The hand- described history of my book " Nephelokokkygia - Cloud cuckoo land " takes up the idea of the Greeks that somewhere in the air, a city of birds is to of returning to the cold season. The stories they experience there are the contents of the book.
Deep down, where wet, blue-gray patch the weak wind swinging lamp reflected, nothing can be perceived from what in the dark brown, almost black house in the attic just occurred.
A black bird flies startled by the night. A door opens in the distance. Urgent steps are noticeable. Then again this oppressive silence, this terrible silence of the grave.
As tears lie raindrops for rain drops on the Skylight. About the different roof shapes to draw the End of the city far behind on the horizon. Moist air flows through the small attic. Clot Gradually the drop and change according to small rivulets, which quickly aspire below.
The wind picks up, the rain lashing against the window, the light of Street lights blurred into abstract streaks, the incessant drag across the window. Diffuse light penetrates from the road into the dark chamber, a child cries out briefly, then you only hear the bright tones of falling on the roof panels raindrops. Back angle is distinguished from a soft, curved shape. The Ceiling conceals what lies beneath it. The floor creaks, each Step, which traverses the pale room, leaving a groaning onomatopoeia. Reluctantly waiting, groping the dark shadows of distorted records the roof panels from. A short but violent gust of wind strikes all concealing cloth back. Suddenly, the view is free to the Skull of a mummified corpse.
The shiny glass front appeared light and airy, transparent bright The hustle and bustle at the premises was visible from the outside, was by carried externally. Visible was because the rush of everyday life, the languid makes the wounded. Visible was the full force of life. When the last light goes out on the premises of gloss when night and darkness creeps along the corridors, the facade is the other Side of the road again. In the dark black shiny glass facade of the Money then reflected the dull gray houses fronts the opposing workers' settlements with one, two and three backyards behind each row of houses. Mirrors and with all the suffering of the working of unemployment.
The men do not see it, because now they live in the posh suburbs of the city, protected by video cameras and motion detectors. It lives there better than here in the city with the industrial park, with the stinking garbage and noisy children.
As a black mass swelled the train through the narrow streets of Old Town. Estimate the censer, the incessantly from one end to the other swung and light smoke uttered. The whole street pulled out a white bluish smoke screen, which difficult in the dark walls, the black holes of inputs stated, - hang in there remained.
Step by step approached this dark wall. flags were held high, a canopy was visible, contributed torchbearer torch of tar burning with him, incomprehensible mumbled prayers and a bright sing-song were audible. Three cannon shots were the tottering train for a moment frozen, motionless remained all. stand Only after a few moments, the train started again slow in motion, and went on without a word, came over.
The large church was almost completely dark, the front of the altar flickered slightly excitedly back and forth. The organ began at once a strange, to play new, discordant, going under the skin song. The deep voice, the sound of the grand instrument filled the whole church hall with its enormous cascades.
Incessantly played the organ her song, which is still not previously had heard. Recorded on the column on the aisle to always getting stronger, a blood-red band on the wall. A small window high up in the choir showed that outside the weather had changed. The church room was quiet again as before. Not a sound was heard, only short, shrill cries of a bird, busy this dead place.
Death, the great master held back into the quarter down by the River, down next to the stone bridge with its massive arches. merciless comes the Death in the dilapidated homes that his visit already have experienced countless times. For them he is an old acquaintance, already long they stand. He enters the room and silently all know he is back Guest tonight.
The moldy smell is just slightly more intense than usual, it's cold and moist, it will not be long until the pain has an end. he is already next to the camp, I see him already, and when the time came, then it accesses, takes what is his, and leaves the place of Poverty, is the way he came. Quiet - inaudible.
The party was in full swing. The hall overflowing with colorful garlands decorated, everywhere you looked was a bustle in the round. Exuberance and lust was in the air, crossed the gray room with his dark Vaults. Candlelight illuminated the large room dimly, the darkness swallowed the light. The shadows danced as if they had life of its own, to the walls, reflected by the joy resist whose sad sisters they were. The shadow was on the wall, played with everything, but he was pale and colorless, just a black and white allow it. The smell of frying turned into the sweet smell of decay and death.
Before appearing infinitely high portico appeared in magnificent plumage flaunting ruler toy way small, its Size seemed ridiculous compared to the size of the monumental pillars of monotonous structure. A colorful splash of color was he who in mock ease sashayed down the red marble floor, and yet seemed clumsy and undignified. Only the feather coat was the one who set him apart from the others.
But no one wanted to have it come true and he had been living all the time like a maggot in bacon.
