Rätsel Feinschmecker
Mystery Gourmet
Hmhm, just a short story I wrote in English some number of months ago... Honestly though, I just want to work on my writing skills for the time being. This is my first foray into having my work critiqued online and such, so let's see how it goes.
I'll write something more fantastical next time...
Rated PG for very mild violence.
The Bird Lady came to me in my dreams again.
I was lucid, drifting between the planes of enigmatic dreams and sardonic reality. Somehow I knew she was there, yet she would disappear out of my mind’s eye, as if telling me to etch her into a concrete state lest I lose her.
Today, I tapped my pencil against my head and sighed as I had been for the past five afternoons. The blank drawing paper before me lay untouched. Occasionally, there was the nearly invisible mark of graphite that defined nothing. The radio spat out rock songs one after another, though I was deaf to them in my visualizing.
She wasn’t really a female anthropomorphic version of some tropical bird. She was more like a mix between an Amazon and a tribal warrior, a primeval and savage beauty. Rows and columns of feathers decorated leather armor on her headdress that was also a mask, shoulders, chest, arms, hips, and shins; gold and silver bracelets and anklets, some thick bands studded with precious gems, others mere wires, jingled as she sauntered appraisingly past my mind’s eye. A long, gold trimmed sleeveless cream tunic lay hidden beneath all those feathers and armor. Her tanned skin was heavily tattooed with swirling henna patterns of dots and French curves that intertwined together, as if they were telling a roundabout story. Her hair reminded me of a peacock’s tail feathers, each strand a tiny strip of a masterful painting.
I didn’t seem to care much for anything else these days, other than trying miserably to translate this wayward figure onto paper.
The pencil wavered over the off-white paper, tracing invisible designs in the air. Summoning up all the courage I had, I began to lightly sketch out a stick figure, then the general outline of her body, then her clothing and armor. She was turned away from the viewer, though she turned her head to look over her shoulder. A tapestry was held behind her back by outstretched arms. Like her body, the tapestry was bordered by curves and dots that wove itself into fantastic designs. I divided the center of the tapestry into four parts but left it blank.
What would go on the center? I decided to sleep on it tonight.
~*~
“Ah… Geez. It’s like you don’t care about anything, you know?” Elza peered down at me.
“Hm?” I looked up at her through half-closed eyes, my head propped on my hands. She brushed blonde hair behind her ear and shook her head.
“Hey, wake up already. It’s second period.”
“So?” She prodded my forehead with a sharp jab of her index finger. “Ow. What was that for?”
“’Ow’?” She mocked my monotonous voice. “It’s like you can’t get excited about anything.” Elza poked me again. I swatted her hand anyway.
Biology was awfully trivial today—just a few worksheets and that was all. We had the next fifty minutes to do whatever we wanted. It always ended up with Elza and I having ‘meaningful’ conversations. Mostly it was Elza yelling or physically abusing me for being apathetic about my future and everyone else. I shrugged it off for the most part, listening with only one ear.
“What are you going to do after college?” she asked. We had been through this conversation countless times.
“Work somewhere, I guess,” I yawned.
“Where?” she demanded.
“Some high paying job.”
She rolled her eyes. “My, how specific.”
I smiled humorlessly and leaned back into my chair. “It works.”
“Don’t you got any passion in life?”
“If I find a soul mate, maybe,” I lied. I’m much too solitary for that. Then there was art, but even then it was a small hobby of mine.
“Ugh, you’re so boring, you know that?”
“Maybe that’s just half of it.”
Elza scoffed and left me alone to bother another friend. Finally I was left to my own devices. I mulled over what I was going to draw on the tapestry. Scenes of love and hate, perhaps? A lover’s embrace would be on the far left, and a battlefield on the far right. What else… Something to complement that. Someone standing on the edge of the abyss and another looking up to the skies above. I needed to write this down somewhere…
My reverie was broken by a paper football making a touchdown on my head. Laughing and some cursing coursed through my ears.
