#text lish

[pumpkinauthors]

The cost of a good deed

She was cold and hungry, and in one hour she would be dead. She had come to terms with this a long time ago, and the thought did not bother her anymore as it once did. She understood why they would do it, she did not agree, but she understood. So her impending execution was not what was making her pace up and down her cell, heart rate accelerated and palms sweating. No, she'd known what she got herself into when she started down this path, she had known that this might be where she would end up. What she had not expected was what they would force her to do before they killed her, that they would force her up on stage in front of all those people. That she would be forced to hold a fucking speech.

She guessed this was her punishment, karma or some other bullshit, for what she'd done. But the asshole had deserved it, should have seen it coming miles away. It's not as if she had the best reputation in town, and it was no secret that she'd had no love for him. Quite the opposite really, especially since he pulled that stunt that included sending all his subjects with mixed parentage out to the 'colonies'. She had watched him that day, just as her own little brother was ushered out of her sight for good, and she had seen the cruel and unforgiving glint in his eyes.  That was when she decided, and that was when his fate was sealed.

She almost regretted it now though. Now that she would be forced to stand in front of all those people, all of them with their eyes and attention on her alone, and be forced to address them. She shivered, and the cold seeped even further into her bones.

Maybe killing royalty had been taking it one step too far.

[pumpkinauthors]

Fyra fingrar - konversationsövning

"Du har bara fyra fingrar på ena handen," en ljus röst bakifrån fick Peter att vända sig om. Det var en liten flicka, leksaksbåt i hand och en fråga i ögonen. Han suckade djupt.

"Ja."

"Varför då?"

"Jag har förlorat ett."

Flickan stannade upp och verkade nöjd för några sekunder, kollade ner på sina skor, innan hon höjde ögonen igen, "Men hur förlorade du det?"

Peter vände blicken mot båten i flickans hand. Den var djupblå. Han undrade hur det var meningen att man skulle kunna se den i vattnet, innan han insåg at den troligtvis var gjord för att användas i en pool och inte i havet. Den hade ett litet staket runt kanten som var alldeles för vasst för att sitta på en barnleksak. Flickans tumme droppade rött på marken. "Är det din båt?"

Flickans skruvade på sig, kolla sig omkring, och tog ett steg närmare Peter. "Nej, det är Karins," en till snabb blick runt men Karin var inte i närheten, "hon tar alltid mina saker."

"Så du tog något av henne som hämnd?"

Hon såg skärrad ut, "Nej inte hämnd! Jag- hon ville inte lämna tillbaka... Hon ska få den igen snart!"

Peter kollade på henne med stadig blick, sa ingenting, och hon stampade tillslut med foten så hårt hon kunde.

"Jag lovar."

Han nickade, "Jag tror dig."

Hon log och stoppade tummen i munnen, men insåg snabbt att det skulle se ut som om hon inte var så mogen som hon ville vara, och torkade av blodet på byxorna istället. Hennes blick gick återigen till hans hand.

"Så hur-"

"Kommer du visa henne det?" Han nickade mot hennes tumme och hon lyfte den framför sig, studerade den noga, nickade. Han lyfte på ögonbrynen.

"Nej," sa hon tillslut, "hon får inte veta."

"Varför inte?"

"Det är ju hennes båt," sa hon med allvarlig ton. "Hon kanske känner sig skyldig."

"Så du bryr dig om vad hon känner fast du snodde båten av henne?"

Flickans mun drogs ner i en grimas och han ändrade sig, "Lånade."

"Ja såklart. Hon är fortfarande min vän."

"Så du kommer inte prata om såret? Om hur du fick det?"

Flickan skakade på huvudet.

"Inte till någon?"

Hon skakade ännu mer på huvudet.

"Det är ett val jag kan förstå." Han vinkade hej då med handen som bara hade fyra fingrar och gick. Flickan stoppade den åter blödande tummen i mun och gick för att hitta Karin.

