So, hier kommen drei Texte, die beim Projekt "Kreatives Schreiben" im Englischunterricht aus meiner Feder geflossen sind:

Journey’s End

 

The early morning’s sunrise

Kisses away the flowers of ice

Mister Winter painted on my phone.

I came alone,

As always.

Nowadays

Nobody walks you to the graveyard.

When the wound in my heart
bled openly

For everybody to see –

They cared for me.

But they think time stopped the grieve

You know, that is a false belief,

‘Cause when she had to go away

You saw no reason for you to stay.

You left me here,

O daddy dear

Left me behind.

How could you be so blind?

I was out of my mind

I tried to reach you

But, as they always do,

They stopped me, that day

They didn’t let me fly away

So I watch the sun alone

As she lights your names in stone

And I wish my journey would end.

So, das hier ist sowas wie eine Vorgeschichte zu "Ewigkeit"

The broken promise

 

The waves crashed on the beach louder than ever before.

It wasn’t stormy, just a calm, foggy, full moon night, as she had seen so many since she was able to walk down here.

 

It was her. Everything changed, since she met him. He bit her and left her do die, but Leyla was not a girl one could kill that easily.

She was an Egyptian princess, a daughter of pharaoh User-Maat-Re-setep-en-Re, Ramses the Great, son of the sungod.

She survived and became a vampire.

 

Everything changed; she was part of a whole new world. Her senses were much better now, she was fast and strong and she could fly.

But in this wonderful world, she was all alone.

 

Every promise of eternal love broke, when Sesu saw what she became.

She asked him to come with her, to change like her and to fly away, but he… He threated to tell her father what she was now.

There was no other possibility for Leyla than to finish him off.

At least, his death showed her the price for being part of this world – not only that she couldn’t take a step outside when the sun sailed across the sky, the also had to drink blood.

This was the reason, her father never turned anybody – I’d have to share!

 

She didn’t miss him. Not that she’d seen much of him, but Leyla would have guessed that she would miss the only other vampire she knew…

She couldn’t remember anything more about her creator than his teeth in her neck.

But Egypt was not her place anymore. There was no space for more than one vampire here, not if one of them was Ramses the Egocentric.

 

She was going to fly alone, but at least, she was going to fly wherever she wanted. In the moment she jumped up and said a silent good bye to Pi-Ramesse and the Nile, someone landed behind her.

 

“Hello, Leyla”, the stranger whispered.

Somehow she recognized him.

“You!”, she cried.

“Yes, me. I am the one who gave you the gift of eternal life, of strength…”

 

Leyla gave him no time to finish his sentence. She attacked him, ripped out his throat with her teeth and broke his neck before he could even blink in reaction.

 

She used her fire stones to kindle him - better be safe - and murmured:

“You promised it wouldn’t hurt. How could you be so stupid, trustful little vampire, to come back, after all the pain you caused me?” 

Strange Meeting

  

It was evening, only minutes before the shops closed on the 24^th of December. The busiest time of the year.

Our town centre was drowned by people hurrying to buy presents for their loved ones – or other ones they didn’t love that much but felt bound to give something, too.

The sky cried cold tears on them. Puddles decorated the streets and anyone without an umbrella was soaked from head to heel.

Nobody had an ear for the lovely music the shops insisted to play as they did every year and nobody cared for the smell of all the sweets, made for the holy night.

 

Nobody had a penny for the homeless woman, who sat in front of the mall.

She sat there, empty eyes staring at the legs of millions of people who passed by, Christians who were going to celebrate a feast of love and compassion, as soon as they came home.

Or maybe just a festival of presents, for I saw neither love nor compassion, when anybody accidently looked at her.

 

I bet she had nothing to celebrate.

The sky cried cold tears for her.

 

Someone parted the crowd like Moses the sea. An old man with white hair. He seemed to be one of the unfortunates without an umbrella.

Wet boots, wet jeans, wet jacked. Not exactly what you expected Father Christmas to look like.

But it was Father Christmas. Not some student, dressed in red, to make children happy, and to earn some extra money. He was the real one.

 

“Why did you never gave me a white Christmas?” I asked, “I wished for it the last thirty years!”

 

He gave me a fatherly smile and replied:

“Then why did you move to Arizona?”