“Oh snap! Whoops, sorry about that.” It was Clive, another friend, and though we’ve grown a little distant over the years, we were still on good terms. He was a somewhat naïve, blond haired, green eyed pretty boy who was very mischievous. I’d also heard he was a bit of a playboy himself, though he didn’t talk much about it to me. Out of the corner of my eye, Kelley, some nondescript guy in my school life, was whispering in Clive’s ear. Clive shrugged and shook his head. Kelley scowled and I could have sworn he had given me a dirty glare.
“Whatever,” I shrugged, not bothering to turn my head. I tossed the paper football back.
The clock said there was forty-three minutes to go.
Mutilating my two pencils kept me occupied for the rest of the period.
~*~
Some say that apathy is an extreme form of laziness. I’d be inclined to agree, but… No, the irony’s too easy.
Truthfully, I didn’t have much to be concerned about. School was easy; it was just getting myself motivated to start on a big project early that was torturous. My reputation was pretty notable—if anyone needed an answer or explanation, then he or she would just come to me. My weight was healthy, and even if I was out of shape I had enough endurance to last through PE with a good grade. My parents weren’t home that often, but I had a healthy enough relationship with them.
You may ask, “What about your social life?”
I would laugh, and if I were feeling particularly nasty at that moment maybe even spit in your face. “What social life?” My self-exile was simply a habit, a solitude that asked nothing in return. At least, the romantic side of me thought so.
I acknowledged my faults. I just didn’t care enough to fix them.
There was no sound in the house other than the heater blowing through the vents, the refrigerator running, international music and the shallow breath of a brush on canvas.
Afternoons were my reflective times, five hours of stewing in my insanity and folly. Elza’s question of passion arose unbidden in my mind as I took a break from the Bird Lady, flexing and cracking the knuckles in my hand.
What’s the difference between a fanatical obsession and passion? When does self-control become depravity? I’ve tried my best to keep rational thought.
Acrylic paints stood like tiny sentinels over a few palettes, brushes and cups of water. I hadn’t painted in a very long time, preferring to stick with monochrome. Color was always terribly difficult for me.
Somehow, be it know-how aided by intuition, vice-versa, or some divine gift, I had managed to not mangle the image. Break over, my brushes continued to breathe life into her. Brilliant rainbows of feathers now filled the canvas. Her beaked mask/headdress and hair had now been defined by red velvet, gold and splashy sapphires and emeralds, and her clothes and armor seemed so real that one could reach out and touch them.
The center of the tapestry still lay untouched. I would do it tomorrow.
~*~
“Hey, you better watch out today,” Elza said.
“Why?” I looked up into her cerulean eyes. They’ve always had a look of disgust on them.
She motioned discreetly to the back of the room and lowered her voice. “They’ve tagged you next.”
“I’ll just lock my doors, then,” I said simply. I hadn’t heard too much of what they did—broke a few things, nothing really worth of value, just some childish play--but it didn’t seem they did too much damage if no one talked about it.
“Just a heads up.”
“Mm. Thanks.”
I didn’t think too much of it.
~*~
For some inexplicable reason, I was exhausted when I got home. The weather was getting to me, even if I did enjoy those rare treats when it rained hard for the entire day. The drumming deluge helped me fall asleep on the living room couch, far from my room.
She came again. The Bird Lady never spoke to me in my phantasmagorias. Her entire face was obscured by that mask/headdress, so I suppose that’s part of the reason. Now was different, however. Whereas she would usually walk past my mind’s eye and seemingly examine me, now she was beckoning me to follow her. There was something terribly depressing the way she gestured to me.
I followed her. We were heading down a straight path, and before long I could see a distant white light frayed with navy edges. We entered through it, and I woke up.
Skrrtch… Skrrtch…
My heart began to beat painfully as I was startled into waking. Every sense of mine was alert, trying to pinpoint the scratching sound.
Skrrtch… Skrrtch…
…My room! But the window had an alarm on it! How could there be…
Clive. A long time ago, when he still visited my house, he would come in through my window. He showed me how he didn’t trip the alarm. It was our little secret.
No, that’s not it either. Clive always came in like James Bond. You’d never notice he was there until you actually saw him.
Then… He must have told someone! Was he not paying attention again?
I headed down the stairs, trying to keep quiet as possible even with adrenaline and blood pounding so loudly in my head. Ugh… Elza was right!