On the wide square in front of the large self-supporting hall was quiet has returned. There was a feeling of tingling excitement in the air, which no one could resist. Wooden sticks, thrown skillfully with momentum fell, on the black gray granite paving. The throw, the incidental Maze of bars, showed all, it was time again. Anyone with the woods read understood, knew, one of them is now back the old rite follow to save at all.
The bright red rod has been selected. How to sign out the long lines began to move, all shuffling inexorably, so it seemed - at the center on. There was the surrender of the red Timber.
Like a maelstrom urged the train through the streets addition, the To the place of execution. He was above the city on a hill, from which all the houses were to overlook in their full beauty.
When the procession arrived at the great funeral pyre, had the Mummery of a sudden an end. Everyone waited now curious if it so would go on, as they were used previously. Everyone was deeply touched, no one could escape the situation.
Once at the top, the Chosen One looked one last time into the Round, but he kept the red bar quietly in his hand. He looked over to the light towers, to the temple and down to the harbor with its colorful Ships. Then he broke the rod.
That was the sign that he was ready. In no time itself sparked a great fire blazed up the flames up. A single loud cry echoed over the place down there rose black birds from the high roofs and disappeared in the dark cloud of smoke that was visible from afar. There was a unique spectacle in the sky.
Everyone knew now nothing can happen now can make life start all over again, for all. Mesmerized, she stared for some time to the flames, then they turned more and more from them and went silently down the hill.
He saved us, they said, and new confidence began to spread.
The plaster was crumbling behind him, salt of salpeter blossomed out of the red Clay tiles, it smelled of mildew and he sat there in silence, not looking up, but thought only of what was then a fortune teller told him before the war. What for a life she had prophesied in a life full of happiness, wealth and many children.
Then came the attack, he still hear the whirring high in the air, then the Firebolt, the bang, the smoke and the mud, and there was nothing like earlier. They had saved him, where he would most like to croak. They were mercy to him.
His skateboard he brought here every day before the crash in house position only to eke out the life given to the charity to vegetate. Life it was not mentioned.
A few corners were on the, with colorful feathers to their caps were the ones who so gladly cried out in their uniforms. None of them wanted more have something to do with him the old fighters.
He had become superfluous, he was from a time that no longer wanted to admit it, but a time might come back. Now that it is back to life let, - in the city with all its colored viaducts, with its lively squares and busy streets, he did not fit it. Now that the dorsal stripe of destruction, who had blazed through the houses, finally eliminated among many labors and efforts had been, the cripple was only a disagreeable Cassandra with his two leg stumps. Now that everything seemed to forget where it all began to flourish again, he still recalls suffering and death, as well, as he sat there miserably.
He still hears the guns, the thunder, the screams, the stench, he started the war in the head, he can not forget him. The war has been burned into his soul, he not only physically wounded.
He can not leave his vale of tears, he is a prisoner of his itself
The wooden boards coated along one side of the street, infinitely far down the mountain. Behind the high board fence, opaque like a huge Laundry tub, nothing could be seen, no sign of life. Open dark holes were the window openings of old weathered brick buildings. Only one street back was also beyond this long fence life to hear, but all steamed weird. Here dwelt those who were no longer tolerated in the new city, lived here for the life had no more room.
Through a knothole of eyes fell on a barren old parking area, where an old haggard old horse had his discharge. Which generosity of those who themselves had nothing, were nothing.
In the eyes of others they were just parasites, many of them were an eyesore.
The extent of the ghetto was seen only when the shallow hill climbed. From up here you could see the flashing and the light on one side and the dark with the sweet smell of dead ghouls reminiscent of life on the other Page. The city showing its true face, she is a changeling in its history.
Outside the town, next to the iron bridge, is the Cemetery. Trees grow from the graves, it has been a long time no longer used. The wrought iron gate squeak softly when opened. It feels warm, the sun is this place the illusion of living warmth and yet everything cold and still. Only the back of the last row of graves is the dull sound of earth hear the falls loosely on a hill. The earth is a body again.
Dark black, dirt smeared, sunken, he is beginning to emerge ever more clearly. A moth flies by, bees are buzzing, the wing of a bird is heard, then silence is.
He looked around and suddenly starts to become a bit restless. Now it was time again, like all the time before he turns with leisurely steps one last round on the tags with beautiful old houses marketplace, he looks a last time on the colorful umbrellas on the old stone floor, he trots short and then soars into the sky, he pulls a last circle over the city to the then with all to open other birds to get back to fly to Earth, where the spring already was preparing to hold feeder.
Gerd J. Wunderer