Larry was sitting on the little beach, playing with a stick. There wasn’t much else to do. The giants came swimming in again, huge underwater monsters, passing by every once in a while. Some said they were gods. Larry wasn’t sure, but he knew his life depended on them.
-They say there’s another world far above, Peter said. Peter was new here, he had come in from the shop, young, full of life and energy. Such a waste…. (Press the image to keep reading)
Silence. Mari’s mother looked down at her plate. Her uncle Hans had a strange smile on his face. He didn’t smile much.
-Where did you hear that name? Her grandmother’s voice was shaking. Mari wasn’t sure if it was anger or fear. Maybe it was both, or something else. She didn’t answer.
-I said, where did you hear that name?
-I didn’t hear it, Mari said. I found a drawing…
Another long silence. No one said anything. Her grandma looking at straight at her. Her mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.
-He was your brother, Uncle Hans said… (More)
This is the third part of a circular trilogy. The other two parts are called Empty Funeral and Scavengers. They can all be read individually and in any order.
He looked out of the window. The crows were uneasy tonight. They seemed nervous by some reason, jumping between the branches of the dead tree outside. They always gathered around his house, but today they seemed to be more.
He poured himself a drink from a whiskey bottle, picked up a book and sat down. Outside he heard the crows caw. They were usually silent at this hour. Every once in while he looked up towards the window, wondering what was wrong.
He heard a sound down stairs… (more)
Mike receives a threatening letter. Someone wants him to redraw a book because they think it insults cats. Some treats … More
The last word was down. The article was written. He looked at the clock. He had time. The editing shouldn’t take too long.
He went into the kitchen and got himself a cup of coffee. The coffee maker fell over.
-Damn! He got a cloth and wiped it up. He could feel something breath him in the neck. He turned around. There was nothing there.
He put another coffee on, and waited. He felt it again. The breathing. He looked at the clock. The deadline was getting closer.
You won’t make it…
He turned around again…
He took a long look in the mirror, got the next stroke on. It was perfect. Slowly the self portrait was taking form. It looked more alive than anything he’d ever painted before, anything he’d ever seen. Every new stroke made it better, every next step made it more real.
He studied every little detail in the mirror, every little colour, every last wrinkle, every shadow. It looked real. More than real. More real than…