Jeg syntes det er blevet godt.
Jeg bruger mange Japanske udtryk og de vigtigste vil blive forklaret i fodnoter, jeg vil starte med at sige at Zuki betyder stød (ikke som et lyn, men som det engelske ord 'strike').
Kage-Ken vil blive afsløret senere, og i kan formentlig selv regne ud hvad Ha
Kage-Ken 1
Hachi Zuki
“Get away from the bar, man of the east! We are the Trejina guard, trained by lord Grede in the forgotten art of the hounsel swordstyle and we demand that you move your yellow ass away from the bar!”
The inn went completely quiet as the swordsmen spoke, they were known as ruthless drunks who would pick a fight for no reason, men with no honor or morals. The lone man who sat at the bar lowered his cup, he carried a slim sword concealed in a simple sheath with the word Kage-ken written on it and a Kimono with weird symbols written on the back. He didn’t look up nor turn around as they ordered him to stand, nor did he do as he was told and when he spoke his voice was calm, as if they had simply made a comment about the weather. “You should ask politely when you wish someone to move for you.” The inn was completely silent as he spoke those words, except for a creature sitting in the back of the inn that was choking in its beer. This creature was covered in light brown fur, had big cat like ears and two small horns.
The lone stranger was met by a roar of laughter from the 10 swordsmen, the laughter was heard all the way out on the dirt street where people realized what was about to happen and hurried into other houses for protection, in case all hell broke loose. “I don’t think you heard us so let me repeat myself: We are the Trejina guard, trained by lord Grede in the forgotten art of the hounsel sword fighting style, when we ask something of someone, they either do as we say…” he smiled a gruesome smile as he continued “or die.”
“A style can only be mastered by the one who created it, all who tries to learn another man’s style will be but a shadow of the true master. Besides forgotten styles, fancy titles and good trainers only means things to men who knows them, they mean nothing to me or my blade.”
“You dare mock me!? This will cost you your head, insolent whelp!” The foremost swordsman drew his blade as he spoke, but before he had time swing it he found his head staring at his body from the ground. The blood flowed from his steadily from the now headless neck as the body fell to the ground. The man had risen and cut off the man’s head in a split second, he never even knew he was dead. The rest of the swordsmen could only stare in shock as he fell and see the mysterious stranger stand as tall as he was with his sword drawn. He stood quite still, breathing lightly as if he had done nothing else than standing up. The inn was quiet for 5 seconds, then a scream pierced the air and every man woman and child left the inn panicking through doors and windows, then the inn was quiet again and only the 9 remaining swordsmen, the stranger, the weird creature in the back and the headless swordsman remained in the room.
“You know… this western stuff isn’t half bad” said the creature in the back lowering his beer to speak.
“You killed him!” yelled one of the swordsmen drawing his sword at the strange swordsman. “You will pay for this!” The swordsmen quickly surrounded him, kicking tables and chairs out of the way. “Even in their anger they think of a strategy? They have been well trained. But there is a foul stench around them, what is it? It smells similar to sake, are they drunk?” the stranger thought as he studied the men around him. One of the men yelled a command and suddenly all 9 swordsmen stormed forward. One of them accidently tripped over a chair and fell, coursing at the top of his voice. The stranger spread his legs a little to stand more firmly, grasped his sword tightly with both hands and whispered the words “Hachi zuki”. The swordsman who had tripped looked up and saw the stranger storm towards one of the swordsmen, dived under the crude sword swing from the attacker and cut him in half with one single strike. “ichi” he murmured and jumped backwards to dodge another attackers strike. He turned around in the air and landed feet first on another swordsman’s chest, his sword quickly following up by piercing the swordsman’s forehead. “ni” he said as he leaped from the dead man’s chest and stormed back into the middle of the group. He feinted a strike against the head but in the last moment he changed the direction of his swing and buried his blade deep within the swordsman’s stomach. “san” The next two strikes was barely visible to the naked eye but two more bodies joined the pile followed by the strangers low voice: “shi, go.” His sword claimed another victim as he chopped of a leg of one of the two standing swordsmen and followed up by piercing his heart with a single blow. “Roku” He caught the last swordsman desperate attack by a weak parade that allowed the swordsman’s strike strike to carry through and slamming it into the ground. The swordsman landed hard on the ground and was killed split seconds later by a quick strike to the neck. “Hachi” the stranger said quietly while quickly mopping the blood of the blade in a table cloth from a nearby table. A ray of sun hit the blade as he was sheathing it and for almost a full second the room was filled with a beautiful dark red light, for that second it seemed like the air itself burned with strange dark flames. But as the blade was sheathed, the light disappeared.
“You always have to get in trouble when we go somewhere nice.” said the creature in the back and jumped down from his chair, revealing that he was no taller than a child before falling down on all four and heading for the door.
The stranger ignored him and turned around to face the ninth swordsman who was still on the ground where he had tripped over the chair.
“Go home.” The stranger said in a sad voice. ”enough blood has been spilled here for today.” The swordsman stared after the stranger as he walked towards the door.
“Who… Who are you!?” he yelled as the stranger reached the door. The stranger stopped in his tracks and turned around to face the man before answering.
“I do not have a name anymore, but I have come to call myself: Hachi Zoki”
“What a dramatic exit, Hachi.” Said the weird creature with a voice filled with sarcasm from his low viewpoint on all four as they walked out of the door.
“Quit it. We better get out of town quick, I don’t think we will find him here anyway.” Replied Hachi as they walked out the door, leaving the choked swordsman behind.
Sunday, April 20, 2008
NEVER!
Jeg fik ideen til den her fra en webcomic, jeg kan bare ikke finde den længere :P
Apropo Webcommics så gør jer selv den tjeneste at læse Inverloch. Det er en afsluttet webcommic der er medrivende spænende og frem for alt fantastisk sørgelig. Selv jeg, og jeg er fandme et stoneface når det kommer til den slags, jeg var tæt på at knibe en tårer i slutningen. Inverloch kan findes HER:
Inverloch
Forfatteren er også begyndt på en ny god historie den er også super fed, den hedder Phoenix requiem og den kan læses her:The Phoenix requiem
NEVER!
They woke me up before 10 am, NEVER wake me before 10 am!
I was having a great and possibly perverted dream when they woke me, NEVER wake me before 10 am in the middle of a great and possibly perverted dream!
The damn doorbell kept ringing as I got out of the bed, NEVER wake me before 10 am in the middle of a great and possibly perverted dream forcing me to get out of the bed!
I knocked my head against the door as I hurried to the main door, NEVER wake me before 10 am in the middle of a great and possibly perverted dream forcing me to get out of the bed knocking my head against the door!
I have a headache as I open the door, NEVER wake me before 10 am in the middle of a great and possibly perverted dream forcing me to get out of the bed knocking my head against the door, while I have a headache!
In front of my door I saw two people in black clothe, NEVER wake me before 10 am in the middle of a great and possibly perverted dream forcing me to get out of the bed knocking my head against the door, while I have a headache, standing in front of my door wearing black clothe!
One of them is holding a bible the other a brochure from Jehovahs witnesses, NEVER wake me before 10 am in the middle of a great and possibly perverted dream forcing me to get out of the bed knocking my head against the door while I have a headache, standing in front of my door wearing black clothe, a bible and a brochure from Jehovahs witnesses!
The one with the Bible looks at me with forgiving eyes before speaking, NEVER wake me before 10 am in the middle of a great and possibly perverted dream forcing me to get out of the bed knocking my head against the door while I have a headache, standing in front of my door wearing black clothe, a bible and a brochure from Jehovahs witnesses only to look at me with forgiving eyes before speaking!
He started speaking about salvation, NEVER wake me before 10 am in the middle of a great and possibly perverted dream forcing me to get out of the bed knocking my head against the door while I have a headache, standing in front of my door wearing black clothe, a bible and a brochure from Jehovahs witnesses only to look at me with forgiving eyes before speaking about salvation!
Because if you do, THIS is how I will reply: “I do not believe in salvation,” I will say as I reach for my shotgun: “I believe in the right to bear arms and pleading insanity in the moment of the crime!”
Apropo Webcommics så gør jer selv den tjeneste at læse Inverloch. Det er en afsluttet webcommic der er medrivende spænende og frem for alt fantastisk sørgelig. Selv jeg, og jeg er fandme et stoneface når det kommer til den slags, jeg var tæt på at knibe en tårer i slutningen. Inverloch kan findes HER:
Inverloch
Forfatteren er også begyndt på en ny god historie den er også super fed, den hedder Phoenix requiem og den kan læses her:The Phoenix requiem
NEVER!
They woke me up before 10 am, NEVER wake me before 10 am!
I was having a great and possibly perverted dream when they woke me, NEVER wake me before 10 am in the middle of a great and possibly perverted dream!
The damn doorbell kept ringing as I got out of the bed, NEVER wake me before 10 am in the middle of a great and possibly perverted dream forcing me to get out of the bed!
I knocked my head against the door as I hurried to the main door, NEVER wake me before 10 am in the middle of a great and possibly perverted dream forcing me to get out of the bed knocking my head against the door!
I have a headache as I open the door, NEVER wake me before 10 am in the middle of a great and possibly perverted dream forcing me to get out of the bed knocking my head against the door, while I have a headache!
In front of my door I saw two people in black clothe, NEVER wake me before 10 am in the middle of a great and possibly perverted dream forcing me to get out of the bed knocking my head against the door, while I have a headache, standing in front of my door wearing black clothe!
One of them is holding a bible the other a brochure from Jehovahs witnesses, NEVER wake me before 10 am in the middle of a great and possibly perverted dream forcing me to get out of the bed knocking my head against the door while I have a headache, standing in front of my door wearing black clothe, a bible and a brochure from Jehovahs witnesses!
The one with the Bible looks at me with forgiving eyes before speaking, NEVER wake me before 10 am in the middle of a great and possibly perverted dream forcing me to get out of the bed knocking my head against the door while I have a headache, standing in front of my door wearing black clothe, a bible and a brochure from Jehovahs witnesses only to look at me with forgiving eyes before speaking!
He started speaking about salvation, NEVER wake me before 10 am in the middle of a great and possibly perverted dream forcing me to get out of the bed knocking my head against the door while I have a headache, standing in front of my door wearing black clothe, a bible and a brochure from Jehovahs witnesses only to look at me with forgiving eyes before speaking about salvation!
Because if you do, THIS is how I will reply: “I do not believe in salvation,” I will say as I reach for my shotgun: “I believe in the right to bear arms and pleading insanity in the moment of the crime!”
Sunday, April 13, 2008
Forfulgt
Min første danske novelle, den er ikke såååå god men den er okay.
Forfulgt.
Han stod der altid, lige der på hjørnet henne ved bageren. Hver eneste gang jeg gik hjem fra arbejde så stod han der på hjørnet, den var stensikker. Han var ikke særlig høj, men han var bredskuldret og havde en lang frakke på der med hætten trukket op skjulte hans ansigt. Han stod bare der og kiggede ud i luften, men når jeg kom forbi kunne jeg altid fornemme at han skulede til mig. Han sagde aldrig et ord han stod bare og kiggede efter mig. Det virkede ikke som om der var andre der lagde mærke til ham, de gik bare forbi som om der ikke stod nogen, men det var der vil heller ikke noget at sige til, det var jo ikke dem han gloede efter. Det sjove var den følelse jeg havde af at have set ham før, men jeg kunne bare ikke huske hvor det var jeg havde set ham. Jeg gik forbi ham hver eneste dag, og hver eneste dag stod han og kiggede på mig. Jeg prøvede at gå en anden vej for at undgå ham, men så stod han bare et nyt sted og holdt øje med mig. I starten ignorerede jeg ham bare, han gjorde mig trods alt ikke noget, men han var så vedholdende og langsomt blev han mere aggressiv, i starten begyndte han bare at følge efter mig et stykke af vejen hjem, han gjorde mig ikke noget så jeg forsøgte endnu en gang at ignorerer ham. Men det blev sværere at ignorerer ham som han blev mere modig og mere pågående. Han begyndte at følge mig hele vejen hjem, og så stod han bare der på den anden side af vejen og ventede. Jeg blev paranoid, begyndte at løbe hjem efter arbejde, jeg tog omvejen og genveje, men ingenting kunne ryste forfølgeren af. Det hele eskalerede en dag hvor mig og en af mine venner havde været i biografen og jeg skulle hjem igen. Der stod han igen i sin frakke og så kom ham, han gik direkte hen imod mig, det havde han aldrig gjort før. Jeg gik i panik, jeg løb, jeg spurtede af sted, men af en eller anden grund kunne jeg ikke slippe væk fra ham. Jeg løb og jeg løb og da jeg endelig kom hjem og smækkede døren i, kunne jeg se ham komme hurtigt nærmere døren igennem glasset. Jeg tog et skridt tilbage og så til min rædsel døren flyve af sine hængsler og lande for fødderne af mig. Jeg faldt bagover af bar forbløffelse da han trådte ind over døren og tårnede sig op over mig. Han tog hætten af og sagde i en stille og venlig stemme: ”undskyld, du glemte vist at slukke mobiltelefonen i biografen.” Og så gik han bare igen.
Forfulgt.
Han stod der altid, lige der på hjørnet henne ved bageren. Hver eneste gang jeg gik hjem fra arbejde så stod han der på hjørnet, den var stensikker. Han var ikke særlig høj, men han var bredskuldret og havde en lang frakke på der med hætten trukket op skjulte hans ansigt. Han stod bare der og kiggede ud i luften, men når jeg kom forbi kunne jeg altid fornemme at han skulede til mig. Han sagde aldrig et ord han stod bare og kiggede efter mig. Det virkede ikke som om der var andre der lagde mærke til ham, de gik bare forbi som om der ikke stod nogen, men det var der vil heller ikke noget at sige til, det var jo ikke dem han gloede efter. Det sjove var den følelse jeg havde af at have set ham før, men jeg kunne bare ikke huske hvor det var jeg havde set ham. Jeg gik forbi ham hver eneste dag, og hver eneste dag stod han og kiggede på mig. Jeg prøvede at gå en anden vej for at undgå ham, men så stod han bare et nyt sted og holdt øje med mig. I starten ignorerede jeg ham bare, han gjorde mig trods alt ikke noget, men han var så vedholdende og langsomt blev han mere aggressiv, i starten begyndte han bare at følge efter mig et stykke af vejen hjem, han gjorde mig ikke noget så jeg forsøgte endnu en gang at ignorerer ham. Men det blev sværere at ignorerer ham som han blev mere modig og mere pågående. Han begyndte at følge mig hele vejen hjem, og så stod han bare der på den anden side af vejen og ventede. Jeg blev paranoid, begyndte at løbe hjem efter arbejde, jeg tog omvejen og genveje, men ingenting kunne ryste forfølgeren af. Det hele eskalerede en dag hvor mig og en af mine venner havde været i biografen og jeg skulle hjem igen. Der stod han igen i sin frakke og så kom ham, han gik direkte hen imod mig, det havde han aldrig gjort før. Jeg gik i panik, jeg løb, jeg spurtede af sted, men af en eller anden grund kunne jeg ikke slippe væk fra ham. Jeg løb og jeg løb og da jeg endelig kom hjem og smækkede døren i, kunne jeg se ham komme hurtigt nærmere døren igennem glasset. Jeg tog et skridt tilbage og så til min rædsel døren flyve af sine hængsler og lande for fødderne af mig. Jeg faldt bagover af bar forbløffelse da han trådte ind over døren og tårnede sig op over mig. Han tog hætten af og sagde i en stille og venlig stemme: ”undskyld, du glemte vist at slukke mobiltelefonen i biografen.” Og så gik han bare igen.
Sunday, April 06, 2008
I know that I am not dead, but am I alive?
Fra idag af vil jeg lægge en ny historie ud hver søndag.
I know that I am not dead, but am I alive?
“Fear is the nectar of life.” So it is said by a wise man that lived in a wise time, but he is all but forgotten by the modern world, and so is his wisdom. He knew the truth and he lived to preach it. He lived in time long before history books begin but after ancient myths ends, he lived in those years not remembered by anyone else than those who sought his wisdom in those ancient times. I was one of those young men who sought his wisdom for my own gain, and ended up far worse than I started. I sought his wisdom to make myself immortal, not because I wanted to live forever just because I was too afraid to die. Many people journeyed to find that man and hear his words, the words of a man they called a prophet. He is older than time, or so I was told, there was no telling what was true or not, he had been called a saint, a demon, a prophet, a fake, and many other things, but I like so many others left home to find him. I was not strong, og fast, or smart, or cunning when I left my home to tell you the truth. But I found him, on a deserted rock in the middle of the sea. This small rock held him no more than half a meter over the surface of the ocean in whose domain he had entered. I asked him why he sat on that lonely stone when so many people would gladly take him in their house and treat him like a king. He looked at me as I sat in a small boat besides the rock with mild interest, and then he said those words that would lead me to hell and back: “Fear is the Nectar of life. I fear water so I confront myself with water, only by confronting your fear can you control it.”
“I fear death” I said “can I learn to control that?”
“All things can be controlled.” He simply said “seek out death in the land to the east of here. Find a cave with beautiful blue walls and venture into it to find what you seek.”
And so I did what he said, for he had said it and thus it was the truth. When I came to that land it was raining as if the heavens tried to flood the earth. It took me 4 days to find the cave and even at that point the rain had not stopped. The walls was bright pale blue, never ha I seen such a color, so beautiful and as cold as a winter morning when the first ray of sunlight cuts across the clear sky. I walked deeper into the cave. It was like the blue walls emitted a gentle light, the light led me, guided me, seduced me, forced me deeper into the cave. I don’t know how long I walked through that cave, it felt like the gentle light of the walls sucked out all the meaning of time. After a long time I came to the end of the cave and in the corner sat an old man by himself. He looked like he was made out of flesh and bones, his hair was long and grey and his beard was so long it reached his feet. He looked up at me with eyes that was all but dried up and spoke with a weak dry voice: “Do you know what year it is son?” I told him what he wanted to know and looked down on his feet again. “Do you know how long I have been in this cave? 209 years. 209 years of solitude and hunger.” He went quiet again still looking at his feet. “You know, I came here looking for a life without death… and the cave gave it to me, I can’t die as long as I stay in this cave, but can this really be called living?” he asked himself barely aware that I was still there.
