The Last Conversation E-Book

Andreas Beer

• Herausgeber: BoD - Books on Demand
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 53

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2025

Beschreibung

Andreas Beer's The Last Conversation is a quiet, haunting novella about loneliness, regret, and the desperate search for meaning. Through the voice of Ferdinand, a man on the edge of his final decision, Beer explores the silence that follows when life's conversations end - both literally and emotionally. The prose is sparse but cutting, the atmosphere tense yet intimate. Every page feels like an echo of something unspoken. Though brief, the story lingers - a meditation on what it means to be seen, remembered, and truly alive.

Leseprobe

Preliminary Note

You, dear reader, are still sitting in front of the first page, not knowing what is coming your way. But as you continue to read, you will realize that this book is nothing special. It is merely the reckoning of a person who notices how his life is passing by without a trace, and he is unable to intervene. He examines his life; he takes stock and finds terrible mistakes in the balance of his existence. This is a solitary monologue of a desperate person on the path to suicide, whose greatest concern is that there might be a life after death. If you, esteemed reader, are now thinking that this sentimental writing does not interest you, then I ask you to put the book down now. It is not written for you."

Table of Contents

That was Bettina (A first interjection): End of a Love

Dear God!

Dear Bettina!

Defense Attorney's Plea

Prosecutor

Dear Parents

Dear Friends

Dear God

Endgame

Epilogue

"You look good. Unshaven, your eyes still marked from yesterday. But otherwise, well. Don’t look so sour. What do you really want? It’s not just because of her that you’ll lose your head. She’s not worth it. What do you expect from her anyway? Just because you’re not her dream man. So what? Other mothers have beautiful daughters too."

"Oh. Just shut up. What do you know anyway? You have no idea."

"Get a grip. The world goes on. And after all, you’re doing quite well. You have a car, a pleasant job, and so on. Financially, you’re fine. You just can’t let yourself go. You’re good at dishing it out, but very whiny when taking it."

"You’re partly right. But I just don’t want to anymore. I’ve thought a lot lately. About myself, my friends, about everything. It was awful. And what do I get from the things that are so highly valued? A car, an apartment, money. Is that life? No, definitely not. Living means being happy. Only some can’t. Unlivable. Damn it. I keep hearing them say: You know I like you a lot, but... I think it’s a bad time for losers. Yes, losers. What have I actually achieved? Just got by in my job, wasted my studies, yeah that’s something. And so this is Christmas and what have you done?"

"There’s only this one life. There’s nothing after. Just kill yourself. You won’t feel anything, won’t feel anything, you’ll just be gone. There’s no life after death. Just jump, hang yourself, do it! Do it for yourself and everyone else. Disappear! What are you afraid of? It’s really over after that. What else do you want to achieve? Everything is transient. When you’re dead, there’s nothing more. It’s your right and your duty. You’re alone. Who cares about you when you can’t sleep, when you’re lying at home crying? Who empathizes with you? Who does more than tell you: Cheer up!? Nobody! You want to live in such a society? Don’t kid yourself. You’re just too cowardly, too inconsistent. You’re afraid of missing out. But what, for heaven's sake, could you miss out on? Another blow or something."

"Must love be beautiful. What a crappy saying!"

"Think of something nice. Going to the movies, vacations, or similar. Then you never think about suicide."

"Yeah, yeah. The pain is short, but the joy lasts forever. Let me tell you something. It's the exact opposite. Do you ever lie in bed and think while falling asleep: 'Today was a nice day'?

No! Exactly. You can't. The bad outweighs the good. Feelings are there, I can't turn them off like a machine. You know you're physically and emotionally wrecked. Completely worn out. Smoked out and drunk out. Do you know what it's like when you can't move because everything goes black before your eyes, can't walk because of heart problems, when a stabbing pain goes through your chest as you climb stairs, when you're afraid to fall asleep because you think you might gruesomely suffocate one night on the blood you cough up every day? You have to feel that. Then you know what life means. And when everyone tells you how happy and satisfied you must be because you have everything. Then try to stay friendly and superficial. If you manage that, then I say: okay, I'm sorry. I didn't know that I'm the only one without endurance. When all the crap that life can offer comes at once, you have to be very tough. It hurts so much when you lose. I'd like to write my own eulogy. I want everyone to cry. It would be irrelevant to me by then, but I want it.

"Incomprehensibly, Ferdinand Eber voluntarily departed from life. We all remember him as a cheerful lad, with all possibilities open to him. He did not find his faith. Life, which can be so beautiful, he did not understand. He wanted to entertain everyone, he cared too little for himself. He was a loser. He clung to straws that never existed. He was desperate. He wanted to be loved. That was his downfall. He couldn't bear being average. He wanted something higher, something better.

When he realized that he was just an ordinary person, he couldn't cope. He became excessive. Ferdinand Eber, I condemn you. You brought misfortune to your parents and those around you. You must have hated them all. If you're listening to me now, then I'll tell you something you'll never overcome: Everyone will go home depressed now, but one day you will be forgotten. 'Eber, oh yeah, he killed himself back then. Always a bit strange.' Done, over! If only you had known that before. And so we ask the Almighty for your soul. R.I.P."

"This is roughly how I imagine it. I love life and I hate it. Am I too sensitive or am I just incapable of living? I can't imagine being happy. I live only for and in the moment. I can't plan for the future. Life is responsibility. I can't even account for myself. I am terribly afraid. I want to talk to someone. With whom? Who can you call at this time without being declared insane? When they attack you on the phone saying it's not the time for calling. What do you do in those long nights when you can't sleep?