Rrrrtch!
I gasped, and lost all sense of stealth I had maintained. The noise was unmistakable.
When I stood in front of my room, I felt a part of me die inside.
…
…
NO!
Every sense focused on the vandal next to my open window. He turned around, and with blinding speed I leaped and grasped his neck as I slammed him against the wall. The bed frame, windowsill and the dresser rattled from the impact.
He slumped and I was sitting on his stomach. Primeval, unadulterated rage overtook me. I curled my fists and began to pound on him, each punch an outcry of this violation.
How…dare…he…do…this…to…me!!
Out of the corner of my eye I saw the knife he had dropped. It was a folding knife, its blade brandished. Bits and debris of linen were caught between the blade’s serrated teeth. I grasped it and held it over his right eye.
Two tendrils of consciousness snapped across my rage. One tendril was pleading, don’t do it, you’ll regret it, karma, you can’t break now, you can wait, can’t you… The other tendril was screaming, do it, do it because you put your very soul into that painting, you will never be able to replicate it, did you see her face it’s gone forever…
I was hyperventilating. My chest, throat and head hurt, my fists sore. Rain sprayed my face. Distantly I heard thunder boom across the neighborhood.
I teetered between my choices… Oh…
His lip had been split. There was blood on my knuckles. I memorized his face.
Kelley. You’re no longer a nondescript. Someone…important. How shameful.
I hurled the knife out of the window and got off his stomach. With all the remaining strength I had I kicked him violently in the side. He hacked and lay there, breathing hard.
No cracks. I’m weaker than I thought.
“Get out,” I said hoarsely.
He didn’t move.
“I said GET!” I screamed.
His arms flailed uselessly before managing to find the ground.
“You psycho,” he breathed.
“GET OUT!”
He managed to scamper away. He left the knife.
I closed the window and took a hot shower. I left the torn canvas where it was. Afterwards I opened the window, concentrated on the marcato of rain, and drank deeply in the fragrance of earthen oils.
Why, dear Elza.
I believe I’ve found what my passion in life is.
If you’re willing to kill… To take a life… To put your very being into it… To die for it… All without regret…
Yes. I do believe I have.
I'll write something more fantastical next time...
Rated PG for very mild violence.
Catharsis
The Bird Lady came to me in my dreams again.
I was lucid, drifting between the planes of enigmatic dreams and sardonic reality. Somehow I knew she was there, yet she would disappear out of my mind’s eye, as if telling me to etch her into a concrete state lest I lose her.
Today, I tapped my pencil against my head and sighed as I had been for the past five afternoons. The blank drawing paper before me lay untouched. Occasionally, there was the nearly invisible mark of graphite that defined nothing. The radio spat out rock songs one after another, though I was deaf to them in my visualizing.
She wasn’t really a female anthropomorphic version of some tropical bird. She was more like a mix between an Amazon and a tribal warrior, a primeval and savage beauty. Rows and columns of feathers decorated leather armor on her headdress that was also a mask, shoulders, chest, arms, hips, and shins; gold and silver bracelets and anklets, some thick bands studded with precious gems, others mere wires, jingled as she sauntered appraisingly past my mind’s eye. A long, gold trimmed sleeveless cream tunic lay hidden beneath all those feathers and armor. Her tanned skin was heavily tattooed with swirling henna patterns of dots and French curves that intertwined together, as if they were telling a roundabout story. Her hair reminded me of a peacock’s tail feathers, each strand a tiny strip of a masterful painting.
I didn’t seem to care much for anything else these days, other than trying miserably to translate this wayward figure onto paper.
The pencil wavered over the off-white paper, tracing invisible designs in the air. Summoning up all the courage I had, I began to lightly sketch out a stick figure, then the general outline of her body, then her clothing and armor. She was turned away from the viewer, though she turned her head to look over her shoulder. A tapestry was held behind her back by outstretched arms. Like her body, the tapestry was bordered by curves and dots that wove itself into fantastic designs. I divided the center of the tapestry into four parts but left it blank.
What would go on the center? I decided to sleep on it tonight.