“But why don’t you leave then?” I asked him.
“Its not that easy is it? I have walked to the entrance and back hundreds of times but how can I take the step outside when I know it will be my last?” I was sure he was crying, but it seemed he had no more tears left. He was weak, that’s what I thought in my stupidity, I believed myself a greater man than him. So I picked him up, skin and bone as he was, and carried him through the cave. I talked kindly to him the whole way, told him of the wonders of the world and spoke to him as to a child, and the old man fell for it he was vowed by the tales of new greatness and wonders. All the way through the cave I carried him, kept him at good spirit and talked kindly to him and god how I hated him. I hated his voice, I hated his hair, I hated his skin, I hated his beard, but above all I hated his weakness. He had been given a gift of eternal life but he had never had the courage to live life eternally, he had just been sitting there seeing eternity pass by in front of him. So I sat him free, he took one step out of the cave and away from the blue walls and he pummeled to the ground, death had finally found him. As I stood there and watched him die I should have realized it, I should have left right then and there in hindsight that is properly what the prophet wanted me to do: to see the ugly face of immortality and then embrace mortality with love. But he was not aware of how deep my fear was and how arrogant I had become. I had found the prophet where so many had failed, I had found the cave that could keep death at bay and I would reap the benefits of being immortal. I left the cave to get furniture after a few days, and the following years I purchased books to entertain myself in my eternal life. But as my body got old I started to stay in the cave, I knew that the cave would keep me from dying and I would not risk my life to old age to get new books. I can tell you now that no anount of books can last eternally. After a few hundred years I started to fade, I became like the man I found in here I just sat in the corner, waiting for eternity to pass by. I had visitors in my cave that is true, but they were no more than visitor, none stayed more than 200 years and I talked to none of them, filthy scum trying to steal my cave!
I still sit in that cave to this day, l am looking for an answer to a question the same question that the old man had been wondering about all those years ago: do I really live? I mean: I know that I am not dead, but am I alive?
I know that I am not dead, but am I alive?
“Fear is the nectar of life.” So it is said by a wise man that lived in a wise time, but he is all but forgotten by the modern world, and so is his wisdom. He knew the truth and he lived to preach it. He lived in time long before history books begin but after ancient myths ends, he lived in those years not remembered by anyone else than those who sought his wisdom in those ancient times. I was one of those young men who sought his wisdom for my own gain, and ended up far worse than I started. I sought his wisdom to make myself immortal, not because I wanted to live forever just because I was too afraid to die. Many people journeyed to find that man and hear his words, the words of a man they called a prophet. He is older than time, or so I was told, there was no telling what was true or not, he had been called a saint, a demon, a prophet, a fake, and many other things, but I like so many others left home to find him. I was not strong, og fast, or smart, or cunning when I left my home to tell you the truth. But I found him, on a deserted rock in the middle of the sea. This small rock held him no more than half a meter over the surface of the ocean in whose domain he had entered. I asked him why he sat on that lonely stone when so many people would gladly take him in their house and treat him like a king. He looked at me as I sat in a small boat besides the rock with mild interest, and then he said those words that would lead me to hell and back: “Fear is the Nectar of life. I fear water so I confront myself with water, only by confronting your fear can you control it.”
“I fear death” I said “can I learn to control that?”
“All things can be controlled.” He simply said “seek out death in the land to the east of here. Find a cave with beautiful blue walls and venture into it to find what you seek.”
And so I did what he said, for he had said it and thus it was the truth. When I came to that land it was raining as if the heavens tried to flood the earth. It took me 4 days to find the cave and even at that point the rain had not stopped. The walls was bright pale blue, never ha I seen such a color, so beautiful and as cold as a winter morning when the first ray of sunlight cuts across the clear sky. I walked deeper into the cave. It was like the blue walls emitted a gentle light, the light led me, guided me, seduced me, forced me deeper into the cave. I don’t know how long I walked through that cave, it felt like the gentle light of the walls sucked out all the meaning of time. After a long time I came to the end of the cave and in the corner sat an old man by himself. He looked like he was made out of flesh and bones, his hair was long and grey and his beard was so long it reached his feet. He looked up at me with eyes that was all but dried up and spoke with a weak dry voice: “Do you know what year it is son?” I told him what he wanted to know and looked down on his feet again. “Do you know how long I have been in this cave? 209 years. 209 years of solitude and hunger.” He went quiet again still looking at his feet. “You know, I came here looking for a life without death… and the cave gave it to me, I can’t die as long as I stay in this cave, but can this really be called living?” he asked himself barely aware that I was still there.
“But why don’t you leave then?” I asked him.
“Its not that easy is it? I have walked to the entrance and back hundreds of times but how can I take the step outside when I know it will be my last?” I was sure he was crying, but it seemed he had no more tears left. He was weak, that’s what I thought in my stupidity, I believed myself a greater man than him. So I picked him up, skin and bone as he was, and carried him through the cave. I talked kindly to him the whole way, told him of the wonders of the world and spoke to him as to a child, and the old man fell for it he was vowed by the tales of new greatness and wonders. All the way through the cave I carried him, kept him at good spirit and talked kindly to him and god how I hated him. I hated his voice, I hated his hair, I hated his skin, I hated his beard, but above all I hated his weakness. He had been given a gift of eternal life but he had never had the courage to live life eternally, he had just been sitting there seeing eternity pass by in front of him. So I sat him free, he took one step out of the cave and away from the blue walls and he pummeled to the ground, death had finally found him. As I stood there and watched him die I should have realized it, I should have left right then and there in hindsight that is properly what the prophet wanted me to do: to see the ugly face of immortality and then embrace mortality with love. But he was not aware of how deep my fear was and how arrogant I had become. I had found the prophet where so many had failed, I had found the cave that could keep death at bay and I would reap the benefits of being immortal. I left the cave to get furniture after a few days, and the following years I purchased books to entertain myself in my eternal life. But as my body got old I started to stay in the cave, I knew that the cave would keep me from dying and I would not risk my life to old age to get new books. I can tell you now that no anount of books can last eternally. After a few hundred years I started to fade, I became like the man I found in here I just sat in the corner, waiting for eternity to pass by. I had visitors in my cave that is true, but they were no more than visitor, none stayed more than 200 years and I talked to none of them, filthy scum trying to steal my cave!
I still sit in that cave to this day, l am looking for an answer to a question the same question that the old man had been wondering about all those years ago: do I really live? I mean: I know that I am not dead, but am I alive?
Wednesday, April 02, 2008
Renevatio 1+2+3
Kan i huske Renevatio? Det er min homie Bjørns mystiske historie som jeg postede første del af for et stykke tid siden, nu er nummer to og tre landet i mailbakken og derfor invitere Grevens blog endnu engang velkommen til en Bjørne produktion, instrueret, produceret og skrevet af Bjørn! (klap klap klap!)
Del 1
Varmen.
Varmen var gudskelov det første jeg følte.
Den kildende fornemmelse i de yderste fingerspidser, den prikkende fornemmelse, som når ens ben er faldet i søvn. Det føltes som en af de dage, da man var barn og man havde været ude at lege i sneen. Den følelse af at komme indenfor og mærke sine lemmer tø når man satte sig på den skoldhede radiator. Den bredte sig, varmen, fra fingerspidserne videre til albuen gennem underarmen. Fra de små led i tæerne til knæene gennem anklerne og skinnebenet. Det var som om mit hjerte vågnede op til dåd efter flere års tung søvn. Selvom jeg ikke reagerede var den samme slags overraskelse, som hvis det havde været en mursten der begyndte at pumpe. Det havde selvfølgelig pumpet hele tiden, men nu gik det hurtigere, jeg kunne mærke det. Det mærkedes som om der var en gammeldags slagmark i mit bryst. De gamle støbejernskanoner fyrede deres ladninger af med en dump eksplosion og rekylen tvang dem tilbage i en rapid med alligevel doven bevægelse, før den næste kollega ved siden af gentog proceduren. Efterhånden udviklede det sig til et maskingevær af en tung kaliber, der taktfast affyrede sine skud. På den måde hurtigere og hurtigere.
Min hørelse vendte også så småt tilbage. Jeg kunne høre rindende vand. Det raslede og knitrede som en skralle. Lige så stille vendte følelserne i mine muskler også tilbage, det føltes som mikroskopiske nåle der borede sig ind i min hud, hver gang en vandstråle ramte mig.
Jeg følte mig som en gammel fabrik, en der havde været ude af drift i utrolig mange, og så - pludselig - er der nogen der tænder for alle maskinerne og fyrer op under hver en kedel. Hele min krop begyndte at indfinde sig i sin rytme. Jeg var som en tom skal. Jeg føltes helt tom. Det var som om jeg ikke havde fået noget at spise i evigheder. Sulten begyndte at gnave i mig, som ville den spise mig indefra. En spasme gik gennem min nakke - jeg havde lyst til at gøre et kast med hovedet. Vandet strømmede ned over mig, lysten til spasmer spredte sig. Min hånd gjorde pludselig et spjæt, så min skulder, mit ben.
Svage råb. Langt væk - som et tågehorn gennem den tykke dis. Det lød næsten som om nogen havde reguleret lydens hastighed.
En pludselig lettelse gik gennem min krop og alt blev koldt - koldt som et hvidt og frossent ishelvede. Et lag af mig forsvandt, en ham der faldt til jorden. Jeg følte mig med et kold og nøgen.
Mine hænder, der var foldet over kors for mit bryst, faldt ned langs siden. Et glimt af balance strejfede min bevidsthed. Et glimt om balance ude af kontrol.
Jeg faldt forover.
Mit syn gjorde en smuk gestus; fra den totale mørke, gik det til en himmelsk strålekrans. Et guddommeligt blitz, der svækkede mit syn mere end det var i forvejen. Dog skimtede jeg de utydelige konturer af skikkelsen der greb mig. Det flagrede omkring dens fødder, som var den en engel der bar en kridhvid kåbe. Skikkelsen vendte sit hoved og råbte noget utydeligt til nogen i den anden del af det rum, vi åbenbart befandt os i. Skikkelsernes hvide kroppe stod nu mere frem og farverne omkring mig blev også mere klare.
Da mærkede jeg en umenneskelig træthed der overvældede mig. Eller var det en træthed? Det var som om nogen slukkede for mig. Jeg lå på et gulv der undergravede min underbevidste teori om, at det umuligt kunne blive koldere i denne verden end den kulde jeg følte. Hele min krop rystede, smerterne gjorde ikke noget. Engleskikkelsen holdt om mit hoved. Holdt det oppe fra jorden. Den råbte panisk efter nogen. Flere skikkelser nåede lige at komme til, inden for mit synsfelt, før jeg besvimede.
¤
Kulde.
Nøgen.
Ny.
Hvor var jeg? Var jeg død? Det var jeg vist ikke. Det ville også ligne noget af en kliche. Det virkede som om jeg sad i en sky. Alt var blødt og hvidt. Alt, nærmest skinnede. Hele min krop prikkede stadig. Jeg havde åbnet mine øjne forsigtigt og skånsomt. Alligevel var jeg ikke forberedt på, hvad mit blik ville møde.
Et hav. Et smukt hav der bredte sig i så langt jeg kunne se. De tusindvis af blågrønne bølger havde gråhvidt skum på toppene og forsvandt, for derefter at dukke op igen lidt efter. De gik op og ned. En evig puls. Den mørke blårgrålige himmel over havene, så ud til at være i oprør. En byge var vist på vej. En sær glans lå over denne horisont. Det lykkedes mig at få løftet min hånd op og række ud efter den. Hånden ramte glas. Horisonten var bag et vindue. Jeg lå i et værelse. I en seng. Mine øjne spærredes op i overraskelse.
”En herlig udsigt, ikke sandt?”
Det gibbede i mig. Jeg drejede hovedet 180 grader og så lige ind i øjnene på et andet menneske.
Det var en midaldrende mand i en hvid kittel der sad på en kontorstol. Han havde smalle, firkantede briller på og en enkel, kort lok af hans ellers noget så nydeligt til side friserede, mørke hår, hang ned i panden på ham. Han sad foroverbøjet imod mig, med albuen hvilende på den ene knæ, i hans ene hånd havde han en papirblok med tilhørende kuglepen og en filmappe.
”Du fik faktisk et af de bedste værelser vi har for tiden.”, sagde han venligt. ”Jeg er Dr. Ivar Munk Højgård og skal være din primære kontaktperson til overpersonalet.”
Jeg nåede lige, at lade mit hoved tippe lidt på skrå inden han talte videre.
”Ja, du kan jo nok ikke fortælle mig dit navn eftersom vi har formodninger om, at du lider af hukommelsestab, passer det?”
Jeg havde ikke den fjerteste ide om, hvad jeg kunne hedde. Jeg havde ikke engang tænkt over det. Så, hvad manden her sagde måtte passe. Jeg kiggede stadigt intenst på ham, mens jeg nikkede forsigtigt.
”Aha, ja.”, sagde han og noterede noget på sin blok. Da han kiggede op, bemærkede han mit blik. ”Du har intet at være bekymret for, min ven. Vi vil dig kun det bedste her, det kan du regne med.” Hans stemme var munter og opkvikkende. ”Vi skal nok tage os af dig.” Han gjorde en kort notits før han sagde: ”Vi kan desværre ikke hjælpe dig med hensyn til dit navn eller dit hjem. Men du skal vide, at vi har de bedste teknikere på sagen døgnet rundt. Af hensyn til din sikkerhed kan jeg desværre heller ikke fortælle dig, hvor du blev fundet, men bare rolig, det skal du nok få at vide senere.” Jeg nikkede langsomt, selvom jeg ikke helt var med på, hvad han mente. Han skulle lige til at åbne munden igen, da det kort bankede på den ene af dørene i det letblårlige lokale, hvori vi befandt os. ” Ja, det er sikkert hende jeg lige skulle til at fortælle dig om. Kom ind!”, sagde han samtidig med at han rejste sig fra stolen. En kvinde åbnede forsigtigt døren og kiggede ind. ”Kom ind, Cleo.”, sagde doktoren med det mørke hår. Hun åbnede døren helt og trådte ind med en bakke balancerende på den ene hånd. Hun var også i en hvid kittel. Hun stillede bakken på et lille bord inden for døren og vendte sig mod doktoren og mig, alt imens hun strøg en tot af det rødblonde hår, der havde forvildet sig ned i hendes ansigt, tilbage bag øret. Hun smilede et fregnet og kækt smil til mig, mens doktoren præsenterede hende: ”Dette er din sygeplejerske Cleo, hun er en af de nye på vores facilitet. Hun kommer fra sydøerne og, jah, resten kan du vel selv fortælle, ikke sandt, Cleo?” Hun kiggede opmærksomt over på ham og nikkede venligt. ” Du kan give mig besked om et eller andet gennem Cleo, hvis jeg ikke selv er til stede. Det var vidst det.”, sagde han og henvendte sig derefter mere lavmælt til Cleo: ” Hvis du nu foretager basisundersøgelser, så husk at arkiver notaterne i D8736-14´s journal. Og du kender vejen til mediarummet? Det er ovre i blok 3.20, vinge 4. Og du kan huske dit logon? Fint, så vil jeg overlade resten til jer to.” Han vendte sig om og nikkede smilede til mig, før han gik ud af den samme dør som Cleo for få minutter siden var kommet ind af.
Hun vendte sig over imod mig, efter at havde fuldt doktoren med hovedet. ”Ja, jeg hedder jo så Cleo og indtil vi finder ud af dit rigtige navn hedder du jo så officielt D87. Jeg ville nok egentlig kalde dig noget andet og mindre kedeligt, men så skal jeg lige ha` lov af overpersonalet og så videre.” Hun stod med den ene hånd i siden imens hun forklarede. ”Vi var ikke helt sikre på, hvordan du klarede den, så jeg bliver nødt til først at teste om alle dine vigtigste organer fungerer som de skal.” Hun tog et lille stetoskop frem fra en marineblå værktøjstaske hun havde siddende på sit bælte, om kitlen. Du hun nænsomt placerede det på mit bryst, kom en let version af den kulde der lige var begyndt lige så stille at fortage sig. Det gav et ryk i mig og spjættede også lettede forfjamsket. ”Det må du undskylde, jeg sku jo ha gjort det varmt først.”, grinede hun undskyldende.
Efter at have undersøgt hjerte, lunger og reflekser mente Cleo, at der også skulle være et øjeneftersyn. Hun sad nu på kontorstolen og tjekkede at hendes lille lygte virkede. ”Bare se mig ind i øjnene.”, sagde hun. Det havde jeg intet imod. Hun havde kønne øjne. De var grålige, men stadig lyse og når hun snakkede lignede det nogle gange, at hun missede op imod solen, fordi hendes kinder lavede den samme trækning, når hun samtidig smilede. Og det gjorde hun. Hun noterede nogle ting ned og sagde: ”Det var vist det”, og smilede atter før hun gik ud af døren igen.
Men det var desværre langt fra overstået.
del 2
Lys.
Så forfærdelig meget lys.
Som en bombe der falder for fødderne af en.
En hætte af træthed var trukket ned over mit hoved da jeg vågnede. Jeg blinkede med øjnene et par gange for at vende mig til det kraftige lys der åbenbart skinnede mig lige ind i ansigtet. Jeg følte mig ør og sulten. Jeg vidste, at Cleo nok ville komme med min morgenmad om cirka et kvarter, ifølge det lille, enkle ur over gangdøren. Det havde hun fortalt mig i går.
Dagen før, efter min undersøgelse, var jeg igen faldet i søvn. Da jeg havde vågnet et godt stykke tid senere sad Cleo på kontorstolen i mit værelse og drejede rundt om sig selv mens hun sad og tegnede på sine notatblok. Hun havde grint til mig i forlegenhed over hendes lidt barnlige optræden og undskyldt. Men det gjorde ikke noget for mig.