[pumpkinauthors]

He liked it down here in the damp dark earth. He liked the smell of water in the air and the sight of death so neatly lined up in rows upon rows along the walls. It was calming, somehow, to see the end they would all meet one day, to not be able to distinguish the rich from the poor in those long rows. High lord or lowly commoner, lucky or unlucky, blessed by beauty or cursed with ugliness, everyone was judged with the same finality by those deep dark pits staring out from the dead remains. He walked down the corridor, let his hand trail along the top of the skulls, and smiled. This is my legacy. They will curse my name for years to come and they will tell their children about me to make them behave. They will see me waiting in every shadow the sun fails to reach. All the injustices of the world is washed away in bone white bleach, and I will be immortal.

[pumpkinauthors]

Vårmorgon

Det som bryter nattens tystnad är inte kylens brummande eller klockans tickande. Det är inte grannarnas stampande, larmsignalens tjut eller skrikande barn ute på gården. Det är sång. En hyllning till livet i dess gladaste form. Den lockar mig från sängens djup och sömnen flyr från mina sinnen när morgonens ljusstrålar lägger sig över slutna ögon, lyser upp dagen innan den har börjat. Ensamma fåglar sjunger sittandes i morgondimman, och deras sång förflyttar delar av  solen till mina ögon. Det är inget permanent, sol och sång är sällan det, men det är tillräckligt för att snödropparna ska ta rot i själen.

[pumpkinauthors]

Tired

She lay on her side, staring at the wall. People were talking around her, muttering about memories and hopes for the future, dreams and faraway goals. But all she could hear was her own breathing. She was exhausted, spent, completely done and the room was spinning. No matter what happened now she wouldn't be able to get up, and she didn't want to either. She would not be moving for quite some time she decided with a defeated thought. The air was filled with a pungent smell, it stuck in her clothes and in her nose, and if she had not been as out of it as she was she would have recoiled from it. A person from the milling group around here broke loose and moved towards her, she could hear their shuffling steps, and she took a deep breath. No please, just leave me alone, please. The person reached her, squatted beside her and put a hand on her arm, to get her attention or to steady themselves she did not know. She tensed up, the smell was thicker now, oozing from the newly arrived companion in thick waves.

"Hey friend, you alright there? The party is just getting started!" 

Oh god dammit, I just want to sleep.

[pumpkinauthors]

Taste of freedom

The horizon was endless and so was his freedom. The road underneath his feet was cracked and full of holes, a sad excuse for a highway making its way into the desert. It was empty, desolate, burnt and dry as dust. It was the most stunning scene he had ever seen.

He would not start down the road though, not yet. He took a couple of deep breaths, tasting the fresh and warm air, and sat down in the middle of the highway. No cars came through, had not for many years, so he was safe here. He could finally stop for a while and take some time to compose himself. He put his backpack, containing all his belongings, down beside him and rested back on his arms. He tilted his head towards the sky and let the wind ruffle his dark hair while his eyes chased clouds across the sky. This was what he had dreamed for, this was what he had fought for, this was what he would probably soon die for.  He was content.  He could feel the gravel underneath his bare calves and palms, digging into his calloused hands and stinging his legs. These were not the kind of pants he should wear into the dessert, he knew, but the time for forethought had long since passed and he had to make do with what he had right now. A deep inhale, tasting the sand in the air and the sun in the sky, and a deep exhale, feeling his body grow more calm and composed. He gathered his legs underneath him slowly, and stood up. He shouldered his backpack once more and brushed off the few small pieces of gravel that still clung to his calves. He took the first step on the road that lead towards the endless horizon and time lost its meaning.

Sun and moon melted together.

It was all a blur. The sun was melting into the sand and the air was dancing around him. The sand was moving beneath his feet and was he falling? Or maybe he was simply moving forward, it was hard to tell anymore. Every breath was a mouthful of fire and dust, agitating his raw throat and teased his swollen tongue, but he had to keep going, had to keep breathing. His face wore blisters, or were the blisters his face? They felt more normal, more natural in this environment than his unblemished skin. He slowed his pace, stopped, and sat down. Was this still the middle of the road? There was no way of knowing, the sand was covering everything this far into the desert. He let the backpack fall off his back and onto the sand before he put his arms out behind him and rested back on them, his head tilted towards the sky. Or was that really the sky? It had the same shade as the sand that had become his world. He let his eyes chase grains of sand across the sky as his hair played around his head. This was what he had fought for. He didn't even have to remind himself of that, it was always at the forefront of his mind. This was what freedom tasted like for the likes of him.

