Unikum 03 Mars NETT

SHORT STORY
EVERYTHING
IS
ALLOWED
Tobias Klausen
Writer
Fluttering in the mild, spring wind there is a
trace of something. What it is eludes its victims,
no word has yet to be invented for its ambience,
yet they feel its invigorating effect beckon
them. It’s like a warm embrace, encasing one
in the enticing promise of safety, never threatening
to ease its grasp nor let go. Like moths
to the light, the people of the land are drawn
to it, seeking its tenderness with eager, never
having to search long before being engulfed
in its marvel. Like ripples in a pond, there is
a resonance, bouncing with ease across the
meadows, rubble landscape and the city, that
of laughing children, rowdy teenagers, stable
adults and reminiscing elderly. It is the horrendous
wonderful sound of Earth and the
creatures which inhabit it.
she was willing to pay. Because the load
could never outweigh the joy of seeing
her family fall apart prosper. Their
smiles and love were all the support
she needed to carry on another day.
In a nest of cubicles, crouched
over a tiny desk
with a huge computer,
the woman feels the
tickling of a foreign inkling.
At first, she discards
it, assumes its
distracting nature is
simply that, a subconscious
urge to live in
denial procrastinate.
Such is the ample, spring day of May 20th.
Inside the comfort of her home, a middle-aged
woman stirs, watching the cinders butterflies
flutter in the gentle wind. It calls to her, whispers
the delicious temptations of relaxation.
But once more, the woman must reject its urge,
embracing maturity, relinquishing her childlike
desire for the neglection of responsibilities.
Freedom came at a heavy price, and the weight
of obligations was a very steep charge. But one
But with each poke, it
slowly unveils its true
character. A remembrance,
like a static photo clouded with obscurity,
however, if she simply focused,
she might tune it just right to see its entirety.
A nightmare dream? Yes, it was the
reoccurring dream, one which slipped into
her unconsciousness after its passing, only
reemerging as a subtle omen. What was is about
again?
30