Hun havde spurgt mig om jeg havde sovet godt og om jeg var interesseret i noget morgenmad? Mens jeg så sad og spiste fortalte hun om sit hjem på Sydøerne, om hendes opvækst og hendes familie. Det tog det meste af dagen. Men det var rart, så det gjorde ikke noget. Jeg kunne ikke lade være med at ærgre mig over at jeg ikke selv kunne tale med om emnet. Jeg kunne jo intet huske om min familie. Hvis jeg da stadig havde en. Når jeg prøvede at genkalde nogen minder - i en hvilken som helst form - var det som om sengeklædets kulør havde brændt sig fast på min nethinde. Der var rent og hvidt. Som et nyvasket hospitalsgulv. Jeg kunne intet huske, alt var renset væk. Og alligevel vidste jeg at en seng var en seng og en stol var en stol. Til min store glæde var mestrede jeg også stadig talens brug. Så de mest materielle og basale ting var stadig noget jeg kendte til.
Det var ikke noget man lige vende sig til.
Jeg lå og gned mig lidt i øjnene. En sitren i halsen fortalte mig, at jeg skulle gabe. En lang syngende lyd stod ud af mig.
“Godmorgen.” Cleo stod ovre ved gangdøren og lukkede den i med det ene ben mens hun rakte bakken med min morgenmad over imod mig. “Værsgo, der er vist en der lige er stået op, hva?” “Jah..”, gabte jeg søvnigt.” I går var nok en lidt kedelig dag for dig. Så i dag har overpersonalet besluttet at du skal have adgang til din egen interskærm.”, fortalte Cleo entusiastisk. “Nej nej, det var skam ikke kedeligt. Jeg hygge mig meget.”, svarede jeg. Hun smilede og sagde:” Tak, i lige måde, men nu har overpersonalet altså stillet den til rådighed og det sker ikke for alle. Så en smule taknemlighed ville nok være på sin plads.” Jeg nikkede og kiggede udenfor, ud af mit vindue. Vejret var nærmest det modsatte af i går. I dag skinnede solen og et par få skyer konkurrerede med solen om opmærksomheden ved at lægge sig ind foran den. Havet var rolig og himlen havde en kølig og frisk blå farve.
Overpersonalet havde indtil videre ellers ikke vist sig fra deres mest gavmilde side. Jeg havde flere gange spurgt Cleo om jeg ikke kunne få lov til at spadsere rundt på Facilitetens område, men hver gang var svaret det samme. At overpersonale endnu ikke havde givet mig udgangstilladelse og at jeg derfor altid var i mit rum. Heldigvis var Cleo der også så ofte hun kunne, med mindre hun skulle arkivere nogle målinger, renskrive noter eller viderebringe oplysninger til nogle af laboratorierne.
“Jeg smutter lige ud og henter den til dig. Det tager lige to sekunder.” Hun vendte sig mens hun sagde det og trippede ud af døren.
Interskærm? Den slags mente jeg ikke at kunne huske. Jeg havde en ide om hvad et fjernsyn var og gættede på at denne Interskærm nok var noget i samme retning. Jeg sad et stykke tid og lod atter blikket falde på den betagende udsigt. Det var der jeg så hen det meste af tiden, og så selvfølgelig på Cleo, alt imens jeg lod tankerne flyve. Jeg glædede mig til endelig at få noget forandring. Noget mere interessant, for ærlig talt bliver, selv en smuk udsigt, efter et par dage en smule kedelig.
Jeg kiggede væk fra vinduet og over imod døren, eftersom jeg kunne høre, hvad der højest sandsynligt var Cleo, nærme sig døren til mit værelse. Samtidig steg en svagt knirkende lyd sig ude fra gangen. Det bankede på døren og Cleo stak sit smilende, fregnede hoved ind af døren.
“Giver du mig lige en hånd med den her?”, spurgte hun en anelse forpustet. “Den er altså rimelig tung.”
Jeg sprang op og hjalp hende med at bakse den tunge genstand ind på værelset. Det var en kæmpe plade, tyk som en overarm og med en længde som en voksen mand, der lå lodret. Den stod på en piedestal, med hjul, og var hævet så den befandt sig et sted mellem ens hofte og hovedbund, når man stod foran den. Cleo stod med hænderne på lårene og pustede ud.
“Tak for hjælpen, den er så til dig!”, kvidrede hun mens hun strakte sig. “Overpersonalet har besluttet at tildele dig denne interskærm til midlertidig tidsfordriv, mens de prøver at finde oplysninger om dig og din familie.”
Jeg takkede og kiggede nærmere på den strømlinede, sølvskinnende kasse. Jeg lod mine hænder glide over de afrundede kanter, stålet var køligt mod min hud. Jeg gik undersøgende rundt om kassen i håb om at finde en startknap eller lignende. Cleo undertrykte et fnis og sagde: “Lad mig vise dig hvordan den fungerer.”
Hun stillede sig foran den ene af de to store flader og placerede sin hånd, med spredte fingre, på midten af fladen og sagde: “2242-Cleo V.- blok 4” Et par næsten usynlige sprækker, på hver side af Cleos håndflade, tæt på kanterne åbnede sig og løftede en tyk stålplade om på den anden side af kassen. Det skete med en undertrygt teknisk summen og efter pladen var flyttet, blev en sort skærm afsløret. Den skinnede som en opal i dunkle nuancer. Jeg kunne med det samme fornemme at der bag denne mørke facade skjulte sig mere end man kunne forestille sig.
Cleo prikkede med pegefingeren i midten af den mørke flade og et blitz stod ud fra skærmen, mens den karakteristiske skærmsummen lød fra maskinen. Et skinnende lyseblåt interface kom frem på skærmen. Cleo bankede to gange på skærmen igen og utallige ikoner dukkede frem på skærmen. Jeg nåede at se hende prikke på ikonet med titlen “Arkiv”, før flere mappeikoner dukkede op.
“Jeg tænkte, at du måske ville vide lidt om situationen udenfor - vi ved jo ikke hvor længe du har været væk.. Den politiske situation vil sikkert interessere dig, for.. Tja, det kan du vel selv læse. Der findes kopier af alle aviser fra de sidste 12 år i dette arkiv, det burde kunne udfylde en del af det tomrum du har været i.”
Jeg nikkede og gengældte hendes søde smil. Et øjeblik var der noget ved hendes øjne, men jeg nåede ikke at analysere det nærmere før hun kiggede væk. Mens jeg prøvende klikkede mig ind under en tilfældig avis fortsatte Cleo med at fortælle: “Interskærme, som den der, er den bedste og mest udbredte måde at lagre og videregive information på, bare så du ved det.”
En lille ny verden var åbnet for mig, med en masse nyt der skulle opdages. Jeg havde en del der skulle indhentes..
Del 3
Mørke.
Endeløst mørke.
Det var hvad dette land havde været indhyllet i.
Et mørke af sorg, tab og fortvivlelse. Mørket en krig efterlader sig. Og som så mange gange uden hverken sejrsrus eller taberens gråd. Man sagde fra begge fronter, at de havde ”stået lige”, da begge lande var løbet tør for penge og troede, at de havde tabt. Den forrige regering blev selvfølgelig afsat og folket vendt sig mod nye og mere troværdige partier, i håbet om en stærk person der ville hjælpe deres land på rette fod igen. Og det fik de. Desværre.
Arkivet fortalte alt hvad jeg ville vide. Næsten da. Jeg fandt intet om min familie eller mig selv, men på den anden side, hvad havde sandsynlighed også været for det. Cleo var gået ud efter noget te og nogle småkager til os, mens jeg stadig sad og sugede til mig af oplysningerne om fortiden.
Det var spændende stof. Jeg kunne ikke rigtig huske noget om det land jeg havde været fra, om jeg var indfødt i dette land eller om jeg var fra en hel anden verdensdel. Men denne skærm oplyste med stor ivrighed og jeg ville ikke lade nogle af informationerne gå forbi.
Det lod til at landet de sidste mange år havde været regeret af et militaristisk og ultrakonservativt parti der hed Progressionspartiet. De havde sørget for at få genetableret det orden og ro i samfundet som så mange år havde manglet. Der havde været kaos - røverier, vold, mord, massakre og voldtægter. Der var artikler med billeder og overskrifter som fik mig til at føle en underlig og uhyggelig tomhed. Den samme tomhed som når man er sulten. Det gjorde ondt i maven at læse og se hvad dette lands indbyggere havde været udsat for før Regeringen kom til. Til gengæld havde Progressionspartiet også siddet på denne post de sidste 11 år, ingen andre partier var blevet oprettet. Der var et par artikler, tydeligvis fra blade af den mindre lovlige slags ifølge Regeringen, der hentydede at Regeringen havde grupper der konsekvent arbejdede på at forhindre andre partiers opståen og som stoppede dem inden de overhoved kom i gang. Der var også artikler der både hyldede og kritiserede den omfattende maksimering af Regeringens vagtstyrker, som åbenbart var en form for ekstra sikkerhedspoliti, der var mere hårdføre overfor den civile befolkning end det normale gadepoliti. Endnu en gang var der brutale billeder. Billeder fra nogle af de få demonstrationer gennem de sidste par år. Der stod endog, at der på et tidspunkt til en protest, som følge af, at militærets budget for det følgende år endnu en gang overskred grænsen og at der blev færre og færre penge til at bruge i det offentlige, blev indsat rigtige militærtropper. Paralyseringsdronerne, en enhed som der, ud fra hvad artiklen fortalte, åbenbart vistes meget lidt om i offentlighed. Ikke fordi de gjorde det om nogle andre militære enheder, men alligevel plejede der altid at slippe en lille smule ud, det gjorde der ikke i dette tilfælde.
Jeg gyste en smule. Var dette virkelig den verden jeg levede i? Havde jeg været vandt til dette? Havde jeg været en af dem der havde været deres støtter, eller en af deres modstandere? Havde jeg i desperation stemt på dette parti, hvis regering havde forvandlet det krigshærgede og anarkistiske land til en stram og perfektionistisk politistat?
Jeg lænede mig tilbage i den bløde kontorstol og støttede med en mut mine mit hoved på næven mens jeg funderede. Hvordan kunne det være, at Faciliteten havde artikler fra blade der ikke var godkendte af Regeringen? Jeg gik ud fra, at Faciliteten modtog en eller anden form for økonomisk bevilling fra Regeringen, så hvordan ville de tillade at den slags artikler blev spredt på en af deres institutioner? Efter at have læst om dem og dannet mig en nogenlunde troværdig politisk profil af dem gik jeg ud fra, at de ikke ville tage det særlig pænt. Eller måske var artikler bare en del af den tilgængelige information i alle interskærme, selvom det ikke virkede særlig sandsynligt.
I det samme sparkede Cleo døren ind på sin sædvanlige måde og bankede den i bag sig med den fod hun ikke balancere på. Hun grinede til mig fordi jeg smilede af hendes entre. Hun serverede foran mig mens jeg prøvede at formulere spørgsmålet.
”Eh.. Cleo? Hvordan kan det være at I har artikler fra regeringsfjendtlige blade i jeres arkiv? I er vel støttet af Regeringen?”
Hun stivede og drejede resolut om, mens hun stirrede på mig.
”Tja.. Altså.. Overpersonalet vil jo helst ikke ha vi snakker med patienterne om den slags, men.. Jeg ville jo altså være ret nysgerrig efter den slags.”
Jeg nikkede og kiggede opfordrende på hende. Hun sukkede og lod skuldrene falde, hun lod sig falde ned i den anden kontorstol. Hun krydsede sine ben og tog en dyb indånding.
”Altså, Overpersonalet vil helst ikke ha, at I ved det, men I er ikke helt så trygge her som det virker. Regeringen har et godt stykke tid mistænkt stedet her for at være fjendtligt stillet mod Regeringen. De tror, at stedet her er en form for rede for modstandere af Regeringen, de tror vi træner og hjernevasker folk her. På flere måder har de aldrig helt godkendt Facilitetens metoder og det, at Overpersonalet har haft svært ved at tolerere Regerings kontrolbesøg har bare fået dem til at blive mere og mere opmærksomme på os.”
Jeg sank en klump og kløede mit skaldede baghoved. Forbavselsen måtte have været malet i mit ansigt for Cleo fortsatte:
”Men bare rolig, de har indtil videre ikke kunne finde noget grundlag for at nedlægge Faciliteten og det gør de nok heller ikke. Vi er meget forsigtige med alle vores eksperimenter her. Desuden er vi meget vigtige for dem. Det håber vi i hvert fald stadig vi er..”
Hun så sørgmodigt ud af mit vindue. Jeg lyttede, skræmt og underligt nok spændt. Som om det var en god historie. Det som Cleo sad der og fortalte mig kunne betyde, at vi begge var i alvorlig fare. Efter de billeder og artikler jeg havde læst så det ikke ud til at Regeringen tog nogle chancer når de havde en mistanke om modaktivitet.
”Der er soldater her på øen.”, udbrød hun stille, men pludseligt.
”De er stadig i den sydøstlige del, men det bliver de ikke ved med..”
Jeg kunne mærke blodet forsvinde fra ansigtet. De var her altså allerede. Jeg kunne ikke blive, vi måtte væk. Jeg rejste mig hurtigt og tabte min tekop på gulvet så den splintredes i tusind stykker. Jeg så forvirret og overrasket ned på resterne af den.
Cleo havde læst mine tanker.
”Det ville være temmelig dumt at tage herfra. Desuden ville du aldrig kunne komme ud herfra. Vagterne ville stoppe dig inden du nogensinde nåede tæt på udgangen. Der er, som jeg sagde før, sikrest her. Desuden ville de aldrig røre os. Vi er en del af dem. Vi er jo nærmest deres virksomhed, det ville de aldrig gøre..”
Det havde hun jo ret i. Jeg var nødt til at blive, om end mod min vilje.
”Men der er noget vi kan gøre..”, sagde hun.
”Hvilket?”, spurgte jeg ivrigt.
”Du kan jo starte som testperson for noget af vores krigsteknologi..”
Jeg måbede, men nikkede samtidig.
Del 1
Varmen.
Varmen var gudskelov det første jeg følte.
Den kildende fornemmelse i de yderste fingerspidser, den prikkende fornemmelse, som når ens ben er faldet i søvn. Det føltes som en af de dage, da man var barn og man havde været ude at lege i sneen. Den følelse af at komme indenfor og mærke sine lemmer tø når man satte sig på den skoldhede radiator. Den bredte sig, varmen, fra fingerspidserne videre til albuen gennem underarmen. Fra de små led i tæerne til knæene gennem anklerne og skinnebenet. Det var som om mit hjerte vågnede op til dåd efter flere års tung søvn. Selvom jeg ikke reagerede var den samme slags overraskelse, som hvis det havde været en mursten der begyndte at pumpe. Det havde selvfølgelig pumpet hele tiden, men nu gik det hurtigere, jeg kunne mærke det. Det mærkedes som om der var en gammeldags slagmark i mit bryst. De gamle støbejernskanoner fyrede deres ladninger af med en dump eksplosion og rekylen tvang dem tilbage i en rapid med alligevel doven bevægelse, før den næste kollega ved siden af gentog proceduren. Efterhånden udviklede det sig til et maskingevær af en tung kaliber, der taktfast affyrede sine skud. På den måde hurtigere og hurtigere.
Min hørelse vendte også så småt tilbage. Jeg kunne høre rindende vand. Det raslede og knitrede som en skralle. Lige så stille vendte følelserne i mine muskler også tilbage, det føltes som mikroskopiske nåle der borede sig ind i min hud, hver gang en vandstråle ramte mig.
Jeg følte mig som en gammel fabrik, en der havde været ude af drift i utrolig mange, og så - pludselig - er der nogen der tænder for alle maskinerne og fyrer op under hver en kedel. Hele min krop begyndte at indfinde sig i sin rytme. Jeg var som en tom skal. Jeg føltes helt tom. Det var som om jeg ikke havde fået noget at spise i evigheder. Sulten begyndte at gnave i mig, som ville den spise mig indefra. En spasme gik gennem min nakke - jeg havde lyst til at gøre et kast med hovedet. Vandet strømmede ned over mig, lysten til spasmer spredte sig. Min hånd gjorde pludselig et spjæt, så min skulder, mit ben.
Svage råb. Langt væk - som et tågehorn gennem den tykke dis. Det lød næsten som om nogen havde reguleret lydens hastighed.
En pludselig lettelse gik gennem min krop og alt blev koldt - koldt som et hvidt og frossent ishelvede. Et lag af mig forsvandt, en ham der faldt til jorden. Jeg følte mig med et kold og nøgen.
Mine hænder, der var foldet over kors for mit bryst, faldt ned langs siden. Et glimt af balance strejfede min bevidsthed. Et glimt om balance ude af kontrol.
Jeg faldt forover.
Mit syn gjorde en smuk gestus; fra den totale mørke, gik det til en himmelsk strålekrans. Et guddommeligt blitz, der svækkede mit syn mere end det var i forvejen. Dog skimtede jeg de utydelige konturer af skikkelsen der greb mig. Det flagrede omkring dens fødder, som var den en engel der bar en kridhvid kåbe. Skikkelsen vendte sit hoved og råbte noget utydeligt til nogen i den anden del af det rum, vi åbenbart befandt os i. Skikkelsernes hvide kroppe stod nu mere frem og farverne omkring mig blev også mere klare.
Da mærkede jeg en umenneskelig træthed der overvældede mig. Eller var det en træthed? Det var som om nogen slukkede for mig. Jeg lå på et gulv der undergravede min underbevidste teori om, at det umuligt kunne blive koldere i denne verden end den kulde jeg følte. Hele min krop rystede, smerterne gjorde ikke noget. Engleskikkelsen holdt om mit hoved. Holdt det oppe fra jorden. Den råbte panisk efter nogen. Flere skikkelser nåede lige at komme til, inden for mit synsfelt, før jeg besvimede.
¤
Kulde.