~*~
“Ah… Geez. It’s like you don’t care about anything, you know?” Elza peered down at me.
“Hm?” I looked up at her through half-closed eyes, my head propped on my hands. She brushed blonde hair behind her ear and shook her head.
“Hey, wake up already. It’s second period.”
“So?” She prodded my forehead with a sharp jab of her index finger. “Ow. What was that for?”
“’Ow’?” She mocked my monotonous voice. “It’s like you can’t get excited about anything.” Elza poked me again. I swatted her hand anyway.
Biology was awfully trivial today—just a few worksheets and that was all. We had the next fifty minutes to do whatever we wanted. It always ended up with Elza and I having ‘meaningful’ conversations. Mostly it was Elza yelling or physically abusing me for being apathetic about my future and everyone else. I shrugged it off for the most part, listening with only one ear.
“What are you going to do after college?” she asked. We had been through this conversation countless times.
“Work somewhere, I guess,” I yawned.
“Where?” she demanded.
“Some high paying job.”
She rolled her eyes. “My, how specific.”
I smiled humorlessly and leaned back into my chair. “It works.”
“Don’t you got any passion in life?”
“If I find a soul mate, maybe,” I lied. I’m much too solitary for that. Then there was art, but even then it was a small hobby of mine.
“Ugh, you’re so boring, you know that?”
“Maybe that’s just half of it.”
Elza scoffed and left me alone to bother another friend. Finally I was left to my own devices. I mulled over what I was going to draw on the tapestry. Scenes of love and hate, perhaps? A lover’s embrace would be on the far left, and a battlefield on the far right. What else… Something to complement that. Someone standing on the edge of the abyss and another looking up to the skies above. I needed to write this down somewhere…
My reverie was broken by a paper football making a touchdown on my head. Laughing and some cursing coursed through my ears.
“Oh snap! Whoops, sorry about that.” It was Clive, another friend, and though we’ve grown a little distant over the years, we were still on good terms. He was a somewhat naïve, blond haired, green eyed pretty boy who was very mischievous. I’d also heard he was a bit of a playboy himself, though he didn’t talk much about it to me. Out of the corner of my eye, Kelley, some nondescript guy in my school life, was whispering in Clive’s ear. Clive shrugged and shook his head. Kelley scowled and I could have sworn he had given me a dirty glare.
“Whatever,” I shrugged, not bothering to turn my head. I tossed the paper football back.
The clock said there was forty-three minutes to go.
Mutilating my two pencils kept me occupied for the rest of the period.
~*~
Some say that apathy is an extreme form of laziness. I’d be inclined to agree, but… No, the irony’s too easy.
Truthfully, I didn’t have much to be concerned about. School was easy; it was just getting myself motivated to start on a big project early that was torturous. My reputation was pretty notable—if anyone needed an answer or explanation, then he or she would just come to me. My weight was healthy, and even if I was out of shape I had enough endurance to last through PE with a good grade. My parents weren’t home that often, but I had a healthy enough relationship with them.
You may ask, “What about your social life?”
I would laugh, and if I were feeling particularly nasty at that moment maybe even spit in your face. “What social life?” My self-exile was simply a habit, a solitude that asked nothing in return. At least, the romantic side of me thought so.
I acknowledged my faults. I just didn’t care enough to fix them.
There was no sound in the house other than the heater blowing through the vents, the refrigerator running, international music and the shallow breath of a brush on canvas.
Afternoons were my reflective times, five hours of stewing in my insanity and folly. Elza’s question of passion arose unbidden in my mind as I took a break from the Bird Lady, flexing and cracking the knuckles in my hand.
What’s the difference between a fanatical obsession and passion? When does self-control become depravity? I’ve tried my best to keep rational thought.
Acrylic paints stood like tiny sentinels over a few palettes, brushes and cups of water. I hadn’t painted in a very long time, preferring to stick with monochrome. Color was always terribly difficult for me.
Somehow, be it know-how aided by intuition, vice-versa, or some divine gift, I had managed to not mangle the image. Break over, my brushes continued to breathe life into her. Brilliant rainbows of feathers now filled the canvas. Her beaked mask/headdress and hair had now been defined by red velvet, gold and splashy sapphires and emeralds, and her clothes and armor seemed so real that one could reach out and touch them.
