Hab noch einige Texte, die ich noch nich veröffentlicht hab, zumindest nicht außerhalb universitärer Einrichtungen. Heute: der dritte Teil der Kurzgeschichte “Alternate”.
„It was made of brown leather. One could see that it had travelled through exciting decades, witnessing incisive events on its way. Time paid its toll. There was a combination lock installed at the front. I had never seen one with eight digits before. For some time I toyed with it, trying out different numbers but with no realistic hope that any combination would work out. Eight Digits, DOB? Fingers caressed the metal cuboids. The suitcase was not impressed by my own birthdate at all. I tried out hers. I winced at the opening sound of the lock. Not understanding how this would be possible, I pulled the upper side of the case in order to free the contents. Under the weak light of the ceiling lamp a pen, a piece of paper and a mirror met my eye. There seemed nothing unusual with either of them. The combination of these items made me wonder though why a traveller would choose them as his only companions. I wrote something on the blank sheet of paper, looked at the mirror. Nothing happened. What did I expect? It was too late to continue my experiments. The sun had already illuminated huge parts of the room. I burrowed myself into the bed sheets and fell asleep.
The first thing that had to be done the next morning was giving the office a call. I needed to skip work to deal with the suitcase in detail. I did not know that I could lie that well. After that I went to get the daily newspaper which as usually waited for me outside in the hallway. I really appreciated that service the hotel provided and even better, it was free of charge for me. The newspaper pages flashed in front of my eyes, stopping when they caught sight of an article about an incident in a tram. A man had died right in the middle of the crowded vehicle. There was no doubt that this was the man whom I tried to help. It said that the autopsy was still to come but they assumed that he died of a heart attack. No friends, no relatives. I put the paper away and looked at the suitcase. It was mine now. I did not know whether this was a good or a bad thing.
Once again I opened it. The scribbling on the paper had disappeared. Instead of it a new text could be found saying “Is everything alright?” My mind tried to comprehend but all the explanations it could come up with crumbled in the instant of a second. I could not have overlooked the text the first time, could not have written it myself. Someone, something must have composed it. Should I write back? After some minutes of recollection, I picked up the pen and wrote “Who are you?” on the paper. I waited, waited with an anxiety I have never felt before in my whole life. Nothing happened. The mirror. I had to use it somehow. I put it in a position so it could stand and placed the sheet of paper directly in front of it.“
 Date of Birth.