Nøgen.
Ny.
Hvor var jeg? Var jeg død? Det var jeg vist ikke. Det ville også ligne noget af en kliche. Det virkede som om jeg sad i en sky. Alt var blødt og hvidt. Alt, nærmest skinnede. Hele min krop prikkede stadig. Jeg havde åbnet mine øjne forsigtigt og skånsomt. Alligevel var jeg ikke forberedt på, hvad mit blik ville møde.
Et hav. Et smukt hav der bredte sig i så langt jeg kunne se. De tusindvis af blågrønne bølger havde gråhvidt skum på toppene og forsvandt, for derefter at dukke op igen lidt efter. De gik op og ned. En evig puls. Den mørke blårgrålige himmel over havene, så ud til at være i oprør. En byge var vist på vej. En sær glans lå over denne horisont. Det lykkedes mig at få løftet min hånd op og række ud efter den. Hånden ramte glas. Horisonten var bag et vindue. Jeg lå i et værelse. I en seng. Mine øjne spærredes op i overraskelse.
”En herlig udsigt, ikke sandt?”
Det gibbede i mig. Jeg drejede hovedet 180 grader og så lige ind i øjnene på et andet menneske.
Det var en midaldrende mand i en hvid kittel der sad på en kontorstol. Han havde smalle, firkantede briller på og en enkel, kort lok af hans ellers noget så nydeligt til side friserede, mørke hår, hang ned i panden på ham. Han sad foroverbøjet imod mig, med albuen hvilende på den ene knæ, i hans ene hånd havde han en papirblok med tilhørende kuglepen og en filmappe.
”Du fik faktisk et af de bedste værelser vi har for tiden.”, sagde han venligt. ”Jeg er Dr. Ivar Munk Højgård og skal være din primære kontaktperson til overpersonalet.”
Jeg nåede lige, at lade mit hoved tippe lidt på skrå inden han talte videre.
”Ja, du kan jo nok ikke fortælle mig dit navn eftersom vi har formodninger om, at du lider af hukommelsestab, passer det?”
Jeg havde ikke den fjerteste ide om, hvad jeg kunne hedde. Jeg havde ikke engang tænkt over det. Så, hvad manden her sagde måtte passe. Jeg kiggede stadigt intenst på ham, mens jeg nikkede forsigtigt.
”Aha, ja.”, sagde han og noterede noget på sin blok. Da han kiggede op, bemærkede han mit blik. ”Du har intet at være bekymret for, min ven. Vi vil dig kun det bedste her, det kan du regne med.” Hans stemme var munter og opkvikkende. ”Vi skal nok tage os af dig.” Han gjorde en kort notits før han sagde: ”Vi kan desværre ikke hjælpe dig med hensyn til dit navn eller dit hjem. Men du skal vide, at vi har de bedste teknikere på sagen døgnet rundt. Af hensyn til din sikkerhed kan jeg desværre heller ikke fortælle dig, hvor du blev fundet, men bare rolig, det skal du nok få at vide senere.” Jeg nikkede langsomt, selvom jeg ikke helt var med på, hvad han mente. Han skulle lige til at åbne munden igen, da det kort bankede på den ene af dørene i det letblårlige lokale, hvori vi befandt os. ” Ja, det er sikkert hende jeg lige skulle til at fortælle dig om. Kom ind!”, sagde han samtidig med at han rejste sig fra stolen. En kvinde åbnede forsigtigt døren og kiggede ind. ”Kom ind, Cleo.”, sagde doktoren med det mørke hår. Hun åbnede døren helt og trådte ind med en bakke balancerende på den ene hånd. Hun var også i en hvid kittel. Hun stillede bakken på et lille bord inden for døren og vendte sig mod doktoren og mig, alt imens hun strøg en tot af det rødblonde hår, der havde forvildet sig ned i hendes ansigt, tilbage bag øret. Hun smilede et fregnet og kækt smil til mig, mens doktoren præsenterede hende: ”Dette er din sygeplejerske Cleo, hun er en af de nye på vores facilitet. Hun kommer fra sydøerne og, jah, resten kan du vel selv fortælle, ikke sandt, Cleo?” Hun kiggede opmærksomt over på ham og nikkede venligt. ” Du kan give mig besked om et eller andet gennem Cleo, hvis jeg ikke selv er til stede. Det var vidst det.”, sagde han og henvendte sig derefter mere lavmælt til Cleo: ” Hvis du nu foretager basisundersøgelser, så husk at arkiver notaterne i D8736-14´s journal. Og du kender vejen til mediarummet? Det er ovre i blok 3.20, vinge 4. Og du kan huske dit logon? Fint, så vil jeg overlade resten til jer to.” Han vendte sig om og nikkede smilede til mig, før han gik ud af den samme dør som Cleo for få minutter siden var kommet ind af.
Hun vendte sig over imod mig, efter at havde fuldt doktoren med hovedet. ”Ja, jeg hedder jo så Cleo og indtil vi finder ud af dit rigtige navn hedder du jo så officielt D87. Jeg ville nok egentlig kalde dig noget andet og mindre kedeligt, men så skal jeg lige ha` lov af overpersonalet og så videre.” Hun stod med den ene hånd i siden imens hun forklarede. ”Vi var ikke helt sikre på, hvordan du klarede den, så jeg bliver nødt til først at teste om alle dine vigtigste organer fungerer som de skal.” Hun tog et lille stetoskop frem fra en marineblå værktøjstaske hun havde siddende på sit bælte, om kitlen. Du hun nænsomt placerede det på mit bryst, kom en let version af den kulde der lige var begyndt lige så stille at fortage sig. Det gav et ryk i mig og spjættede også lettede forfjamsket. ”Det må du undskylde, jeg sku jo ha gjort det varmt først.”, grinede hun undskyldende.
Efter at have undersøgt hjerte, lunger og reflekser mente Cleo, at der også skulle være et øjeneftersyn. Hun sad nu på kontorstolen og tjekkede at hendes lille lygte virkede. ”Bare se mig ind i øjnene.”, sagde hun. Det havde jeg intet imod. Hun havde kønne øjne. De var grålige, men stadig lyse og når hun snakkede lignede det nogle gange, at hun missede op imod solen, fordi hendes kinder lavede den samme trækning, når hun samtidig smilede. Og det gjorde hun. Hun noterede nogle ting ned og sagde: ”Det var vist det”, og smilede atter før hun gik ud af døren igen.
Men det var desværre langt fra overstået.
del 2
Lys.
Så forfærdelig meget lys.
Som en bombe der falder for fødderne af en.
En hætte af træthed var trukket ned over mit hoved da jeg vågnede. Jeg blinkede med øjnene et par gange for at vende mig til det kraftige lys der åbenbart skinnede mig lige ind i ansigtet. Jeg følte mig ør og sulten. Jeg vidste, at Cleo nok ville komme med min morgenmad om cirka et kvarter, ifølge det lille, enkle ur over gangdøren. Det havde hun fortalt mig i går.
Dagen før, efter min undersøgelse, var jeg igen faldet i søvn. Da jeg havde vågnet et godt stykke tid senere sad Cleo på kontorstolen i mit værelse og drejede rundt om sig selv mens hun sad og tegnede på sine notatblok. Hun havde grint til mig i forlegenhed over hendes lidt barnlige optræden og undskyldt. Men det gjorde ikke noget for mig.
Hun havde spurgt mig om jeg havde sovet godt og om jeg var interesseret i noget morgenmad? Mens jeg så sad og spiste fortalte hun om sit hjem på Sydøerne, om hendes opvækst og hendes familie. Det tog det meste af dagen. Men det var rart, så det gjorde ikke noget. Jeg kunne ikke lade være med at ærgre mig over at jeg ikke selv kunne tale med om emnet. Jeg kunne jo intet huske om min familie. Hvis jeg da stadig havde en. Når jeg prøvede at genkalde nogen minder - i en hvilken som helst form - var det som om sengeklædets kulør havde brændt sig fast på min nethinde. Der var rent og hvidt. Som et nyvasket hospitalsgulv. Jeg kunne intet huske, alt var renset væk. Og alligevel vidste jeg at en seng var en seng og en stol var en stol. Til min store glæde var mestrede jeg også stadig talens brug. Så de mest materielle og basale ting var stadig noget jeg kendte til.
Det var ikke noget man lige vende sig til.
Jeg lå og gned mig lidt i øjnene. En sitren i halsen fortalte mig, at jeg skulle gabe. En lang syngende lyd stod ud af mig.
“Godmorgen.” Cleo stod ovre ved gangdøren og lukkede den i med det ene ben mens hun rakte bakken med min morgenmad over imod mig. “Værsgo, der er vist en der lige er stået op, hva?” “Jah..”, gabte jeg søvnigt.” I går var nok en lidt kedelig dag for dig. Så i dag har overpersonalet besluttet at du skal have adgang til din egen interskærm.”, fortalte Cleo entusiastisk. “Nej nej, det var skam ikke kedeligt. Jeg hygge mig meget.”, svarede jeg. Hun smilede og sagde:” Tak, i lige måde, men nu har overpersonalet altså stillet den til rådighed og det sker ikke for alle. Så en smule taknemlighed ville nok være på sin plads.” Jeg nikkede og kiggede udenfor, ud af mit vindue. Vejret var nærmest det modsatte af i går. I dag skinnede solen og et par få skyer konkurrerede med solen om opmærksomheden ved at lægge sig ind foran den. Havet var rolig og himlen havde en kølig og frisk blå farve.
Overpersonalet havde indtil videre ellers ikke vist sig fra deres mest gavmilde side. Jeg havde flere gange spurgt Cleo om jeg ikke kunne få lov til at spadsere rundt på Facilitetens område, men hver gang var svaret det samme. At overpersonale endnu ikke havde givet mig udgangstilladelse og at jeg derfor altid var i mit rum. Heldigvis var Cleo der også så ofte hun kunne, med mindre hun skulle arkivere nogle målinger, renskrive noter eller viderebringe oplysninger til nogle af laboratorierne.
“Jeg smutter lige ud og henter den til dig. Det tager lige to sekunder.” Hun vendte sig mens hun sagde det og trippede ud af døren.
Interskærm? Den slags mente jeg ikke at kunne huske. Jeg havde en ide om hvad et fjernsyn var og gættede på at denne Interskærm nok var noget i samme retning. Jeg sad et stykke tid og lod atter blikket falde på den betagende udsigt. Det var der jeg så hen det meste af tiden, og så selvfølgelig på Cleo, alt imens jeg lod tankerne flyve. Jeg glædede mig til endelig at få noget forandring. Noget mere interessant, for ærlig talt bliver, selv en smuk udsigt, efter et par dage en smule kedelig.
Jeg kiggede væk fra vinduet og over imod døren, eftersom jeg kunne høre, hvad der højest sandsynligt var Cleo, nærme sig døren til mit værelse. Samtidig steg en svagt knirkende lyd sig ude fra gangen. Det bankede på døren og Cleo stak sit smilende, fregnede hoved ind af døren.
“Giver du mig lige en hånd med den her?”, spurgte hun en anelse forpustet. “Den er altså rimelig tung.”
Jeg sprang op og hjalp hende med at bakse den tunge genstand ind på værelset. Det var en kæmpe plade, tyk som en overarm og med en længde som en voksen mand, der lå lodret. Den stod på en piedestal, med hjul, og var hævet så den befandt sig et sted mellem ens hofte og hovedbund, når man stod foran den. Cleo stod med hænderne på lårene og pustede ud.
“Tak for hjælpen, den er så til dig!”, kvidrede hun mens hun strakte sig. “Overpersonalet har besluttet at tildele dig denne interskærm til midlertidig tidsfordriv, mens de prøver at finde oplysninger om dig og din familie.”
Jeg takkede og kiggede nærmere på den strømlinede, sølvskinnende kasse. Jeg lod mine hænder glide over de afrundede kanter, stålet var køligt mod min hud. Jeg gik undersøgende rundt om kassen i håb om at finde en startknap eller lignende. Cleo undertrykte et fnis og sagde: “Lad mig vise dig hvordan den fungerer.”
Hun stillede sig foran den ene af de to store flader og placerede sin hånd, med spredte fingre, på midten af fladen og sagde: “2242-Cleo V.- blok 4” Et par næsten usynlige sprækker, på hver side af Cleos håndflade, tæt på kanterne åbnede sig og løftede en tyk stålplade om på den anden side af kassen. Det skete med en undertrygt teknisk summen og efter pladen var flyttet, blev en sort skærm afsløret. Den skinnede som en opal i dunkle nuancer. Jeg kunne med det samme fornemme at der bag denne mørke facade skjulte sig mere end man kunne forestille sig.
Cleo prikkede med pegefingeren i midten af den mørke flade og et blitz stod ud fra skærmen, mens den karakteristiske skærmsummen lød fra maskinen. Et skinnende lyseblåt interface kom frem på skærmen. Cleo bankede to gange på skærmen igen og utallige ikoner dukkede frem på skærmen. Jeg nåede at se hende prikke på ikonet med titlen “Arkiv”, før flere mappeikoner dukkede op.
“Jeg tænkte, at du måske ville vide lidt om situationen udenfor - vi ved jo ikke hvor længe du har været væk.. Den politiske situation vil sikkert interessere dig, for.. Tja, det kan du vel selv læse. Der findes kopier af alle aviser fra de sidste 12 år i dette arkiv, det burde kunne udfylde en del af det tomrum du har været i.”
Jeg nikkede og gengældte hendes søde smil. Et øjeblik var der noget ved hendes øjne, men jeg nåede ikke at analysere det nærmere før hun kiggede væk. Mens jeg prøvende klikkede mig ind under en tilfældig avis fortsatte Cleo med at fortælle: “Interskærme, som den der, er den bedste og mest udbredte måde at lagre og videregive information på, bare så du ved det.”
En lille ny verden var åbnet for mig, med en masse nyt der skulle opdages. Jeg havde en del der skulle indhentes..
Del 3
Mørke.
Endeløst mørke.
Det var hvad dette land havde været indhyllet i.
Et mørke af sorg, tab og fortvivlelse. Mørket en krig efterlader sig. Og som så mange gange uden hverken sejrsrus eller taberens gråd. Man sagde fra begge fronter, at de havde ”stået lige”, da begge lande var løbet tør for penge og troede, at de havde tabt. Den forrige regering blev selvfølgelig afsat og folket vendt sig mod nye og mere troværdige partier, i håbet om en stærk person der ville hjælpe deres land på rette fod igen. Og det fik de. Desværre.
Arkivet fortalte alt hvad jeg ville vide. Næsten da. Jeg fandt intet om min familie eller mig selv, men på den anden side, hvad havde sandsynlighed også været for det. Cleo var gået ud efter noget te og nogle småkager til os, mens jeg stadig sad og sugede til mig af oplysningerne om fortiden.
Det var spændende stof. Jeg kunne ikke rigtig huske noget om det land jeg havde været fra, om jeg var indfødt i dette land eller om jeg var fra en hel anden verdensdel. Men denne skærm oplyste med stor ivrighed og jeg ville ikke lade nogle af informationerne gå forbi.
Det lod til at landet de sidste mange år havde været regeret af et militaristisk og ultrakonservativt parti der hed Progressionspartiet. De havde sørget for at få genetableret det orden og ro i samfundet som så mange år havde manglet. Der havde været kaos - røverier, vold, mord, massakre og voldtægter. Der var artikler med billeder og overskrifter som fik mig til at føle en underlig og uhyggelig tomhed. Den samme tomhed som når man er sulten. Det gjorde ondt i maven at læse og se hvad dette lands indbyggere havde været udsat for før Regeringen kom til. Til gengæld havde Progressionspartiet også siddet på denne post de sidste 11 år, ingen andre partier var blevet oprettet. Der var et par artikler, tydeligvis fra blade af den mindre lovlige slags ifølge Regeringen, der hentydede at Regeringen havde grupper der konsekvent arbejdede på at forhindre andre partiers opståen og som stoppede dem inden de overhoved kom i gang. Der var også artikler der både hyldede og kritiserede den omfattende maksimering af Regeringens vagtstyrker, som åbenbart var en form for ekstra sikkerhedspoliti, der var mere hårdføre overfor den civile befolkning end det normale gadepoliti. Endnu en gang var der brutale billeder. Billeder fra nogle af de få demonstrationer gennem de sidste par år. Der stod endog, at der på et tidspunkt til en protest, som følge af, at militærets budget for det følgende år endnu en gang overskred grænsen og at der blev færre og færre penge til at bruge i det offentlige, blev indsat rigtige militærtropper. Paralyseringsdronerne, en enhed som der, ud fra hvad artiklen fortalte, åbenbart vistes meget lidt om i offentlighed. Ikke fordi de gjorde det om nogle andre militære enheder, men alligevel plejede der altid at slippe en lille smule ud, det gjorde der ikke i dette tilfælde.
Jeg gyste en smule. Var dette virkelig den verden jeg levede i? Havde jeg været vandt til dette? Havde jeg været en af dem der havde været deres støtter, eller en af deres modstandere? Havde jeg i desperation stemt på dette parti, hvis regering havde forvandlet det krigshærgede og anarkistiske land til en stram og perfektionistisk politistat?
Jeg lænede mig tilbage i den bløde kontorstol og støttede med en mut mine mit hoved på næven mens jeg funderede. Hvordan kunne det være, at Faciliteten havde artikler fra blade der ikke var godkendte af Regeringen? Jeg gik ud fra, at Faciliteten modtog en eller anden form for økonomisk bevilling fra Regeringen, så hvordan ville de tillade at den slags artikler blev spredt på en af deres institutioner? Efter at have læst om dem og dannet mig en nogenlunde troværdig politisk profil af dem gik jeg ud fra, at de ikke ville tage det særlig pænt. Eller måske var artikler bare en del af den tilgængelige information i alle interskærme, selvom det ikke virkede særlig sandsynligt.
I det samme sparkede Cleo døren ind på sin sædvanlige måde og bankede den i bag sig med den fod hun ikke balancere på. Hun grinede til mig fordi jeg smilede af hendes entre. Hun serverede foran mig mens jeg prøvede at formulere spørgsmålet.
