Soul(r)evolution E-Book

Marcel Junge

• Herausgeber: novum publishing
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 76

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Beschreibung

Iris leads a life marked by excessive drug use and loneliness. After another night of revelry, she encounters a man named Elias one morning in the city park. Over time, they get to know each other, fall in love, and soon Elias moves in with her. He listens to her, writes her poems, and always seems to be there for her. But one day, the police knock on her door, ready to arrest Iris for severely assaulting her own father. In a few moments, her entire world is turned upside down, and Iris must embark on a dark journey into her own past all by herself. Why is she being accused? She desperately needs Elias's help. If only he hadn't suddenly disappeared on the day of her arrest...

Leseprobe

Imprint

All rights of distribution, also through movies, radio and television, photomechanical reproduction, sound carrier, electronic medium and reprinting in excerpts are reserved.

© 2024 novum publishing

ISBN print edition:978-3-99130-457-9

ISBN e-book: 978-3-99130-458-6

Cover photos: Viorel Sima, Kevin Carden | Dreamstime.com

Cover design, layout & typesetting: novum publishing

Translated from German: Lingual Consultancy

www.novumpublishing.com

Quote

…, may madness never conquer us.

Poem

He wishes for the Cloths of Heaven

Had I the heavens’ embroidered cloths,

Enwrought with golden and silver light,

The blue and the dim and the dark cloths

Of night and light and the half-light,

I would spread the cloths under your feet:

But I, being poor, have only my dreams;

I have spread my dreams under your feet;

Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.

– William Butler Yeats –

I.

Iris’ eyes burned with fatigue. Her eyelids were heavy, and yet it was impossible for her to keep them closed for long. This was probably due to the coke she had snorted the night before with her best friend in the restroom of a club. Her body was exhausted and yearning for sleep. Iris sat up. She was in Peter’s apartment, not far from Magdeburg’s Hasselbachplatz. Around her lay five of her friends, all of them sleeping soundly. Clothes, beer and liquor bottles were scattered about. Some light filtered through the window into the smoky room, making it difficult to see clearly through the haze. Iris felt uncomfortable and stared at the television, its sound turned off. She couldn’t possibly fathom what was being discussed on the screen or what the plot was. Restless, Iris decided to get up. She headed to the bathroom to freshen up. Maybe some cold water would revive her spirits, or at least provide a slightly better sense of well-being. She looked in the mirror. Dark circles lay under her bloodshot eyes. Her skin was pale, her lips dry and chapped. Startled, she looked away and turned on the faucet. She splashed cold water on her face, which was quite refreshing. It felt like rubbing a cool, soothing ointment on a burning wound. She reached for a small towel that was hanging on a hook beside the sink to dry her face, narrowly missing the overflowing ashtray perched on the sink’s edge. Then, she returned to the living room and sat back on the couch. It was strange, but Iris always found the mornings after a good party to be depressing. No matter how successful the party had been, how much fun she had, the next morning’s realization that it was all over was sobering.

After about five minutes, she felt a peculiar restlessness and decided to leave the apartment on a whim. She put on her jacket, grabbed her handbag next to the couch, and made her way to the apartment door, stepping over her sleeping friends and trying not to fall. She set her bag down and put on her shoes. The heels weren’t very high, but she still felt the strain from the previous night’s dancing in her ankles and the soles of her feet. She fastened the straps and opened the door. Out she slipped while quietly closing it behind her so as to not wake her friends. Iris descended the old staircase that meandered through the building’s hallway. It was challenging for her to maintain her balance. She thought this strange, as normally she could walk quite well in high heels, even when drunk. It must have been the lack of sleep and her tired bones. She opened the old, heavy front door, a common feature in most of the historic houses around Hasselbachplatz. Iris stepped onto the street and decided to walk to the park. She took a cigarette from the battered pack in her handbag, lit it with a pink lighter, and inhaled the smoke as deeply as she could. Then she followed the road towards Rotehornpark. About twenty minutes later, she crossed the Sternbrücke. She passed by the countless padlocks attached to the railing of the long bridge. It had become a tradition for couples in love to attach a padlock here as a symbol of their love. Sometimes, they had initials or were colorfully decorated. Iris was sometimes sad that she had no one worthy of such a gesture of love. She had met men from time to time, but nothing had ever become serious. The young men often wanted more, but were more or less gently dismissed by her. She couldn’t bear the closeness as she felt it wasn’t genuine love; she knew she was simply using and hurting them, and she was sometimes ashamed of it.

