Day elapse, Night started,WOKE UP E-Book

Alexandra Borok

• Herausgeber: novum pro Verlag
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023

Seitenzahl: 57

Beschreibung

WOKE UP In the year 2077, day points and life credits determine Pandra's everyday life, work and food. Not a single person wakes up in the night. This is thanks to a chip implanted in the palm of the hand from birth. Until one night, nothing is as it was before. Pandra wakes up. She meets one of the mysterious WETs and ends up in a place where past, present and future merge. THOUGHT PAINTINGS are poems about the world, time and society, but also about personal experiences, questions of meaning and art. THE ABDUCTION OF M.F. A young woman is in despair. The love of her life has disappeared, possibly kidnapped. Organ trafficking? The sluggish chief inspector is no help. The situation comes to a head when an accident reveals something unexpected.

Leseprobe

ALEXANDR A BOROK

DAY

elapse,

NIGHTstarted,

WOKE UP

Thought paintings/

The abduction of M. F.

My thanks go to the

Worlds and people who let me experience all this.

In good times and bad.

Woke up

We were there live.

We danced from day to day into the new future exactly on the line of change.

I am Pandra.

2020.

The days trickle away, run down the drain like water, are cleared and flow back into my life as a new day.

Good morning.

Claudia killed herself eight months ago. Hanged herself. "She's really missing out on the corona period," I think, as if corona has opened up a great adventure.

Andrea was killed three years ago. Lung cancer. "She's doing well, she's spared Corona," I think to myself sympathetically.

Out of bed. The sun is shining. I open the window to the world and take three deep breaths. It rained during the night, the air smells of earth and grass. This could be a beautiful day.

Day gone, night begun, night over. Good morning.

I can't see anything. Everything is black. How do blind people see colors in their imagination if they were blind from birth, so that no memory of them is possible?

"Do you even have your eyes open?" I am asked.

"Of course," I think.

"What do you think?" I say.

"I just thought ..." says the human, "... because sometimes you forget."

"What am I forgetting?" I ask.

"Well, sometimes you forget to open your eyes and then you think..."

"What do I think?" I ask, annoyed.

"Let's leave that alone. Otherwise we'll argue again. Come on, let's get up," replies the human.

We jump out of bed. I still can't see anything and bounce against the box. "OUCH," I scream at the top of my voice.

The man clears his throat and walks wordlessly across the apartment to the kitchen.

Coffeeeeeeee.

I hop back to where I came from. To bed. Maybe I'll try again tomorrow.

Day gone, night begun, night over. Good morning.

2077 or

57 years a. C. (after Corona, not: after Christ)

My synapses are slow to connect to the memory area in my brain.

"What day is it? What was yesterday?" I always find that very strange. In that second, the thought is already gone and I'm in the now.

With my eyes closed, I go to the window, open it and slide down to the sidewalk in my pyjamas on a thick rope, hoping it will remain undetected. It's 5:45 a.m. A man with a briefcase on an e-scooter, also blindfolded, crashes into an old advertising pillar. He probably has a special permit, otherwise he wouldn't be allowed outside. Perhaps he would have seen more if his eyes hadn't been glued to his cell phone. An oldie, one of the cell phone generation. I call for help on the touchscreen implanted in the palm of my hand so that the man can be taken care of.

It has rained. The air doesn't smell of earth and grass because there is no more earth or grass. Only concrete deserts as far as the eye can see. White concrete. Because of the heat. I've always liked white, even if not in this context.

The ambulance silently turns the corner. I'm walking along the almost deserted street when suddenly a commotion catches my eye in the near distance. Sirens wailing. Blue lights. At least ten fire engines, just as many ambulances, twice as many police cars. All standing wildly in a row and surrounded by a crowd of people screaming wildly and hysterically. "What's going on?" I say to myself, shaken. I slowly get closer to what's happening. My heart is beating noticeably faster, as if it knew before I did what I was about to see. The first thing I see is a stretcher being carried by two rescuers. A man is lying on it, tied down. He is screaming at the top of his lungs. Not from pain. He is thrashing about wildly. His screams are sheer horror, as if he has just gone mad, as if his psyche has deserted him. It seems cruel. My gaze swings to the top right and then I see them. At least a dozen. The human bodies plunge to their deaths from the roof of the house almost simultaneously, as if remote-controlled. One after the other. I see them fall like dolls. Men and women. I hear their bodies slamming onto the white asphalt. Mass suicide. Like so often recently. Until now, I had only seen this kind of thing in the livestream, but now I was there live.

I had imagined my first trip after such a long time to be different.

Distraught, I look for a side street, turn into it and try to calm down. Everything is quiet here, as if nothing had happened. When I reach my apartment building, I climb back into my apartment on the rope. Window closed. Saved.

Night gone, day begun. Day over.

Good night.

The moon hangs blood-blue on the edge of the Viceverse, when suddenly nothing is as it was before.

I am startled out of my sleep and drenched in sweat. Strange. I've never woken up from a night's sleep in the middle of the night before. No one has ever woken up in the middle of the night. This is due to the automated sleep dose that fights its way from the implanted chip into the bloodstream at 22:00 sharp. Whether you like it or not. The chip is placed deep under the skin of newborn babies immediately after birth. Adults who have had it removed have disappeared from the scene from one day to the next. That's what they say. Strange. I don't know anyone without this chip, which also has other controls to offer. To control it yourself. But also to be controlled by others. In my case, this external control has apparently just failed. I look around me. This dark darkness, this silence, is quite unusual. As expected, the person next to me is sleeping soundly. Just like everyone else in the world. I feel queasy. I switch on my rat - my bedside lamp. A small, white rat made of a light, robust material, holding a mini light bulb. Another relic from the past. I carefully roll out of bed on my back. I notice that there is a note on the floor that wasn't there when I went to bed. My eyes focus curiously on the letters:

The new man (fall 2020)

I observe people.

Again and again.

Just the other day I discovered something new about them...

There are guide lines on the ground for blind people. For example in subway stations. An approx. 50 centimeter wide, groove-like elevation. Graduated in color. I don't know why, because blind people can't see it anyway.

I rarely see blind people in the cityscape.

What I see, however, are: Blind people.