”Eh.. Cleo? Hvordan kan det være at I har artikler fra regeringsfjendtlige blade i jeres arkiv? I er vel støttet af Regeringen?”
Hun stivede og drejede resolut om, mens hun stirrede på mig.
”Tja.. Altså.. Overpersonalet vil jo helst ikke ha vi snakker med patienterne om den slags, men.. Jeg ville jo altså være ret nysgerrig efter den slags.”
Jeg nikkede og kiggede opfordrende på hende. Hun sukkede og lod skuldrene falde, hun lod sig falde ned i den anden kontorstol. Hun krydsede sine ben og tog en dyb indånding.
”Altså, Overpersonalet vil helst ikke ha, at I ved det, men I er ikke helt så trygge her som det virker. Regeringen har et godt stykke tid mistænkt stedet her for at være fjendtligt stillet mod Regeringen. De tror, at stedet her er en form for rede for modstandere af Regeringen, de tror vi træner og hjernevasker folk her. På flere måder har de aldrig helt godkendt Facilitetens metoder og det, at Overpersonalet har haft svært ved at tolerere Regerings kontrolbesøg har bare fået dem til at blive mere og mere opmærksomme på os.”
Jeg sank en klump og kløede mit skaldede baghoved. Forbavselsen måtte have været malet i mit ansigt for Cleo fortsatte:
”Men bare rolig, de har indtil videre ikke kunne finde noget grundlag for at nedlægge Faciliteten og det gør de nok heller ikke. Vi er meget forsigtige med alle vores eksperimenter her. Desuden er vi meget vigtige for dem. Det håber vi i hvert fald stadig vi er..”
Hun så sørgmodigt ud af mit vindue. Jeg lyttede, skræmt og underligt nok spændt. Som om det var en god historie. Det som Cleo sad der og fortalte mig kunne betyde, at vi begge var i alvorlig fare. Efter de billeder og artikler jeg havde læst så det ikke ud til at Regeringen tog nogle chancer når de havde en mistanke om modaktivitet.
”Der er soldater her på øen.”, udbrød hun stille, men pludseligt.
”De er stadig i den sydøstlige del, men det bliver de ikke ved med..”
Jeg kunne mærke blodet forsvinde fra ansigtet. De var her altså allerede. Jeg kunne ikke blive, vi måtte væk. Jeg rejste mig hurtigt og tabte min tekop på gulvet så den splintredes i tusind stykker. Jeg så forvirret og overrasket ned på resterne af den.
Cleo havde læst mine tanker.
”Det ville være temmelig dumt at tage herfra. Desuden ville du aldrig kunne komme ud herfra. Vagterne ville stoppe dig inden du nogensinde nåede tæt på udgangen. Der er, som jeg sagde før, sikrest her. Desuden ville de aldrig røre os. Vi er en del af dem. Vi er jo nærmest deres virksomhed, det ville de aldrig gøre..”
Det havde hun jo ret i. Jeg var nødt til at blive, om end mod min vilje.
”Men der er noget vi kan gøre..”, sagde hun.
”Hvilket?”, spurgte jeg ivrigt.
”Du kan jo starte som testperson for noget af vores krigsteknologi..”
Jeg måbede, men nikkede samtidig.
Friday, March 28, 2008
Torpen
Gav mig selv en opgave: skriv en novelle omkring EN sætning du får af en anden person, sætningen skal være den første i novellen og ligge grund for hele historien. Mads gav mig sætningen og det er ikke ligefrem en sætning som en fantasy forfatter som mig kan stille meget op med men jeg prøvede. Så her kommer: Torpen. (Ja det skal sgu være et P - but dont ask why)
Torpen
At sige farvel til et arbejde bare fordi man har fået en ide der ikke vil forsvinde ud af hovedet er ikke ganske ligetil – særligt ikke hvis man ikke har den fjerneste anelse om hvad det betyder i praksis.
”Tag livet som det kommer” sagde den naive mand, ”lev i nuet, glem datiden og luk øjnene for fremtiden”
Sådan tænker nogen mennesker indtil de rent faktisk skal stå ved den ideologi, så vil de pludselig hellere have hus, fast arbejde, en lille kone og et par børn der lejer i rækkehusets have. Ja ideologier er bestemt noget der kommer og går som fire toget. Kun de mest stupide og hårdnakkede folk kan finde på at føre en så snævertsynet ideologi ud i livet, kun en tåbe vil give alt væk for en chance de har ventet på, uden at tænke på hvordan de skal leve i morgen. Kun en tåbe kunne finde på den slags, så det gør vil mig til en tåbe.
Torpen Hansen, 32 og arbejdede i en stor kontorvirksomhed i midtbyen, du kender typen. Typen der nægter at blive voksen, typen forsøger at gøre ethvert øjeblik lidt sjovere for sig selv og sine medmennesker. Han var ikke nogen dum mand, nej han var sgu intelligent, han var firmaets stjerne og jonglerede med kunder i million klassen før frokost. Han så aldrig særlig serøst på tingene og hans frimodige adfærd havde fået ham på fornavn med nogen af de rigeste mennesker i landet. Men han nød ikke arbejdet, han nød ikke den gode løn og han nød knap nok den nye Jaguar han lige havde købt. Okay han nød godt nok bilen, men han nød ikke den måde han havde tjent den på.
Ser i Torpen havde en drøm, ikke en fuldstændig latterlig drøm men alligevel en rimelig forstyrret drøm. Torpen ville ind i fremmedlegionen, ikke fordi han kunne lide vold eller havde været specielt glad i hans værnepligts periode, men der var et eller andet ved fremmed legionen der bare fik det til at gibbe i ham. Gennem årene var Fremmedlegionen blevet en slags besættelse for Torpen den stakkel, han vidste alt om dem. Han kunne deres operationer i hovedet vidste hvor de var udstationeret og kunne navnende på alle ledende officerer i legionen. Så skete det en dag at han fik en opringning fra en højtstående officer i fremmelegionen, om det var skæbnen der spillede ham et puds, eller om en eller anden der kendte hans drøm havde trukket i nogle tråde ved Torpen stadig ikke. Men hvad værre eller bedre er endte Torpen i fremmedlegionens klør. Mudderet, varmen og solen tog næsten livet af den stakkels Torpen, men også kun næsten og hvad der ikke slår dig ihjel gør dig stærkere som man siger. Torpen blev stærkere, han var bestemt ikke den bedste men han var nu i den rigtige ende af skalaen, så efter en længere træningsperiode endte på slagmarken. Han var den anonyme soldat der kæmpede for en andens hær, der kæmpede for andres idealer i andres lande. Hvis jeg skal sige sandheden så er det ikke så glorværdigt at været lejesoldat som man skulle tro. Lønnen er ikke ligefrem fremragende, maden er ringe, risikoen er stor, fritiden er begrænset og vennerne derhjemme har tit svært ved at holde kontakten. Så det er derfor du læser denne besked som Torpen sidder og skriver et sted langt hjemmefra i en kold nat i et ellers varmt land. Cyperspace skal rumme min sidste besked her i livet, vi skal nemlig i kamp i morgen. Hvis vi vinder så forsvinder jeg for et livs penge, hvis vi taber, så forsvinder jeg bare.
Torpen - salgschef, soldat, savnet.
Torpen
At sige farvel til et arbejde bare fordi man har fået en ide der ikke vil forsvinde ud af hovedet er ikke ganske ligetil – særligt ikke hvis man ikke har den fjerneste anelse om hvad det betyder i praksis.
”Tag livet som det kommer” sagde den naive mand, ”lev i nuet, glem datiden og luk øjnene for fremtiden”
Sådan tænker nogen mennesker indtil de rent faktisk skal stå ved den ideologi, så vil de pludselig hellere have hus, fast arbejde, en lille kone og et par børn der lejer i rækkehusets have. Ja ideologier er bestemt noget der kommer og går som fire toget. Kun de mest stupide og hårdnakkede folk kan finde på at føre en så snævertsynet ideologi ud i livet, kun en tåbe vil give alt væk for en chance de har ventet på, uden at tænke på hvordan de skal leve i morgen. Kun en tåbe kunne finde på den slags, så det gør vil mig til en tåbe.
Torpen Hansen, 32 og arbejdede i en stor kontorvirksomhed i midtbyen, du kender typen. Typen der nægter at blive voksen, typen forsøger at gøre ethvert øjeblik lidt sjovere for sig selv og sine medmennesker. Han var ikke nogen dum mand, nej han var sgu intelligent, han var firmaets stjerne og jonglerede med kunder i million klassen før frokost. Han så aldrig særlig serøst på tingene og hans frimodige adfærd havde fået ham på fornavn med nogen af de rigeste mennesker i landet. Men han nød ikke arbejdet, han nød ikke den gode løn og han nød knap nok den nye Jaguar han lige havde købt. Okay han nød godt nok bilen, men han nød ikke den måde han havde tjent den på.
Ser i Torpen havde en drøm, ikke en fuldstændig latterlig drøm men alligevel en rimelig forstyrret drøm. Torpen ville ind i fremmedlegionen, ikke fordi han kunne lide vold eller havde været specielt glad i hans værnepligts periode, men der var et eller andet ved fremmed legionen der bare fik det til at gibbe i ham. Gennem årene var Fremmedlegionen blevet en slags besættelse for Torpen den stakkel, han vidste alt om dem. Han kunne deres operationer i hovedet vidste hvor de var udstationeret og kunne navnende på alle ledende officerer i legionen. Så skete det en dag at han fik en opringning fra en højtstående officer i fremmelegionen, om det var skæbnen der spillede ham et puds, eller om en eller anden der kendte hans drøm havde trukket i nogle tråde ved Torpen stadig ikke. Men hvad værre eller bedre er endte Torpen i fremmedlegionens klør. Mudderet, varmen og solen tog næsten livet af den stakkels Torpen, men også kun næsten og hvad der ikke slår dig ihjel gør dig stærkere som man siger. Torpen blev stærkere, han var bestemt ikke den bedste men han var nu i den rigtige ende af skalaen, så efter en længere træningsperiode endte på slagmarken. Han var den anonyme soldat der kæmpede for en andens hær, der kæmpede for andres idealer i andres lande. Hvis jeg skal sige sandheden så er det ikke så glorværdigt at været lejesoldat som man skulle tro. Lønnen er ikke ligefrem fremragende, maden er ringe, risikoen er stor, fritiden er begrænset og vennerne derhjemme har tit svært ved at holde kontakten. Så det er derfor du læser denne besked som Torpen sidder og skriver et sted langt hjemmefra i en kold nat i et ellers varmt land. Cyperspace skal rumme min sidste besked her i livet, vi skal nemlig i kamp i morgen. Hvis vi vinder så forsvinder jeg for et livs penge, hvis vi taber, så forsvinder jeg bare.
Torpen - salgschef, soldat, savnet.
Monday, March 24, 2008
Control part 15
År: 3590
Dag: tredje dag i den anden måned efter jordens tidsregning.
Vigtig hastemeddelelse til K83
Kodeord: MaRiO18756
Raport: Den tredje af de fire store har passeret overvågningsstationen på C48 i retning mod K83. Rygter går på at den fjerde også er ombord, evakuer omgående planeten.
Update: Det er bekræftet: den fjerde er med. Evakuer omgående planeten.
E17 var placeret i en lille beholder med kurs mod K83. Alle bevægelses funktioner var sat på standby, men hans net-oplink og centrale intelligenscenter kørte stadig. Selvom E17s krop befandt sig i en lille beholder, befandt hans bevidsthed sig 200 meter derfra i et lille mødelokale, nærmere bestemt i en robot på 10 cm på et stort rundt bord. Robotten blev styret trådløst af E17, den havde både visuelt og audit in- og output. Der var 2 andre lignende robotter på bordet og ved siden af stod en mand i en lysebrun trenchcoat, han var ubarberet og havde en gammel cowboyhat på.
”Det var den besked vi opsnappede kort før vi gik ind på den anden jagtmark.” sagde Manden med cowboyhatten, der var bedre kendt som general Smith, den sidste menneskelige general der var aktiv på slagmarken. Han havde skaffet sig et ry som en frygtløs soldat der traf beslutninger per intuition, og det havde han intil videre haft stor succes med. Hans succes og popularitet havde skaffet ham en plads som den fjerde general, og den eneste menneskelige i den lille gruppe.
”Den anden jagtmark?” spurgte en af de 2 andre robotter på bordet uforstående. E17 foretog en hurtig skanning af robotten, det var ISS48 der styrede robotten. Intelegent Strategy System 48 var Kongerigets bedste strategiske AI og var det første medlem af de fire generaler. ISS48 eller ISS i daglig tale, havde for nylig modtaget en opgradering, men ved samme lejlighed havde den mistet nogle personligheds data og kunne derfor ikke længere forstå alle Smiths slang udtryk og talemåder.
”Han mener underverdenen.” forklarede E17 der havde meget erfaring med Smiths slang.
Underverdenen var en slags parallel dimension der i visse knudepunkter eller revner, løb sammen med vores dimension. Underverdenen var fyldte præcis det samme som vores egen dimension, men tid og rum går hurtigere på den anden side. Forskerne havde endnu ikke fundet et endegyldigt svar på hvordan det hang sammen, men faktum var at ved at krydse over og rejse igennem underverdenen kunne man krydse en halv galakse på 48 timer. Underverdenen var tom for levende væsner og planeter af betydning, derfor blev den også brugt som losseplads.
”De ved i kommer. Vil det ændre noget ved den nuværende mission?” spurgte den sidste robot på bordet med forvrænget stemme. Robotten blev styret at ”M” et kriminelt supergeni hvis identitet var skjult selv for de 3 andre. Ingen vidste med sikkerhed hvorfor han hjalp kongeriget, men hans strategiske evner havde vundet mangt et slag og han havde altid information om fjenden som ingen andre kunne komme i nærheden af.
”Nej.” svarede ISS prompte, vores styrke er stadig klart overlegen og vi vil ankomme til destinationen før beboerne kan nå at evakuere. Er du kommet frem til samme facit E17?”
E17 afsluttede sine beregninger og svarede: Ifølge M så er fjenden ledet af Meliaki fra Oriwa, han er kendt for at gå højt op i de civiles sikkerhed og på baggrund af disse informationer kan planen forbedres betydentligt.” E17 havde fået plads blandt de 4 på grund af en uhyggelig præcis evne til at udregne fjendes reaktioner på enhver situation, desuden var han leder af den sidste deling ECU-E enheder der havde fået tilnavnet pilespidsen. Alle planer og tegninger over ECU-E enhederne var gået tabt da ECU fabrikken på G59 sprang i luften for efterhånden mange år siden. På trods af at både F og G enheder var i produktion så havde de ikke samme kvalitet som den nu lille flok E enheder. En del af E enhedernes styrke var at de havde en personlighed, denne lille produktions fejl blev styrket og der blev vagt en patriotisk ånd i alle enhederne. Denne patriotisme for kongeriget, det sublime design og den fabelagtige træning havde skabt de mest frygtede soldater i de kendte galakser.
Officielt var E17 ikke indblandet i planlægning, men eftersom de 4 generaler var en privat klub og intet officielt havde med kongeriget at gøre, så var E17 alligevel blevet optaget og både ISS og M havde nok indflydelse til at ændre taktikker sådan at det var E17s planer der blev ført igennem og ikke planerne fra den tilfældige officer der eller skulle have ledet slagets gang.
”Et overflade foto af planeten har afsløret 9 klasse D rumskibe til at transportere den civile del af Pearl hvis en nødsituation indtræffer. ” E17 sendte et trådløst signal af sted og straks kom et hologram af planeten til syne, med en blinkende markør der hvor de store rumskibe var placeret. ”Jeg forslår at vi sender 20 IU’er (IU = Infiltration Unit) af sted før hovedstyrken så de er på planeten når vi ankommer med resten af styrken. Efter deres ankomst skal de uset skaffe sig kontrol over de 9 fly og når kampen så går i gang og de civile går ombord så tager IU’erne
kontrollen over flyende og skaffer os dermed omkring 9,000 gidsler.”
”Med vores viden om Meliakis psyke virker det derfor sandsynligt at han vil overgive sig og kampstyrken imod frigivelse af gidslerne.” afsluttede ISS.
”En genistreg af en plan” sagde M i sin sædvanlige rolige forvrængede stemme.
Smith nikkede langsomt i erkendelse af planens genialitet og gik over mod døren. ”Jeg informere de rigtige personer, når vi ankommer, vil alt være udført sådan som planen nu lyder. Jeg må gå nu da jeg skal bruge noget søvn før slaget”
ISS lukkede straks sin robot ned og vendte tilbage til hvad den nu havde været i gang med at udregne inden mødets begyndelse. E17 og M blev tilbage i deres små marionetter.
”Endnu en genial plan.” sagde M, da E17 ikke svarede fortsatte han. ”Som planen står nu overlever der næppe nogen civile, du kender kongerigets politik omkring Pearl sympatisører. De vil alle sammen blive henrettet, bekymre det dem slet ikke?”
”Jeg er ikke programmeret til at bekymre mig om fjendens civile, jeg er programmeret til at sejre.” Med de ord trak E17 sig tilbage til sin rigtige krop og lod hans organisme gå i dvale.
”Aha” sukkede M’s stemme i robotten, mens den stirrede på E17’s livløse robot.
M’s robot var stadig aktiv da Smith få minutter efter kom ind i rummet igen. ”Havde du heldet med dig?” spurgte Smith alvorligt.
”Nej.” svarede M ”Jeg frygter at der ikke er meget tid tilbage, han snart vil bringe Kaos og frygt ind i kongeriget villigt eller uvilligt.”
”Måske skulle vi fortælle ham om det.” foreslog Smith.
”Nej, det vil kun fremskynde processen. Men der er stadig håb, ironisk nok afhænger kongerigets overlevelse af en fjendes intellegens. Mærk dig mine ord: det hele afhænger af Meliaki.”