[pumpkinauthors]

No ruckus, no sound, no trace.

The sound of the TV from the other room suddenly stopped. The silence was deafening, the only thing breaking it was her own breathing, and she froze in place. No ruckus, no sound, no trace. It was a mantra, repeating itself in her head, over and over and over. A noise could be heard over her inner monologue, the slow and whispering  rustle of footsteps made in no hurry, with no care as to who heard them. I need to calm down, she didn't hear anything. The footsteps shuffled away from her and she took a slow, deep breath. She unclenched her hands, when had I clenched them?, let her whole body relax into a more comfortable pose, and let her head move again, surveying the desolate kitchen once more. Nothing had changed, of course nothing had, the fear was only within herself. I need to be out before anyone realize that I'm gone, this is my last chance. She raised one hand to grip tightly onto the backpack strap over her shoulder, and turned once again towards the open cabinet beside her, it's scarce content spread out as much in containers as on the shelves. She quickly, and with as little sound as possible, swung her backpack of her shoulder and opened it with slow moments. Every tiny sound from the zipper as she worked it carefully open made her flinch, and her heart was on its way out of her chest by the time she finished. A couple of unopened cans went in first, she didn't spare the time to check the labels and even if she would have she wasn't sure she wanted to know what they contained anyway. A packet of raisins lay in a dusty corner and she felt delight, such childish and silly elation, for the small treasure and the smile that crept across her face. She almost didn't grab it then, just to punish herself for those feelings, for that naivety, but her hunger and her rational thoughts made her reach for it and stuff it in the backpack all the same.

Across the apartment a muffled chime could be heard, as from a old-fashioned clock. Was it that late already? I really need to get out of here now. I should already be on my way, I should be nowhere near here, I shou-... I should calm down. She yanked her bag closed and swung it up on one shoulder at the same time as she let her long legs carry her towards the kitchen window. She was ready for this step, had been ready for months, and she easily dislodged the thin bars that covered the small window with sharp jerks. She had spent many nights slowly, and carefully, working the nails out of the wood and hiding them in a hole in her wall, leaving no trace and letting nothing of her betrayal show on her face. After the bars was out of the way it was an easy thing to open the window and let the fresh, cold, air wash over her face. She swung one leg over the edge and felt the same weak, naive, smile creep onto her face as before. But this time she let it stay, she would finally be out of here, she would be free. No ruckus, no sound, no trace. Those were simply words, she did not have to follow them anymore. She could make all the ruckus she wanted, scream at the top of her lungs, leave traces and marks everywhere she went. She swung her other leg over the edge and looked down. It was not that high up, she could make it, she could finally make it out. The smile spread. She was roughly yanked backwards and the smile slipped from her face. I made a ruckus, I made a sound, I left a trace.

[pumpkinauthors]

The worth of a life

"How much is a human life worth?" She looked him straight in the eye as she asked him this, giving him no room to dismiss her. He was sitting down in front of her, his shoulders hunched and hands in his lap, but the eyes in his downcast face stared straight at her with defiance.

She took a step closer, now effectively towering over him. He instinctively averted his gaze, but his need for dominance drew his attention back to her and he held her stare with clenched fists and sweat running down his neck. "What? What do you- why are you asking me that?" His anger was gathering, making him even more agitated.

"Because you said the cost was too high." She stated simply, keeping her voice carefully neutral. "We got him out of there, alive, but you still maintain that the cost was too high. Would it have been worth the money if there had been two lives saved instead? Would that have covered the costs?"

He looked taken aback, shaken. The confusion in his eyes revealing his ignorance and how little thought he had given this matter prior to this event. "I never said that. I wouldn't. I never meant that they- You are twisting my words and you know it!" He rose up out of his chair, the force of his sudden movement pushing it across the floor and filling the sudden silence with its screech.

She let it grow for a while, savoring the pulsating emotions coming from the man with the clenched fists, hunched back and pained eyes in front of her. "The only twisted thing in here is you." Her voice was calm as she slowly aimed her gun at his head once more, compensating for his movement. "So I ask you again, Mr. Lewis. How much is a human life worth?"