Il villaggio

5,00 Stern(e) 1 Stimme
My village consists of a road with some turn-offs. My parents were atheists. We called the christ-child in the forest just before Christmas. I remember Dad shouting: ‘Christkind, Christkind’, his voice echoing from the trees.
My parents disliked me. I disliked them too at times, and I looked like a little boy with short hair. Our palazzo was huge, but I don’t think I was spoilt. I played in the garden, which was situated far from monasteries and their philosophy.
More often than not, my parents quarreled about this or the other. It was cold out. I played without my gloves on in the cold, until my hands turned numb; I ran to the kitchen to recover the feeling in the fingers by placing them against the radiator.

In the evening we drank hot mulled wine sitting in front of the open fireplace, listening to the crackle of the fire.
We did have a dog called Minka, and my first memory stems from the day when Dad hit our dog with a rolled-up newspaper because Mika had bitten off some of the red wallpaper in the kitchen.

Nowadays I think that Mum was rather pretty.
My parents eventually sold the dog, and the house, we moved, and they got divorced.

I now live in a small, sleepy university town, having lived abroad, in South Africa, the UK, and Italy. Time seems to flow without any real ups and downs. I managed to patch things up with Mum, and Dad has passed on. The time that most shaped my identity was the time spent in London, with my weird and wonderful friends, and the happy times spent at university.

I’m back at university, and my studies sustain me. I’ve grown used to not fitting in, but I do like going to the local veggie market in order to buy a cup of coffee from the local vendor. Moreover, I like listening to the radio and whistling along while I rustle something up; or indeed going jogging.
However, I do miss my friends from abroad, especially from London.
As I hope to gain worthwhile employment, improve my creative writing, make new friends and break away from the neat little box into which the local townspeople have tried to squash me.

Klaus K.

Hi Corinne,
so good, so good to have you back! For sure there were quite a lot of people missing you here....and dont you let anyone or anything drag you down, Corinne!!!
Wie immer mit bestem Gruß, Klaus
Hallo Klaus,
ja, stimmt, der Text hat etwas 'down' geklungen...
Ich habe wieder eine deadline aufgrund meines Studiums ...

Vielen Dank,

Klaus K.


du musst bei mir nicht "mit gleicher Münze", du verstehst schon! Ich bin manchmal (oft?) auch etwas provozierend, bei "Kurzgeschichten" allerdings auf dem eher harmlosen Trip. Aber jetzt zu dir:
Corinne, du bist klasse! Du bist drei- oder noch mehrsprachiger, du schaffst alles! Ich bin eine Ecke älter als du. Verdammte Hacke, und ich sage dir, du schaffst alles - wer so schreiben kann, wer Bilder mit Worten malen kann, du wirst Erfolg haben, glaube mir! Die Zeit wird kommen, in der man deine "Miniaturen", deine Schreibweise, deine Literatur richtig wertschätzen wird, denn da ist etwas drin, was nicht nur einem Typ wie mir auffällt. Sie ist so ganz anders, und schau, die Zugriffe hier geben mir (DIR!) recht. Der Text heute hier hat mir auch inhaltlich mal wieder gezeigt: Du bist eine tolle Frau!
Und jetzt übersetze ich ihn mal auf deutsch, für meine Frau, ihr ist das lieber so. Kopf hoch, noone can and nothing will drag you down! Got it? Mit Gruß, Klaus

Oben Unten