Tuesday, March 04, 2008
A story from a time before this.
Det her er faktisk en slags forhistorie til DRL hvordan det har med historien at gøre vil jeg ikke sige.
A story from a time before this.
Time is the cruelest of nature’s inventions, important events of your life, forgotten, lost in the passing of time. Even the great deeds done by heroes of their time are soon thought of as nothing but stories. Then they become legends only to morph into lore, which is soon forgotten by the descendents of those brave people who was called heroes once.
Thousands of years ago, before man had crawled down from the trees, we lived and we fought our never ending war against our own race, this was known as the breeding war. The blood spilled in that war, killed most plant life, only our homes grew bigger for each battle, fueled by our blood. You may wonder what we are, why we fought, if you have seen us. But most of these questions are without meaning, I cannot tell you what we are for you would not understand, I cannot tell you why we fought for you would not be able to comprehend it, but you have seen us. You wonder now when you have seen us, do you not? The truth is that you never knew that you saw us, that you never cared. In a time before this we were known by everyone, but time is the cruelest of nature’s inventions. Alas we are left forgotten, the memory of us removed by the passing time, slowly over the years we became nothing but stories, then we became legends only to morph into lore, and then we were forgotten. My race left this place hundreds of years ago, you have seen my daughter, you have not seen my race. She has not even seen her race, what she know she knew from hatching, what she know she will know till death. I am writing here to tell you a story, a legend, a piece of lore. I am here to tell you a little piece of forgotten history. This is a story from a time before your time, this is a story from a world before your world, this is a story from a race before your race.
It all started only 100 years after the third hatching of the second egg; he was so young back then, yet so powerful. My ancestors knew that he was the one to get, the one to find, the one to drink. I was only 200 years back then and my blood had just started to build up pressure, it signaled what I had been waiting for, my first and last war. My first battle was glorious, everything in my way was cut down merciless and blood rained from the sky where I crossed my enemies. I was cheered on by all I know, some of them later said that no such slaughter had been seen for a thousand years, but then I saw him. He stood there on the highest branch, even from this distance I could see that blood was flowing steadily from a wound in his shoulder. Such arrogance, coming to the battle with like that, a scream of hatred escaped me, and then I saw him take off. That was all I saw before a spear pierce my lung. I saw a smile on his face and a spark in his eye.
“A dry mother with only one breath, the other lost the fifth day of the year 200, will bring forth the third coming of the first egg. Is that not how it is written?” That is what he whispered to me as I fell to the ground; he was gone before I could reply. What would I have replied? What can you reply to a man who knows what no man is to know? I was brought back to my home by my family they praised me for my abilities in battle, I told them nothing of what he had said, looking back I probably should have told them. A hundred years later I had recovered and was made the warrior queen of our people, he gained even more power and became the warrior king of his people. My lung however was still not healed, I was as he said of one breath. But then it happened, the first egg appeared again. I had not had a drop to drink my entire life, I was as the elders said, a dry mother. In a single week they all fled, leaving me and the unhatched first egg. They all knew the prophesy: that the first egg would bring death to the entire race. They fled to the old land, the land that not even the gods know of. We are not one of the 3 races they created; we are older, older than the gods, older than their creation, older than the land. Our race was in danger because of the first egg’s return, that is what they said. Then my people left, leaving me behind to guard and protect the first egg, it was not allowed to live but to destroy it would be even worse. Then his people left following mine, he stayed behind, willingly. I never knew where he went after they left, but I never saw him again.
For 8000 years I lived alone, guarding the egg from the world and the world from the egg. I became older than the oldest of my kind, I saw the 3 races grow intelligent and then I saw the wars ravage the lands. I saw two of the races being forgotten and the third one dominate, only to repeatedly bring its own civilizations to its knees. Needless to say I liked them, they reminded me of my own days as a warrior and I knew that there fleeting lives made them greater than any other race in the art of warfare. They fought with a fury unlike any of the other races; they fought with forces larger than the other races could ever hope to give birth to. But I grew old, and one day I could no longer stop it, the first egg hatched and the faith of my people, and his people was decided, all because of my daughter: the daughter from the third egg.
A story from a time before this.
Time is the cruelest of nature’s inventions, important events of your life, forgotten, lost in the passing of time. Even the great deeds done by heroes of their time are soon thought of as nothing but stories. Then they become legends only to morph into lore, which is soon forgotten by the descendents of those brave people who was called heroes once.
Thousands of years ago, before man had crawled down from the trees, we lived and we fought our never ending war against our own race, this was known as the breeding war. The blood spilled in that war, killed most plant life, only our homes grew bigger for each battle, fueled by our blood. You may wonder what we are, why we fought, if you have seen us. But most of these questions are without meaning, I cannot tell you what we are for you would not understand, I cannot tell you why we fought for you would not be able to comprehend it, but you have seen us. You wonder now when you have seen us, do you not? The truth is that you never knew that you saw us, that you never cared. In a time before this we were known by everyone, but time is the cruelest of nature’s inventions. Alas we are left forgotten, the memory of us removed by the passing time, slowly over the years we became nothing but stories, then we became legends only to morph into lore, and then we were forgotten. My race left this place hundreds of years ago, you have seen my daughter, you have not seen my race. She has not even seen her race, what she know she knew from hatching, what she know she will know till death. I am writing here to tell you a story, a legend, a piece of lore. I am here to tell you a little piece of forgotten history. This is a story from a time before your time, this is a story from a world before your world, this is a story from a race before your race.
It all started only 100 years after the third hatching of the second egg; he was so young back then, yet so powerful. My ancestors knew that he was the one to get, the one to find, the one to drink. I was only 200 years back then and my blood had just started to build up pressure, it signaled what I had been waiting for, my first and last war. My first battle was glorious, everything in my way was cut down merciless and blood rained from the sky where I crossed my enemies. I was cheered on by all I know, some of them later said that no such slaughter had been seen for a thousand years, but then I saw him. He stood there on the highest branch, even from this distance I could see that blood was flowing steadily from a wound in his shoulder. Such arrogance, coming to the battle with like that, a scream of hatred escaped me, and then I saw him take off. That was all I saw before a spear pierce my lung. I saw a smile on his face and a spark in his eye.
“A dry mother with only one breath, the other lost the fifth day of the year 200, will bring forth the third coming of the first egg. Is that not how it is written?” That is what he whispered to me as I fell to the ground; he was gone before I could reply. What would I have replied? What can you reply to a man who knows what no man is to know? I was brought back to my home by my family they praised me for my abilities in battle, I told them nothing of what he had said, looking back I probably should have told them. A hundred years later I had recovered and was made the warrior queen of our people, he gained even more power and became the warrior king of his people. My lung however was still not healed, I was as he said of one breath. But then it happened, the first egg appeared again. I had not had a drop to drink my entire life, I was as the elders said, a dry mother. In a single week they all fled, leaving me and the unhatched first egg. They all knew the prophesy: that the first egg would bring death to the entire race. They fled to the old land, the land that not even the gods know of. We are not one of the 3 races they created; we are older, older than the gods, older than their creation, older than the land. Our race was in danger because of the first egg’s return, that is what they said. Then my people left, leaving me behind to guard and protect the first egg, it was not allowed to live but to destroy it would be even worse. Then his people left following mine, he stayed behind, willingly. I never knew where he went after they left, but I never saw him again.
For 8000 years I lived alone, guarding the egg from the world and the world from the egg. I became older than the oldest of my kind, I saw the 3 races grow intelligent and then I saw the wars ravage the lands. I saw two of the races being forgotten and the third one dominate, only to repeatedly bring its own civilizations to its knees. Needless to say I liked them, they reminded me of my own days as a warrior and I knew that there fleeting lives made them greater than any other race in the art of warfare. They fought with a fury unlike any of the other races; they fought with forces larger than the other races could ever hope to give birth to. But I grew old, and one day I could no longer stop it, the first egg hatched and the faith of my people, and his people was decided, all because of my daughter: the daughter from the third egg.
Friday, February 22, 2008
The bone
Ny novelle, send mig din Email adresse så sender jeg dig den.
Jeg bruger mange fodnoter og de virker ikke på en blog derfor SKAL det læses i word. fodnoterne er nemlig vigtige.
Jeg bruger mange fodnoter og de virker ikke på en blog derfor SKAL det læses i word. fodnoterne er nemlig vigtige.
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Two men arrived on that day so cold
Two men arrived on that day so cold,
One was scared the other quite bold.
They went into the inn and demanded a beer
With them they carried a newly slain deer.
The bold was called martin, the scared was called barta,
Then a woman rose from her seat, her name was marta
She asked the two men where the deer had been slain,
for had they killed the kings deer then their death would be in vain.
The silence was thick and filled the room like smoke,
No one dare speak as if they thought they’d choke.
A high laugh broke out in the back of the room,
And removed the silence like dust removed by a broom.
A stranger sat laughing with long black hair,
His hand on a sword and his feet on a chair.
The bold know as Martin asked what was so amusing
And he answered with laughter that he just loved accusing.
He said “I dare say my good folks you people are thieves,
Martin the mouse and Barta called pieves.
The bold Martin got mad and said he was no mouse
He drew his blade and said he’d burn down the house.
Screaming the guest all fled through the door
In the inn there stayed only four.
Martin and Barta both stood there still
The stranger still sat there and asked for his bill.
The fourth was the inn keeper stuck behind the bar,
Martin screamed to him: get out or I will drown you in tar.
Now 3 they were left and the stranger stood up,
Slowly he rose and emptied his cup.
The stranger drew blade and it was black like the night
Both Martin and Barta knew that a sword like that would belong to a knight.
Barta would flee but Marin said no!
Fight with honor he said that’s is all I know.
I know not fear, nor hunger, nor pain
I kill for a living, my real name is Cain.
He stormed ahead with his blade held high
His spirit was fierce the stranger could that not deny
Cain swung his sword with anger in heart,
The stranger foresaw his attack and send him to where he cannot depart.
Cain fell to the ground his blood running free,
The stranger just stood there and took a pee.
Now only Barta stood there and he told a tale of truth,
The man you just killed was a simple servant and careless in his youth
I am the true Cain and I will treat you with care,
Most people hear the name and then they don’t dare.
The fight broke out and sparks flew from the blades,
An equal fight they thought and it could be heard en hades.
Cain was shift and cunning for sure,
But the stranger had years of training and talent so pure.
They fought for a year maybe more
There was glee in their eyes, for them this battle was no chore
At last the strange saw a flaw and swift as a lightning he killed cain the killer.
he looked at the body and said his name was Miller.
He picked up the deer and left through the door,
A man like him was never seen neither later, nor before.
Two men arrived on that day so cold,
One was scared the other quite bold.
Two ghost stayed there to repay their sins
The house was soon know as the fiercest of inns
No one dared entered that inn owned by jack,
That’s how it became known as the shrieking shack
One was scared the other quite bold.
They went into the inn and demanded a beer
With them they carried a newly slain deer.
The bold was called martin, the scared was called barta,
Then a woman rose from her seat, her name was marta
She asked the two men where the deer had been slain,
for had they killed the kings deer then their death would be in vain.
The silence was thick and filled the room like smoke,
No one dare speak as if they thought they’d choke.
A high laugh broke out in the back of the room,
And removed the silence like dust removed by a broom.
A stranger sat laughing with long black hair,
His hand on a sword and his feet on a chair.
The bold know as Martin asked what was so amusing
And he answered with laughter that he just loved accusing.
He said “I dare say my good folks you people are thieves,
Martin the mouse and Barta called pieves.
The bold Martin got mad and said he was no mouse
He drew his blade and said he’d burn down the house.
Screaming the guest all fled through the door
In the inn there stayed only four.
Martin and Barta both stood there still
The stranger still sat there and asked for his bill.
The fourth was the inn keeper stuck behind the bar,
Martin screamed to him: get out or I will drown you in tar.
Now 3 they were left and the stranger stood up,
Slowly he rose and emptied his cup.
The stranger drew blade and it was black like the night
Both Martin and Barta knew that a sword like that would belong to a knight.
Barta would flee but Marin said no!
Fight with honor he said that’s is all I know.
I know not fear, nor hunger, nor pain
I kill for a living, my real name is Cain.
He stormed ahead with his blade held high
His spirit was fierce the stranger could that not deny
Cain swung his sword with anger in heart,
The stranger foresaw his attack and send him to where he cannot depart.
Cain fell to the ground his blood running free,
The stranger just stood there and took a pee.
Now only Barta stood there and he told a tale of truth,
The man you just killed was a simple servant and careless in his youth
I am the true Cain and I will treat you with care,
Most people hear the name and then they don’t dare.
The fight broke out and sparks flew from the blades,
An equal fight they thought and it could be heard en hades.
Cain was shift and cunning for sure,
But the stranger had years of training and talent so pure.
They fought for a year maybe more
There was glee in their eyes, for them this battle was no chore
At last the strange saw a flaw and swift as a lightning he killed cain the killer.
he looked at the body and said his name was Miller.
He picked up the deer and left through the door,
A man like him was never seen neither later, nor before.
Two men arrived on that day so cold,
One was scared the other quite bold.
Two ghost stayed there to repay their sins
The house was soon know as the fiercest of inns
No one dared entered that inn owned by jack,
That’s how it became known as the shrieking shack
Saturday, January 19, 2008
Murder
Det eneste jeg vil sige her er at jeg har spillet det spil for meget.
Murder
The silence was thick and filled the room like smoke, over a hundred people in this small room and not a single soul spoke. Jimmy looked at his watch, still 5 minutes till the judge was scheduled to come back in. Jimmy reached in his poked, pulled out a pack of cigarettes and put one cigarette in his mouth. He had started rummages his pockets for his lighter when his wife reminded him without a word that smoking was not allowed in the courtroom. Jimmy cursed under his breath and stuffed the cigarette back into his pocket as the judge came back into the courtroom. Jimmy had been working 24/7 for two month and now it was time to see this criminal punished for his crime.
Jimmy was a detective and was said to be the best one in the entire state. He had been given this case of brutal murder after the previous detective had given up. Jimmy had first denied taking the case, he hated to start his investigation on a cold crime scene, but the brutality of the murder and pressure from his superiors had forced him to take case. The burned remains of the victim had been found in her own kitchen, some sort of explosive fire had burned down the house with her inside it. The technicians’ had already established that the fire had started in the kitchen so it seemed.
Jimmy agreed with the previous detective in his statement of this being a case of murder, but where the previous detective had given up finding clues after a week and given the case to Jimmy, jimmy had worked for two whole hours, finally finding a small piece of evidence. A tie scorched by the flames.
It was no wonder it had been overlooked for so long, the victims’ husband had a lot of ties so nothing seemed special about this one, but the neighbors had told Jimmy that the victims husband Steve was a very strict person who never left any of his belongings lying around the house.
An abnormality that was all Jimmy had needed, the next two weeks, he had worked tireless to find out what had happened that hot day in august around midday. Jimmy studied pictures taken of the couple, watched their home videos, and talked to their friends. He soon realized that their relationship had been doomed from the beginning and that they had discussed getting divorced, but the victim who was a good catholic had completely denied that option, but Steve could not stand to live another minute more with her had given her a small overdose of sleeping pills, tied her down in the kitchen, soaked her in gasoline and then burned her and the house down.
Steve was arrested and now after a long and hard trial the time of judgment had finally arrived. The judge slowly sat down in the chair and began to read the verdict. Jimmy was two busy begging god to help justice prevail, to hear the what the judge said until that last and most important word was said.
Jimmy heard the word, and the great scream of joy from the entire crowd, guilty.
“We did it!” Screamed Jimmy, hugged his wife, felt her sharp edges biting into his rips, but he didn’t care he was too happy. In that moment he loved his wife more than ever before, he held her out in an arms length and adored her cubic figure while he asked himself with disgust towards the murderer: “What monster would kill his own companion cube?”
Murder
The silence was thick and filled the room like smoke, over a hundred people in this small room and not a single soul spoke. Jimmy looked at his watch, still 5 minutes till the judge was scheduled to come back in. Jimmy reached in his poked, pulled out a pack of cigarettes and put one cigarette in his mouth. He had started rummages his pockets for his lighter when his wife reminded him without a word that smoking was not allowed in the courtroom. Jimmy cursed under his breath and stuffed the cigarette back into his pocket as the judge came back into the courtroom. Jimmy had been working 24/7 for two month and now it was time to see this criminal punished for his crime.
Jimmy was a detective and was said to be the best one in the entire state. He had been given this case of brutal murder after the previous detective had given up. Jimmy had first denied taking the case, he hated to start his investigation on a cold crime scene, but the brutality of the murder and pressure from his superiors had forced him to take case. The burned remains of the victim had been found in her own kitchen, some sort of explosive fire had burned down the house with her inside it. The technicians’ had already established that the fire had started in the kitchen so it seemed.
Jimmy agreed with the previous detective in his statement of this being a case of murder, but where the previous detective had given up finding clues after a week and given the case to Jimmy, jimmy had worked for two whole hours, finally finding a small piece of evidence. A tie scorched by the flames.
It was no wonder it had been overlooked for so long, the victims’ husband had a lot of ties so nothing seemed special about this one, but the neighbors had told Jimmy that the victims husband Steve was a very strict person who never left any of his belongings lying around the house.
An abnormality that was all Jimmy had needed, the next two weeks, he had worked tireless to find out what had happened that hot day in august around midday. Jimmy studied pictures taken of the couple, watched their home videos, and talked to their friends. He soon realized that their relationship had been doomed from the beginning and that they had discussed getting divorced, but the victim who was a good catholic had completely denied that option, but Steve could not stand to live another minute more with her had given her a small overdose of sleeping pills, tied her down in the kitchen, soaked her in gasoline and then burned her and the house down.
Steve was arrested and now after a long and hard trial the time of judgment had finally arrived. The judge slowly sat down in the chair and began to read the verdict. Jimmy was two busy begging god to help justice prevail, to hear the what the judge said until that last and most important word was said.
Jimmy heard the word, and the great scream of joy from the entire crowd, guilty.
