Hab noch einige Texte, die ich noch nich veröffentlicht hab, zumindest nicht außerhalb universitärer Einrichtungen. Heute: der erste Teil der Kurzgeschichte „Alternate“.
I cannot see them but that does not mean that they do not exist. Hidden worlds beyond our human senses filled with ghosts and spirits, reflections of ourselves. When a character chooses one alternative at a distinct decision point he or she does not eliminate all the others. In fact, all possible outcomes of an event occur, one in each branch, simultaneously. Thus each event creates an infinite number of alternations, each one itself leading to infinite alternative possibilities. Anything that can happen does happen. Does this also mean that every thought, every wish we ever had could act as a blueprint for the creation of endless alternative timelines? And even if these synaptic sparks never intrigued our body to execute them, can we be really sure that they won’t come into existence in another universe?
The brakes tore me out of my thoughts. Chimes-like signals showed that the tram was coming to a stop. It was not my destined station. To my surprise my body started moving through the crowded vehicle towards the exit. No one except me seemed to leave. Who pulled the brakes? I did not want to think about that. While I forced myself in between a group of teenagers, I almost was caught up in their various layers of necklaces. I could not be bothered less by the following snappy comment flying in my direction. I needed to get out of there, nothing else mattered. I could see a man on the street approaching the tram. His suitcase rocked up and forth in the air, he was in a hurry. My rival in business. Once we both reached our place to be, our eyes met. Infinite anxiety irradiated from his pupils. All over his face cramped muscles, signs of uncertainty and fear. I could not step outside without noticing a huge watch resting upon his wrist. The second hand did not move. The doors closed behind him with his suitcase caged in-between them. The engagement in frantic behaviour was only a matter of seconds. In order to get his hand including his suitcase he braced his tiny body against the doors. I tried to help by pushing the case into the tram while the latter slowly started to focus on its next destination. His fingers slipped off the case and into mine. As the vehicle was driving away, I could only see a reddish, hysterically moving silhouette of his face watching through the looking glass. I waited some time for him but he didn’t come back. Only now I noticed the labels on the suitcase. Puerto Rico, Taiwan, Greece, Morocco. There were hundreds of them on this thing. There was even a sticker from my country of birth but as far as I knew there was no such airport as “Roderick Wilson Airport” located in the capitol. And if this thing was so important to its possessor, why not put a name tag on it? I decided to wait till the next morning. Then I would pay a visit at the local lost property office.