It was quiet; there were no people on the streets or paths. It was around 5:30 a.m. on this Sunday morning, the air was damp and cool. Iris seemed to be able to smell the nearby Rotehornpark. She left the Sternbrücke and followed the wide path. She wanted to go to the Adolf-Mittag-See, the lake nestled in the middle of this beautiful park. A little later, she passed the brasserie located directly by the lake. The owner landed on hard times two years ago when the Elbe River had overflowed its banks, flooding Rotehornpark and the restaurant. The Elbe frequently spilled over. Whether it was due to the straightening of the river or the development of the floodplain, the damage was usually devastating. Two years ago, the brasserie had been nearly completely destroyed, and it had taken nearly a year before they could welcome guests again. It was a beautiful restaurant where Iris and her friends liked to linger. Large glass windows created a light-filled interior, and the numerous seating areas around the brasserie allowed its guests to enjoy the natural surroundings and fresh air at the heart of Magdeburg. They usually sat outside since smoking was not allowed inside. Here, they enjoyed the warm sunlight.

A moment later, Iris was sitting on a park bench by the Adolf-Mittag-See. Weeping willows lined the lake shore, stretching their branches towards the water’s surface. Their branches resembled the long hair of a beautiful woman. Directly on the small island across from her – the Marieninsel – stood a small temple that looked as if elves prayed to their gods there. The air was moist and cool, and it felt cleaner than usual. This sight was so enchanting that Iris felt like she was part of something wonderful. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. The clean air felt like medicine for her tired and exhausted body.

When Iris opened her eyes, she suddenly noticed a man on another park bench, engrossed in a book. He wore light jeans and black canvas shoes, his upper body covered by a gray sweater His long, deep brown, sleek hair was tied back in a tight braid. It seemed to Iris that he had been sitting there for hours. But that couldn’t be right. She was pretty sure she hadn’t seen anyone when she sat down on the bench. Suddenly, Iris realized she was staring at him and quickly averted her gaze. She rummaged through her purse and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. She intended to take out her lighter and light the cigarette but reconsidered and put it back. “Excuse me,” she said hesitantly to the stranger. He turned his gaze in her direction. She noticed his light blue eyes, almost fading into white. Paired with his dark hair, they had an almost magical effect. “Yes?” he said. “Do you have a light? I must have left mine behind.” Every woman knows that the request for a lighter often comes with a certain undertone, not always, but frequently. Especially in this situation, the purpose of the question – to engage the stranger in conversation – was more than evident. “Certainly,” the man replied, standing up from his bench. He closed his small book and walked over to Iris. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a silver lighter. Iris could hardly hide her fascination but tried not to show it. He lit the lighter and held it about 8 inches from her face. She put a cigarette between her lips and leaned forward. A deep inhale, and the cigarette glowed. Iris exhaled the smoke and said, “Thank you.” Then the man took a cigarette from a silver case. It had a white filter. Iris found it peculiar, but everything about this guy was so coherent that it couldn’t possibly be true. Everything spoke of style and taste, making Iris certain she had never encountered such a man before. “May I join you?” he asked. Iris was unused to such politeness, but she was flattered by the show of respect. “Certainly, smoking is always better with company,” Iris attempted to joke. The man sat down beside her, and for about two minutes, they sat in silence, gazing at the picturesque lake. “May I ask what you’re reading?”

“Of course. It’s about a young man named Werther who longs for nothing more than to be with his great love.”

“Would you read me a passage from the book? Just a small section that you like?”