“We did it!” Screamed Jimmy, hugged his wife, felt her sharp edges biting into his rips, but he didn’t care he was too happy. In that moment he loved his wife more than ever before, he held her out in an arms length and adored her cubic figure while he asked himself with disgust towards the murderer: “What monster would kill his own companion cube?”
Tuesday, December 25, 2007
The broken brotherhood.
Er lige blevet færdig med anime serien gun grave og den har inspireret denne her novelle.
The broken brotherhood.
Time is short. I must go on. I stumble through the room, my arm hanging limb along my sides, a gun in the right, and a knife in the left. There is blood on my shirt and blood on my hands, none of it is mine. I still have my blood, but I would gladly trade it for one more day from back then, the days where we were free, the days where all that mattered was the food on the table and the sun in the sky. Just you, me and Eddy, we could take on the world back then. We where free, but that was not enough for you, was it? You wanted more you wanted power, you wanted money, and you wanted freedom. Why could you not stay in the streets with us, why could you not forget the money, why could you not see that you were already free? The power of controlling your own destiny, with your own two fists, a pipe or a gun, the money to keep yourself alive and enough to get a house to call home in this world, he freedom to leave everything behind, to call it a day, to help those you liked and punish those you didn’t.
Could you not see that Eddy were not able to go into the mob, could you not see that I was not ready to go into the mob? Sometimes I wonder if you were even ready. Since we joined I have taken many lives, since we joined I have helped you towards the top, since we joined I have hated myself.
Eddy is dead.
Do you remember the place we used to eat? The little diner where no one ever came, have you forgotten how we used to laugh with the cook, have you forgotten how you flirted with the waitress, have you forgotten how they all died?
Don’t you remember the mob war? Don’t you remember the shooting that took place there? Don’t you remember how we almost got killed? Don’t you remember seeing their burning corpses in the ruins? Don’t you remember the promise of brotherhood we made back then?
Did you remember that promise when you signed us op for the mob? Did you remember that promise when you killed the boss to get his job? Did you remember that promise when you became a member of the family’s inner circle? Did you remember that promise when you became the big boss? Did you remember that promise when you gave us the assignment?
A simple task: two targets, in and out, two minutes flat. Did you not know that I was sick? Did you not know that Eddy was unstable? Had you really distanced yourself so much from us? Did you not know that these two people were the two people in the world we could never kill?
We went in at the same time; we fired our guns in perfect harmony and created a battlefield. Two bodies, I bend over them to see the faces of the victims for there is something familiar about them. I looked into those brown eyes; I saw the reflection of myself in them, as I had done a thousand times in these eyes. I coughed, threw up and passed out, when I woke up again Eddy was dead, his body lay on top of the lady he loved, smiling. One bullet had done the trick, one bullet had given him eternal peace, I hope he finds his woman in heaven and that she can forgive him. I hope my woman will forgive me for not coming, but I still have to go say goodbye to my best friend, to say goodbye to you.
The elevator is slow when you are in a hurry, and there is nothing to do in it. It just moves upwards no caring about the 4 dead men in the lobby, or boss on the top floor, that will suffer by my hand in a few minutes.
“Pling” that is what the elevator says, as it stops at the top floor. The doors opens painfully slow, to reveal a scared person at the other side; he points a gun at me but lowers it when he recognises me.
“Sir! I heard shooting downstairs, do you know what is going on?” he moves towards me, he is not surprised by the blood; I am always bloody after a job.
As he gets close to me I lean forward, pretending to fall and as he tries to catch me I plunge the knife into his heart. I see the confusion in his eyes, the pain and my own reflection. I move on, leaving him bleeding on the floor, almost unable to keep walking. There is the door, right there, behind it you sit comfortable behind your desk. I reach out and fall through the door.
You shout my name and run towards me, take me in your arms.
“Intruders in the hall.” I whisper, and your two bodyguards leave the room.
“Don’t speak.” you say with care in his voice, we are still friends in your eyes. “Where is Eddy?”
“Dead.” I answer and look you in the eyes, I see the pain of the news, I see the anger in them, and I see my own reflection.
“Who did this to you? Who killed him?” you ask, you truly don’t know.
“I am sick.” I tell you”that is what did this to Me.” you look shocked by the news. “Eddy killed himself, after you made him kill the woman he loved.”
I get onto my feet, my legs are like jelly and my vision is so blurred I can hardly see you.
“wha- what are you talking about.” You look confused, even scared.
“You do not have to play games with me.” I keep a steady voice but it is only a matter of time before I collapse again. “I know you wanted to make us strong by having us kill our own weakness, but you are a fool.” I lift my gun there is only one bullet in it, one bullet is all I need. “Have you forgotten the promise we made all those years ago? Have you forgotten that we were to be equals to eternity, to be free from everyone else?” I see the fear in your eyes, the confusion, you have forgotten haven’t you? ”Do you remember what we promised each other back then? ‘If one fails to defend the other, chooses not to, or bring upon them unnecessary psychical or psychic damage, then the other two must bring him back on the path of the brotherhood. This rule is above all laws, all restrictions and there are no exceptions to this rule.’ You don’t remember that, do you? You have forgotten that law we wrote on the ruin with our own blood?”
I can see it in your eyes that you remember now, but I also see that you no longer live by that rule.
“You have strayed from the path of the brotherhood; I will bring you back onto the path. This I know is not possible in this world so I shall do it in the next.”
The gun cried and claimed another life, just as it had claimed the life of my loved one. I see your regret in your eyes as you fall to the ground, I see your pain, I see my own reflection. I feel the pain in my chest, as a hard cough charges through my lungs and escapes through my mouth. The cough carries blood through my mouth and it sprays onto the corpse of my dead friend. Did you forget that we had mixed our blood and called each other brother? Did you forget about the times we fled from the stores after a successful robbery? Did you forget how we promised to live and die together no matter what?
Another blood-filled cough forces its way through my lungs and I hold my hand before my mouth.
“Blood” I whisper as I look at my hand, “This blood is mine.” I collapse besides you, my heart slowly coming to a halt, perhaps in the next world we can be friends again?
The broken brotherhood.
Time is short. I must go on. I stumble through the room, my arm hanging limb along my sides, a gun in the right, and a knife in the left. There is blood on my shirt and blood on my hands, none of it is mine. I still have my blood, but I would gladly trade it for one more day from back then, the days where we were free, the days where all that mattered was the food on the table and the sun in the sky. Just you, me and Eddy, we could take on the world back then. We where free, but that was not enough for you, was it? You wanted more you wanted power, you wanted money, and you wanted freedom. Why could you not stay in the streets with us, why could you not forget the money, why could you not see that you were already free? The power of controlling your own destiny, with your own two fists, a pipe or a gun, the money to keep yourself alive and enough to get a house to call home in this world, he freedom to leave everything behind, to call it a day, to help those you liked and punish those you didn’t.
Could you not see that Eddy were not able to go into the mob, could you not see that I was not ready to go into the mob? Sometimes I wonder if you were even ready. Since we joined I have taken many lives, since we joined I have helped you towards the top, since we joined I have hated myself.
Eddy is dead.
Do you remember the place we used to eat? The little diner where no one ever came, have you forgotten how we used to laugh with the cook, have you forgotten how you flirted with the waitress, have you forgotten how they all died?
Don’t you remember the mob war? Don’t you remember the shooting that took place there? Don’t you remember how we almost got killed? Don’t you remember seeing their burning corpses in the ruins? Don’t you remember the promise of brotherhood we made back then?
Did you remember that promise when you signed us op for the mob? Did you remember that promise when you killed the boss to get his job? Did you remember that promise when you became a member of the family’s inner circle? Did you remember that promise when you became the big boss? Did you remember that promise when you gave us the assignment?
A simple task: two targets, in and out, two minutes flat. Did you not know that I was sick? Did you not know that Eddy was unstable? Had you really distanced yourself so much from us? Did you not know that these two people were the two people in the world we could never kill?
We went in at the same time; we fired our guns in perfect harmony and created a battlefield. Two bodies, I bend over them to see the faces of the victims for there is something familiar about them. I looked into those brown eyes; I saw the reflection of myself in them, as I had done a thousand times in these eyes. I coughed, threw up and passed out, when I woke up again Eddy was dead, his body lay on top of the lady he loved, smiling. One bullet had done the trick, one bullet had given him eternal peace, I hope he finds his woman in heaven and that she can forgive him. I hope my woman will forgive me for not coming, but I still have to go say goodbye to my best friend, to say goodbye to you.
The elevator is slow when you are in a hurry, and there is nothing to do in it. It just moves upwards no caring about the 4 dead men in the lobby, or boss on the top floor, that will suffer by my hand in a few minutes.
“Pling” that is what the elevator says, as it stops at the top floor. The doors opens painfully slow, to reveal a scared person at the other side; he points a gun at me but lowers it when he recognises me.
“Sir! I heard shooting downstairs, do you know what is going on?” he moves towards me, he is not surprised by the blood; I am always bloody after a job.
As he gets close to me I lean forward, pretending to fall and as he tries to catch me I plunge the knife into his heart. I see the confusion in his eyes, the pain and my own reflection. I move on, leaving him bleeding on the floor, almost unable to keep walking. There is the door, right there, behind it you sit comfortable behind your desk. I reach out and fall through the door.
You shout my name and run towards me, take me in your arms.
“Intruders in the hall.” I whisper, and your two bodyguards leave the room.
“Don’t speak.” you say with care in his voice, we are still friends in your eyes. “Where is Eddy?”
“Dead.” I answer and look you in the eyes, I see the pain of the news, I see the anger in them, and I see my own reflection.
“Who did this to you? Who killed him?” you ask, you truly don’t know.
“I am sick.” I tell you”that is what did this to Me.” you look shocked by the news. “Eddy killed himself, after you made him kill the woman he loved.”
I get onto my feet, my legs are like jelly and my vision is so blurred I can hardly see you.
“wha- what are you talking about.” You look confused, even scared.
“You do not have to play games with me.” I keep a steady voice but it is only a matter of time before I collapse again. “I know you wanted to make us strong by having us kill our own weakness, but you are a fool.” I lift my gun there is only one bullet in it, one bullet is all I need. “Have you forgotten the promise we made all those years ago? Have you forgotten that we were to be equals to eternity, to be free from everyone else?” I see the fear in your eyes, the confusion, you have forgotten haven’t you? ”Do you remember what we promised each other back then? ‘If one fails to defend the other, chooses not to, or bring upon them unnecessary psychical or psychic damage, then the other two must bring him back on the path of the brotherhood. This rule is above all laws, all restrictions and there are no exceptions to this rule.’ You don’t remember that, do you? You have forgotten that law we wrote on the ruin with our own blood?”
I can see it in your eyes that you remember now, but I also see that you no longer live by that rule.
“You have strayed from the path of the brotherhood; I will bring you back onto the path. This I know is not possible in this world so I shall do it in the next.”
The gun cried and claimed another life, just as it had claimed the life of my loved one. I see your regret in your eyes as you fall to the ground, I see your pain, I see my own reflection. I feel the pain in my chest, as a hard cough charges through my lungs and escapes through my mouth. The cough carries blood through my mouth and it sprays onto the corpse of my dead friend. Did you forget that we had mixed our blood and called each other brother? Did you forget about the times we fled from the stores after a successful robbery? Did you forget how we promised to live and die together no matter what?
Another blood-filled cough forces its way through my lungs and I hold my hand before my mouth.
“Blood” I whisper as I look at my hand, “This blood is mine.” I collapse besides you, my heart slowly coming to a halt, perhaps in the next world we can be friends again?
Friday, December 14, 2007
At rode i gamle skuffer.
Hvor mit sidste tilbageblik var meget negativt, så fokusere jeg her på de fede tider og de glade oplevelser man kommer i tanke om når man ser et eller andet fra gamle dage.
At rode i gamle skuffer.
Det er sjovt hvad forskellige ting minder en om, tag nu for eksempel den gamle Zidanne T-shirt fra den gang jeg var i Venedig. Jeg var der med hele familien og en af vores venner fra Roskilde. Både ham og mig bror havde også fodbold trøjer på. Den episode jeg kan huske er hvor vi sad i de famøse gondoler og de der fyrer der stagede os frem i de to gondoler begyndte at joke om at de havde landsholdet med. Ha det virker måske hverken sjovt eller spænende nu, men dengang morede vi os herligt over det og havde en masse sjov med det.
Ved i hvad jeg har brugt mest tid på i min barndom? Lego. Jeg kan huske at mig og min store bror, Mathias byggede hemmelige baser, store biler, og vældige slotte. Da min ene søster blev født fik mig og Mathias et stort Lego slot. Det tog os 4-5 timer at bygge der hersens slot, og så samme aften kommer der nogle af vores forældres venner på besøg og så skal det jo gå galt. En af gæsterne havde en lille knægt med der lige havde lært at gå. I kender nok aldersgruppen, de destruerer alt de kommer i nærheden af. Så kommer han på besøg og min mor insistere på at han godt må lege med slottet. Mig og Mathias protestere selvfølgelig så meget som vi overhovedet kunne, men lige lidt hjalp det, det blev som det blev. Hvad er det første den lille djævel gør? Smadrer slottet selvfølgelig. Er du gal hvor blev vi sure. Sjovt selv den dag i dag bliver jeg pisse vred når jeg tænker på den lille skidespræller. Jeg var vel 5-6 år gammel den gang.
Hvad er det en Jojo? Det må vist være Knudsen? Hans far hedder Robert det ved jeg. Knudsen, ja det tror jeg han hed, han var skolens sejeste person, alle gjorde som han gjorde. Så da han bragte Jojo’en til Nebel gik der ikke lang tid før alle havde en. Undtagen mig naturligvis. Jeg fik den en uge før den gik af mode, hold kæft hvor syntes de jeg var kikset. Ha jeg kunne overhoved ikke finde ud af det der Jojo sjov så det var måske godt nok at jeg fik den sent.
Pokemon kort har jeg også i min lille skuffe med minder. Haha vi var besatte, og det mener jeg virkelig. En af mine datidige venner havde en kæmpe stor mappe med dem, det var uhyggeligt så mange han havde. Jeg havde ikke så mange selv men det gik da fint og jeg vandt da også nogle kampe, en enkelt kamp mod en fra sjette. Jeg var dagens mand i de 10 minutter frikvarteret varede. Og så var der dengang ovre ved en anden ven hvor vi havde sat Pokemon blå version til et fjernsyn og spillede konstant i en hel weekend, vi sov ikke eller noget. Bagefter blev filen desværre slettet, ham påstår at det var hans søster, men jeg har altid haft en fornemmelse af at det godt kunne have været ham selv der gjorde det. Måske er det derfor vi ikke er venner længere, mangel på gensidig tillid.
Hvad har vi ellers? Et par indendørs sko fra dengang jeg gik til håndbold, kan du stave til ”katastrofe”? Jeg tror jeg spillede det i 2 år og scorede 3 mål eller noget i den dur. Det var dengang hvor fløjene var det sted man sendte boldidioterne ud, så der endte jeg. Man fik aldrig bolden og når man gjorde så var modspillerne for mit vedkomne dobbelt så store som mig. Ha de smed mig ned på årgangen under min årgang hen mod slutningen af andet år, så skred jeg.
Ja vist håndbold er da sjovt men det er sgu en del sjovere når man spiller med folk man kender, det er sgu ikke fedt at spille med små rollinger. Fysisk underlegen intelligent overlegen.
Senere brugte jeg skoene da jeg begyndte til badminton, behøver jeg fortælle at det var endnu en bragende fiasko? Ej jeg var bedre til det end til håndbold, men ikke meget.
Ahhh den gode gamle N64. Jeg tror det første spil jeg fik, var bombermand 64. Et genialt og desværre overset spil, ha jeg tror jeg kan huske alle bosserne i hovedet. Den første mellemboss var en fyr i sådan en gundam lignende dragt. Den første rigtige boss var en drage. Der var også et robot fly en stor fisk, og mange andre bosser. Ha jeg kan huske at mig og en af mine venner nærmest havde ræser løb i det spil, jeg vandt. Det gjaldt om at gennemføre det først, han havde en uges forspring men jeg vandt sgu alligevel. Så er der jo også gode gamle Banjo & Kazooie. Genialt spil kan jeg godt sige, i et stykke tid var det faktisk mit Mario, hvis man så må sige. Jeg gennemførte det endda, slutningen er simpelthen uhyggelig, det er en quiz hvor du skal vide hvad alle fjender i spillet hedder, hvordan de ser ud, hvordan de lyder og uhyggelig meget andet.
Det var hvad jeg fandt i dag. Måske finder jeg noget mere en anden dag og så kan det jo være det vækker minder igen, vi ses.
At rode i gamle skuffer.
Det er sjovt hvad forskellige ting minder en om, tag nu for eksempel den gamle Zidanne T-shirt fra den gang jeg var i Venedig. Jeg var der med hele familien og en af vores venner fra Roskilde. Både ham og mig bror havde også fodbold trøjer på. Den episode jeg kan huske er hvor vi sad i de famøse gondoler og de der fyrer der stagede os frem i de to gondoler begyndte at joke om at de havde landsholdet med. Ha det virker måske hverken sjovt eller spænende nu, men dengang morede vi os herligt over det og havde en masse sjov med det.
Ved i hvad jeg har brugt mest tid på i min barndom? Lego. Jeg kan huske at mig og min store bror, Mathias byggede hemmelige baser, store biler, og vældige slotte. Da min ene søster blev født fik mig og Mathias et stort Lego slot. Det tog os 4-5 timer at bygge der hersens slot, og så samme aften kommer der nogle af vores forældres venner på besøg og så skal det jo gå galt. En af gæsterne havde en lille knægt med der lige havde lært at gå. I kender nok aldersgruppen, de destruerer alt de kommer i nærheden af. Så kommer han på besøg og min mor insistere på at han godt må lege med slottet. Mig og Mathias protestere selvfølgelig så meget som vi overhovedet kunne, men lige lidt hjalp det, det blev som det blev. Hvad er det første den lille djævel gør? Smadrer slottet selvfølgelig. Er du gal hvor blev vi sure. Sjovt selv den dag i dag bliver jeg pisse vred når jeg tænker på den lille skidespræller. Jeg var vel 5-6 år gammel den gang.