The center of the tapestry still lay untouched. I would do it tomorrow.
~*~
“Hey, you better watch out today,” Elza said.
“Why?” I looked up into her cerulean eyes. They’ve always had a look of disgust on them.
She motioned discreetly to the back of the room and lowered her voice. “They’ve tagged you next.”
“I’ll just lock my doors, then,” I said simply. I hadn’t heard too much of what they did—broke a few things, nothing really worth of value, just some childish play--but it didn’t seem they did too much damage if no one talked about it.
“Just a heads up.”
“Mm. Thanks.”
I didn’t think too much of it.
~*~
For some inexplicable reason, I was exhausted when I got home. The weather was getting to me, even if I did enjoy those rare treats when it rained hard for the entire day. The drumming deluge helped me fall asleep on the living room couch, far from my room.
She came again. The Bird Lady never spoke to me in my phantasmagorias. Her entire face was obscured by that mask/headdress, so I suppose that’s part of the reason. Now was different, however. Whereas she would usually walk past my mind’s eye and seemingly examine me, now she was beckoning me to follow her. There was something terribly depressing the way she gestured to me.
I followed her. We were heading down a straight path, and before long I could see a distant white light frayed with navy edges. We entered through it, and I woke up.
Skrrtch… Skrrtch…
My heart began to beat painfully as I was startled into waking. Every sense of mine was alert, trying to pinpoint the scratching sound.
Skrrtch… Skrrtch…
…My room! But the window had an alarm on it! How could there be…
Clive. A long time ago, when he still visited my house, he would come in through my window. He showed me how he didn’t trip the alarm. It was our little secret.
No, that’s not it either. Clive always came in like James Bond. You’d never notice he was there until you actually saw him.
Then… He must have told someone! Was he not paying attention again?
I headed down the stairs, trying to keep quiet as possible even with adrenaline and blood pounding so loudly in my head. Ugh… Elza was right!
Rrrrtch!
I gasped, and lost all sense of stealth I had maintained. The noise was unmistakable.
When I stood in front of my room, I felt a part of me die inside.
…
…
NO!
Every sense focused on the vandal next to my open window. He turned around, and with blinding speed I leaped and grasped his neck as I slammed him against the wall. The bed frame, windowsill and the dresser rattled from the impact.
He slumped and I was sitting on his stomach. Primeval, unadulterated rage overtook me. I curled my fists and began to pound on him, each punch an outcry of this violation.
How…dare…he…do…this…to…me!!
Out of the corner of my eye I saw the knife he had dropped. It was a folding knife, its blade brandished. Bits and debris of linen were caught between the blade’s serrated teeth. I grasped it and held it over his right eye.
Two tendrils of consciousness snapped across my rage. One tendril was pleading, don’t do it, you’ll regret it, karma, you can’t break now, you can wait, can’t you… The other tendril was screaming, do it, do it because you put your very soul into that painting, you will never be able to replicate it, did you see her face it’s gone forever…
I was hyperventilating. My chest, throat and head hurt, my fists sore. Rain sprayed my face. Distantly I heard thunder boom across the neighborhood.
I teetered between my choices… Oh…
His lip had been split. There was blood on my knuckles. I memorized his face.
Kelley. You’re no longer a nondescript. Someone…important. How shameful.
I hurled the knife out of the window and got off his stomach. With all the remaining strength I had I kicked him violently in the side. He hacked and lay there, breathing hard.
No cracks. I’m weaker than I thought.
“Get out,” I said hoarsely.
He didn’t move.
“I said GET!” I screamed.
His arms flailed uselessly before managing to find the ground.
“You psycho,” he breathed.
“GET OUT!”
He managed to scamper away. He left the knife.
I closed the window and took a hot shower. I left the torn canvas where it was. Afterwards I opened the window, concentrated on the marcato of rain, and drank deeply in the fragrance of earthen oils.
Why, dear Elza.
I believe I’ve found what my passion in life is.
If you’re willing to kill… To take a life… To put your very being into it… To die for it… All without regret…
Yes. I do believe I have.