still remember the one time when they got Kowalski, that geek from school, man these firecrackers must have hurt. Funny, a firecracker for a wise-cracker.
His ma was fine too, she drank a little, but who didn't. The one time he went to church they talked about Jesus and how he turned water into wine. And after all, she was not unbearable before her fifth drink, only after that it was better to be somewhere else.
And his car had been great too, what a beauty. He could see how jealous everybody was when he drove by. The color so bright and red, the engine running so smoothly. He had listened to all the great songs on the radio, he really shouldn't have driven the car after the party.
It had been a good life, not outstanding, but acceptable. He had been thinking about this for a whole week now, which was more thinking than he had ever done before in his life. It was not surprising that they would come, he expected that a long time ago.
He never had a nickname, one thing that he really regretted. No one ever gave him one and it was like he never had a name. But what can you do? He had been called many things instead.
His wife had done so often enough, as if he cared. She was gone anyway, no one ever saw her again. They still think she went away with the mechanic. Let them think so.
One week of thinking and he had decided many things. He wanted to write a will but to whom and for what? It was hard nowadays to find decent people. They were coming for him and he knew he deserved it. He thought about what they would put in the paper, but who would read it?
He thought about calling someone, but who, he didn't even have a phone anymore. It was just too bothersome. He stopped going to the mail box a week ago, not that it mattered, he never received mail anyway.
The bottle was empty again. He put back the hammer and pulled the trigger. He had always wondered how hell would be like. They told him a lot of things when he was a kid, about flames and screaming and torture and the devil. It used to make him very afraid. Soon he would find out what it was like, they were coming for him.
What am I doing here?
I am pretty sure that most men do this. It must be normal. I mean everybody takes a peek from time to time. It is not really looking, it is more just a little glance at what the others have. It is just the situation, you stand there and then it happens. Who doesn't do that? Even if you tried to, you could not avoid it. You face the wall, you don't have anywhere to look at and then somebody comes in. It is a reasonable thing to look over into that person's direction. There is nothing about it, after all it would actually be very impolite not to look over. Ignoring someone cannot be considered well mannered. And then of course you will look there, it is just logical, you never know how big a person is. So you start from the bottom and move up and somewhere there in the middle there is the zone. As I said, it is just normal, well, correct social behavior after all. The strange ones would not look, that's it, it is strange not to look. You can believe me, I never look longer than necessary. I never did, I make sure that it cannot be misunderstood. I use my neutral but still welcoming face and I carefully prevent this embarrassing moment in which your eyes meet and you shy away as if doing something inappropriate. So you can see, there is no room for misinterpretation. I behave like any other decent person would do.
But why then is this guy next to me smiling in that fashion. I don't like it. It is like a joke that I don't understand, I feel left out and at the center of attention at the same time. He is smiling a little too much for my taste. I swear I only looked for a short second. Now he nods in my direction. What am I supposed to do? Do I know him? But if that was the case, he would have said something, wouldn't he? But would you say something to somebody here? I nod back, trying my best to smile a little, that should do it. What was that, he raised his eyebrows, what is that supposed to mean? I saw it, he raised his eyebrow and then grinned. That sicko, as if there was something to laugh about.
It's been minutes since anything came and I feel even worse now, he will have noticed it by now. He might already suspect I have some kind of problem. I feel so uncomfortable that any chance of success is long gone. Relief is far out of reach. It is all because of him, standing there staring, grinning. What a sick guy. Oh no, not this too now. I feel it coming, why does it all have to happen at once. He could have just waited a little longer outside, all would have been fine, but instead he had to come now. It is like he planned it, I am sure he was just standing outside waiting for this. This creeper, he thinks he is funny, that is sick, really he has a problem. What kind of man does something like that? I can feel it racing through my bowels, but what can I do? It is getting hard to breathe, I switched to something that is more gasping than breathing. That son of a... Look at him, he is just standing there playing all innocent. What impudence, how he turns his head and fakes this questioning look. This is so low. I am sure this gets him going, he enjoys this, that's his obsession. Like a little worm I lay in front of him and he just stands there and smiles. That pervert.
Finally, he zips up, turns around and leaves. What a change, I feel free. Free of this maniac, I am in a flow and one with myself, a deep breath, more a sigh comes across my lips. It is from way deep down and feels fantastic. I have to smile, he wasn't that big anyway.
Home
In my life I have heard so many things about what home is. The warm feelings, childhood, your mother country, your home town. No one could ever explain to me, what home means, what is your home. Some people say it is a feeling rather than a place. And I must admit, they are right. At least they are closer to the truth than most people are. It is a feeling, but it is not just a feeling. It is many feelings at the same time, it is a place and the feelings and the people. That is what home is, a moment. It is a moment which you see and feel as home.
Let me tell you what home is for me, it is not a country, it is not a continent. It is far from the city or street I live in. My home is a room, it is not my room. It is a room that belongs to my family, it is in our apartment. It is the living room of our apartment, in which I spent countless hours. It is the place where all the family comes together, after school, university and work. It is where our lives take place. Everything else is unimportant, it is this one room in which we are a family, in which we are more than just solitary creatures living a plain existence. This place is, where we meet, where we share and hate each other – sometimes. The place that I call home is this living room, it has a TV that is always running, it also has a computer which is online permanently. But that is the magic of this room and place and moment, both of them are unimportant. What counts is us, the other things don't even distract us. They are there, but not more. My home is the moment in which I am sitting at the endlessly running computer peeking at the TV and I know everyone is there and will be there forever. My brother is sitting on the sofa after school, which he considers to suck. My sister is reading something and complaining about something. My dad is at work but the phone is ringing, it is him, we all know that. He wants to know what happened today, any news? We all know there are no news, it is all the same, it is perfect. My mother is in the kitchen preparing lunch, she is almost done and tells us to get ready for lunch. We argue what to watch on TV while eating lunch, but it doesn't matter after all, as we will be louder than the TV anyway. I can smell the food, I can hear my brother, the dog is begging for some attention, the sun outside is shining in our not really taken-care-of-yard. It is very warm and we switch on the fan, before we get the ice cubes for our drinks. No one thinks of tomorrow, we are just together, there is no doubt, there is no fear. We will be together like this forever. Many things changed since then, but this will always be home.
The man who didn't believe
Once upon a time there was a man who said he didn't believe in anything he could not prove to exist. He lived his life being happy because everything he ever saw he knew was really there. When he walked down the street, he knew that the people in the street really existed, that the concrete he was walking on was really there, that the sky and the clouds above him were there and you could prove it. His whole life was centered on the idea that he knew what exists and why and how, because in the end everything was perfectly logical and all a matter of science. His life was well-ordered, because whatever happened to him had an explanation, everything had its sense. Even the bad things that