Hvad er det en Jojo? Det må vist være Knudsen? Hans far hedder Robert det ved jeg. Knudsen, ja det tror jeg han hed, han var skolens sejeste person, alle gjorde som han gjorde. Så da han bragte Jojo’en til Nebel gik der ikke lang tid før alle havde en. Undtagen mig naturligvis. Jeg fik den en uge før den gik af mode, hold kæft hvor syntes de jeg var kikset. Ha jeg kunne overhoved ikke finde ud af det der Jojo sjov så det var måske godt nok at jeg fik den sent.
Pokemon kort har jeg også i min lille skuffe med minder. Haha vi var besatte, og det mener jeg virkelig. En af mine datidige venner havde en kæmpe stor mappe med dem, det var uhyggeligt så mange han havde. Jeg havde ikke så mange selv men det gik da fint og jeg vandt da også nogle kampe, en enkelt kamp mod en fra sjette. Jeg var dagens mand i de 10 minutter frikvarteret varede. Og så var der dengang ovre ved en anden ven hvor vi havde sat Pokemon blå version til et fjernsyn og spillede konstant i en hel weekend, vi sov ikke eller noget. Bagefter blev filen desværre slettet, ham påstår at det var hans søster, men jeg har altid haft en fornemmelse af at det godt kunne have været ham selv der gjorde det. Måske er det derfor vi ikke er venner længere, mangel på gensidig tillid.
Hvad har vi ellers? Et par indendørs sko fra dengang jeg gik til håndbold, kan du stave til ”katastrofe”? Jeg tror jeg spillede det i 2 år og scorede 3 mål eller noget i den dur. Det var dengang hvor fløjene var det sted man sendte boldidioterne ud, så der endte jeg. Man fik aldrig bolden og når man gjorde så var modspillerne for mit vedkomne dobbelt så store som mig. Ha de smed mig ned på årgangen under min årgang hen mod slutningen af andet år, så skred jeg.
Ja vist håndbold er da sjovt men det er sgu en del sjovere når man spiller med folk man kender, det er sgu ikke fedt at spille med små rollinger. Fysisk underlegen intelligent overlegen.
Senere brugte jeg skoene da jeg begyndte til badminton, behøver jeg fortælle at det var endnu en bragende fiasko? Ej jeg var bedre til det end til håndbold, men ikke meget.
Ahhh den gode gamle N64. Jeg tror det første spil jeg fik, var bombermand 64. Et genialt og desværre overset spil, ha jeg tror jeg kan huske alle bosserne i hovedet. Den første mellemboss var en fyr i sådan en gundam lignende dragt. Den første rigtige boss var en drage. Der var også et robot fly en stor fisk, og mange andre bosser. Ha jeg kan huske at mig og en af mine venner nærmest havde ræser løb i det spil, jeg vandt. Det gjaldt om at gennemføre det først, han havde en uges forspring men jeg vandt sgu alligevel. Så er der jo også gode gamle Banjo & Kazooie. Genialt spil kan jeg godt sige, i et stykke tid var det faktisk mit Mario, hvis man så må sige. Jeg gennemførte det endda, slutningen er simpelthen uhyggelig, det er en quiz hvor du skal vide hvad alle fjender i spillet hedder, hvordan de ser ud, hvordan de lyder og uhyggelig meget andet.
Det var hvad jeg fandt i dag. Måske finder jeg noget mere en anden dag og så kan det jo være det vækker minder igen, vi ses.
Thursday, December 13, 2007
Run! TF2
Bjørn har gjort mig afhængig af team fortress og derfor får i nu en TF2 historie.
Run! TF2
”Run!” that was what he had been told, and when the captain said run you ran. If he said swim you would swim, if he said jump you would jump, if he said fire you would fire. He didn’t say swim, he didn’t say jump, he didn’t say fire, he said run, so I ran.
I ran from cover to cover knowing that each step I took could be my last, but I ran because he had told me to run. Run forward? Run to war? Run away? No. just: “run!”
Where am I going? To who? What is the purpose of this run? Am I to seek glory? Am I to embrace my loved ones once again? Am I to run because of victory, or defeat?
To me it doesn’t matter, I was told to run and I know how to run.
Left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot; it is easy once you get the hang of it. I must confess now: I am not a big thinker, I do as I am told and if I don’t then it is because I am busy running. If I see a gun, I run. If I hear footsteps, I run. I like running.
I like my bat too, it is not heavy but it is hard. Its made of aluminium I think, but the important part is that it is hard and is good to hit guys with. I like bats… even more than I like running.
Run left, run right, run fast. That is what I do. Wait what is that? An enemy? Yes it is! He got his back turned, perfect. He is running of course, in the same direction as I am running, I wonder if he likes running too. He got a long rifle in his hands and a cowboy hat on his head, I wonder if he shoots people from far away. I am faster than him, it doesn’t take me a long time to run him in. I look to the sides and I spot Jimmy on the left, he got a yellow helmet on and he is building some sort of technical devise in a corner. It looks like the man with the hat have spotted him too, he takes aim and says something about Jimmy being a wanker. He is just about to pull the trigger when my bat makes contact with his skull and knocks him to the ground.
I look at the bleeding corps in front of me and speaks: “come say that to my face, Boink!” then the heat and the pain kicks in.
“mmhhmmhhaa” I don’t speak very clear with my mask on, but when you work with a flame thrower, you need your mask. I do love the flames I really do, the heat from the flame, the scream from the burning victim, and the smell of the roasted corps. Wait what is that sound?
“Clank clank clink.” Wait is that a guy hiding in the corner? What is that guy building? What do I care, he will burn just as good as the rest. It looks like he is just about done with that thing he is building,
“Dennis!” That bastard! I saw it all, that goddamn idiot Dennis showing of for the whole world to aim at. I even saw that goddamn pyro coming in from the other room lighting Dennis on fire leaving his corpse burning on the floor. I slam the last screw into the sentry tower bringing it to life. It quickly finds the pyro due to the Advanced tracking system and fires 5 well places shells into that damn pyros skull.
“Revenge! How do you like that you bastard?” He deserved it, what a bastard!
“Plump!” plump? What sort of sound is that? Oh shit, that capsule is no health pill!
Ha! Only a stupid man would hide in the corner, cutting of every single escape route, stupidity. A stupid thing to do when there is a demomand in the area. Just one bomb and it’s a kill that even Jesus would be proud of. That kill deserves a drink, that’s what I say. This is some great whisky, even Jesus would drink this I tell you. Why the hell is that guy running towards me with a shovel?
“Clank” haha drink your drink some other day stupid man! Sun Tzu could kill you with two hands tied behind his ears! He would kill you and then bring you back to life only to kill you again! “Oh Jimmy!” It’s Jimmy all right the only one Engineer on our team. ”Did you see this dork? Drinking on the battlef…”
Ha way too easy, this idiot didn’t even realize that Jimmy is dead. It was not even a challenge to sneak behind him and plunge my knife into his back. “You spilled blood on my suit.” Time to get back in disguise. Only two guys left, this should be easy. Look a medic, he can heal me up before I take him out. He will never see this coming.
“Medic!”
Jimmy? I thought jimmy was dead, oh I get it! “Come over here freund!” he is coming how stupid is he? ”ein bishen mehr” slash! The old bonesaw does the job again. Who is he thinking he can get medicine from me! Stupid man. What noise is that? Its sounds like spinning metal.
Spin Sasha, spin! Get ready Sasha we will get this one. Hahahahahaha my Sasha will kill you with 2000 rounds per minute! You can outsmart me can you? Well can you outsmart 2000 bullets? Hahaha your body is being ripped apart piece by piece, hahahaha. “Heal yourself from that, medic.” No one can stop me, I am heavy weapons guy. “Bang”
Head shot! “Thanks for standing still wanker!”
Run! TF2
”Run!” that was what he had been told, and when the captain said run you ran. If he said swim you would swim, if he said jump you would jump, if he said fire you would fire. He didn’t say swim, he didn’t say jump, he didn’t say fire, he said run, so I ran.
I ran from cover to cover knowing that each step I took could be my last, but I ran because he had told me to run. Run forward? Run to war? Run away? No. just: “run!”
Where am I going? To who? What is the purpose of this run? Am I to seek glory? Am I to embrace my loved ones once again? Am I to run because of victory, or defeat?
To me it doesn’t matter, I was told to run and I know how to run.
Left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot; it is easy once you get the hang of it. I must confess now: I am not a big thinker, I do as I am told and if I don’t then it is because I am busy running. If I see a gun, I run. If I hear footsteps, I run. I like running.
I like my bat too, it is not heavy but it is hard. Its made of aluminium I think, but the important part is that it is hard and is good to hit guys with. I like bats… even more than I like running.
Run left, run right, run fast. That is what I do. Wait what is that? An enemy? Yes it is! He got his back turned, perfect. He is running of course, in the same direction as I am running, I wonder if he likes running too. He got a long rifle in his hands and a cowboy hat on his head, I wonder if he shoots people from far away. I am faster than him, it doesn’t take me a long time to run him in. I look to the sides and I spot Jimmy on the left, he got a yellow helmet on and he is building some sort of technical devise in a corner. It looks like the man with the hat have spotted him too, he takes aim and says something about Jimmy being a wanker. He is just about to pull the trigger when my bat makes contact with his skull and knocks him to the ground.
I look at the bleeding corps in front of me and speaks: “come say that to my face, Boink!” then the heat and the pain kicks in.
“mmhhmmhhaa” I don’t speak very clear with my mask on, but when you work with a flame thrower, you need your mask. I do love the flames I really do, the heat from the flame, the scream from the burning victim, and the smell of the roasted corps. Wait what is that sound?
“Clank clank clink.” Wait is that a guy hiding in the corner? What is that guy building? What do I care, he will burn just as good as the rest. It looks like he is just about done with that thing he is building,
“Dennis!” That bastard! I saw it all, that goddamn idiot Dennis showing of for the whole world to aim at. I even saw that goddamn pyro coming in from the other room lighting Dennis on fire leaving his corpse burning on the floor. I slam the last screw into the sentry tower bringing it to life. It quickly finds the pyro due to the Advanced tracking system and fires 5 well places shells into that damn pyros skull.
“Revenge! How do you like that you bastard?” He deserved it, what a bastard!
“Plump!” plump? What sort of sound is that? Oh shit, that capsule is no health pill!
Ha! Only a stupid man would hide in the corner, cutting of every single escape route, stupidity. A stupid thing to do when there is a demomand in the area. Just one bomb and it’s a kill that even Jesus would be proud of. That kill deserves a drink, that’s what I say. This is some great whisky, even Jesus would drink this I tell you. Why the hell is that guy running towards me with a shovel?
“Clank” haha drink your drink some other day stupid man! Sun Tzu could kill you with two hands tied behind his ears! He would kill you and then bring you back to life only to kill you again! “Oh Jimmy!” It’s Jimmy all right the only one Engineer on our team. ”Did you see this dork? Drinking on the battlef…”
Ha way too easy, this idiot didn’t even realize that Jimmy is dead. It was not even a challenge to sneak behind him and plunge my knife into his back. “You spilled blood on my suit.” Time to get back in disguise. Only two guys left, this should be easy. Look a medic, he can heal me up before I take him out. He will never see this coming.
“Medic!”
Jimmy? I thought jimmy was dead, oh I get it! “Come over here freund!” he is coming how stupid is he? ”ein bishen mehr” slash! The old bonesaw does the job again. Who is he thinking he can get medicine from me! Stupid man. What noise is that? Its sounds like spinning metal.
Spin Sasha, spin! Get ready Sasha we will get this one. Hahahahahaha my Sasha will kill you with 2000 rounds per minute! You can outsmart me can you? Well can you outsmart 2000 bullets? Hahaha your body is being ripped apart piece by piece, hahahaha. “Heal yourself from that, medic.” No one can stop me, I am heavy weapons guy. “Bang”
Head shot! “Thanks for standing still wanker!”
Monday, December 03, 2007
The Well. Part 1.
Ny mini serie i tre dele, the retreat, the Siege og the counter attack.
The Well. Part 1.
The Retreat.
”RUN!” he screamed as he put another arrow on the string.
“But sir!”
“I told you to run!” he said more calmly releasing the arrow, sending it into a long flight over the field. He turned and griped the sleeve of his sub ordinary. “I gave you an order and you damn well better follow it! Now run for the well!”
He threw the soldier back and made an angry gestured to the other 10 soldiers still not running. Ha! soldiers, they were no more than outlaws, bandits, and the salt of the earth. All dressed up in leftover cammo suits. Who knew who these things had belonged to before they were found by the inhabitants of the wall? Oh yeah, Private Johnson, Private Franklin and a few other privates according to the nametags. Thinking back he used to know a Private Johnson, hundreds of meters away an arrow pierced the ground a few meters from the storming attackers. 30 men with swords and spears racing over the field and by the gods! It looked like one of them had a gun. The good new was that the soldiers was finally running like the devil was chasing them, good now there was only one person left to worry about. “Are you turning into a hero old man?” he asked himself, “Bet you never thought you would tell your men to flee and stay behind, that is not like you at all.” Now I’m all alone again, that was a real genius move you made their old man. All alone just like the old days.” He told himself grapping another arrow and letting it fly through the air. “Just you, your brain and your guts.” The arrow nailed one of the attackers to the ground. He sent another dozen arrows flying and nailed three more of these psychos to the ground. Time for simple math, he had about 7 arrows left and there was at least 26 attackers still charging, that is just not enough arrows. His only chance was to do as his men and turn tail, this wasn’t about the honour or the glory it was about survival, that is all and that had been all for 5 years now.
He released two more arrows before turning tail, he never looked to see if they had hit their intended mark, and it was all about running now. His soldiers were already halfway home, they really must have been afraid if they could run like that. But the ‘hero’ who had stayed behind would have been at the Olympics for his running, if he had been born a decade earlier that is. He stormed over the fields, there was at least half a mile to the well but he was gaining a large hole between himself and his followers.
Bang!
A gunshot! Dammit he had a gun! He should have know, it really wasn’t his day. No time to duck or do a defensive roll, if he did they would catch up and he would be dead. He just had to keep moving forward, and hope that the archers was had seen what was going on. A white arrow landing ten meters in front of him gave him hope, they had seen him. He kept running listening intensely, and after no less than 20 seconds or so, he heard it: The surprised screams of pain and the bell ringing from inside the well. Just ten more meters and he would be home free, he jumped in through the heavy steel door, which was immediately slammed shot behind him and fell to his knees.
“That was one hell of a run there old man!” said one of the soldiers.
“Bad news guys” yelled one of archers.
The old man hurried up on the wall and looked over the fields. At least a hundred men was marching towards the well all armed to the teeth with spears or swords.
“What the hell is going on?” asked one of the archers. “Why are we being attacked?”
“They want the well.” The old man whispered to himself before he turned and yelled: “Prepare for battle! A sieges is about to begin!”
The battle for the well had started.
The Well. Part 1.
The Retreat.
”RUN!” he screamed as he put another arrow on the string.
“But sir!”
“I told you to run!” he said more calmly releasing the arrow, sending it into a long flight over the field. He turned and griped the sleeve of his sub ordinary. “I gave you an order and you damn well better follow it! Now run for the well!”
He threw the soldier back and made an angry gestured to the other 10 soldiers still not running. Ha! soldiers, they were no more than outlaws, bandits, and the salt of the earth. All dressed up in leftover cammo suits. Who knew who these things had belonged to before they were found by the inhabitants of the wall? Oh yeah, Private Johnson, Private Franklin and a few other privates according to the nametags. Thinking back he used to know a Private Johnson, hundreds of meters away an arrow pierced the ground a few meters from the storming attackers. 30 men with swords and spears racing over the field and by the gods! It looked like one of them had a gun. The good new was that the soldiers was finally running like the devil was chasing them, good now there was only one person left to worry about. “Are you turning into a hero old man?” he asked himself, “Bet you never thought you would tell your men to flee and stay behind, that is not like you at all.” Now I’m all alone again, that was a real genius move you made their old man. All alone just like the old days.” He told himself grapping another arrow and letting it fly through the air. “Just you, your brain and your guts.” The arrow nailed one of the attackers to the ground. He sent another dozen arrows flying and nailed three more of these psychos to the ground. Time for simple math, he had about 7 arrows left and there was at least 26 attackers still charging, that is just not enough arrows. His only chance was to do as his men and turn tail, this wasn’t about the honour or the glory it was about survival, that is all and that had been all for 5 years now.
He released two more arrows before turning tail, he never looked to see if they had hit their intended mark, and it was all about running now. His soldiers were already halfway home, they really must have been afraid if they could run like that. But the ‘hero’ who had stayed behind would have been at the Olympics for his running, if he had been born a decade earlier that is. He stormed over the fields, there was at least half a mile to the well but he was gaining a large hole between himself and his followers.
Bang!
A gunshot! Dammit he had a gun! He should have know, it really wasn’t his day. No time to duck or do a defensive roll, if he did they would catch up and he would be dead. He just had to keep moving forward, and hope that the archers was had seen what was going on. A white arrow landing ten meters in front of him gave him hope, they had seen him. He kept running listening intensely, and after no less than 20 seconds or so, he heard it: The surprised screams of pain and the bell ringing from inside the well. Just ten more meters and he would be home free, he jumped in through the heavy steel door, which was immediately slammed shot behind him and fell to his knees.
“That was one hell of a run there old man!” said one of the soldiers.
“Bad news guys” yelled one of archers.
The old man hurried up on the wall and looked over the fields. At least a hundred men was marching towards the well all armed to the teeth with spears or swords.
“What the hell is going on?” asked one of the archers. “Why are we being attacked?”
“They want the well.” The old man whispered to himself before he turned and yelled: “Prepare for battle! A sieges is about to begin!”
The battle for the well had started.
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