Once in a 100 years, the good fortune removalist comes to town.

“Where is everyone?” Ayako and Sulawak exited the car. The forest shrouded the camp in shadow and blocked out the sky. A generator hummed, cables snaked between bright lamps. No bodies.

“Der Pilger steigt in ein tiefes Tal hinab. Metaphysisch gesprochen, natürlich. Das Tal ist in realitas ein Teil der städtischen Entwässerungs- und Abwasserbeseitigungsanlagen, also der Kanalisation. Kilometer von Betonrohren und Schmutzwasserfällen, Pumpwerken und Sammelbecken. Eingekrustete Dunkelheit, Gestank, schattenbeschwörende Notleuchten. Irgendwo dort unten, das hat man dem Pilger gesagt, haust ein Erleuchteter. Ein Weiser. Ein Orakel…

“A thick and heavy fog was hanging over the street, a theater curtain possessed by unnatural life. If the Castaway extended his arm, the fog swallowed his hand, transmuted it into something strange, a black claw or a hovering insect. The Castaway looked around, searching for some point of reference, something familiar. The fog ebbed…

Falb and his brother wandered through the wilderness, surrounded on all sides by the trees of a dark forest. Their steps were noiseless on the soft soil, following a well-trodden path, the only path. Even though these woods were dangerous, the brothers felt no fear, for they had crossed them many times before, and would…

“The streets are glass The skies like Unstacked shelves Blindenlicht Trembling over the city” Published in: The Rush, Issue 3 (February 2018)