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My contribution to the deadlinesforwriters short story challenge June 2022. The prompt was „twice“.

Ellis wants out

When Paul came home, there was Helen on their sofa, her arms folded and her face grim. “What is it?” he asked. She huffed and handed him a letter. “I put my heart out there for them to look at, and they did not like it. I was afraid of being rejected. Which is what they did! What was I thinking, Paul?”

She slumped back into the cushions. Oh, dear. Paul had hoped for them to give Helen’s novel a chance. He loved most of what she did anyway, but this story was also bloody good in his opinion. Helen had something to say and a fascinating way with words. The novel was clearly based on her own life experiences, with a few unexpected twists on traditional story patterns. Paul had not expected a flat-out rejection.

He had been delighted when she had finally sat down and written this story living in her brain for ages now. He had been so proud when she had researched publishers and actually submitted her proposal to one company. Paul knew how big these mental hurdles had been for her. Neither of them had any experience in getting a book deal, which may have been lucky because this way Helen had also not had any previous rejection to make her even more anxious.

He unfolded the letter, which read:

“…, we are sorry to inform you that at the time we decided against accepting your submission for publication.

From what we have seen, you are an original writer and the premise of your story is certainly refreshing and unusual. However, the current reading trends make us doubt that your book would flourish. Ellis, your main character, has a captivating personality and her personal journey feels compelling. Sadly, we do not envision a demand for this particular type of tale with the wider public.

Another factor was the pacing, which could do with some restructuring and tightening. All in all, we feel we are not the right publishers for this book, but wish you the best of luck for your endeavours. Please consider us again in the future.”

“It’s not that bad, though. They did not exactly say they did not like it, did they?” Paul sat down next to Helen and put his arm around her. She sniffed. “First of all, they still rejected my book. And secondly, they confirmed what I had suspected: There are not enough people in the world interested in what I have to say!”

“But that is not a fact, is it? It is just one publishing company who are worried they might not be able to sell the book. They are not omniscient. There might be lots of people out there who would love to read Ellis’ adventure.”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe it was all a bad idea from the start. Maybe I was delusional to assume anyone would want to get to know Ellis. Just because she has lived in my head for decades apparently does not mean that others would be interested in her too.”

Paul sighed. “I am interested in her. Or do I not count?”

“Of course you do! I just don’t want to go through this again. And risk rejection again! I don’t want to rewrite it all because also? I like it the way it is. What do they know about Ellis or me?”

“Let’s be clear: This is not a rejection of you as a person.”

Helen fidgeted. “They did not say Ellis and her story were interesting, just to be polite, right? You would have told me if you thought the story was mediocre or boring, wouldn’t you?”

He smiled at her. “You know I would have.”

“Then what exactly did you like about the book?”

“Honestly? My favourite moment was the scene when she wanted to give up, go home and forget all about the villagers and their problem, but then Wado runs after her and has that conversation with her. The way she at the same time realises she has this softness but also at the same time all this strength and power and especially the way you described it was just mind-blowing.”

“Not the sword fight? You don’t want to know the hours I spent on researching fencing rules and terminology. There is so much you can get wrong about fencing, and so many surprisingly boring details.” Helen grinned, then went serious again.

“Paul, you are almost always just so brave and unshakeable. How do you do it? How do I become unshakeable?”

“Firstly, you don’t have to become unshakeable. There is a lot to be said about being shakeable. Secondly, maybe you should ask yourself what Ellis would do. She is the one who went through this transformation while at the same time staying true to herself. I bet she has a lot to tell you. As for me, I believe in you, whether you do get your book published or never send it to any other company ever again. I am so proud of you because you did write your novel and found the courage to submit it.”

“Aww… Okay, let’s make dinner. There is some leftover pasta bake in the fridge.”

Since Paul felt peckish himself, he agreed to let the matter go. When they had eaten, they sat down to watch the news and later on check their various watchlists. They chose an old fantasy film they had not managed to see in the cinema. Fifteen minutes in, Paul got suspicious. Usually, he could count on Helen’s entertaining running commentary with anything they watched. He turned to see her staring right through the TV screen.

“Do you not like it?” he asked.

“What? Oh, yes, it’s great. Just… You know, I can see Ellis in my mind. I can see the village in the forest with all the timbered houses and the thatched roofs. Ilana’s lab with all those dusty books and Mibo’s kitchen with the big cauldron bubbling in the middle. When I close, my eyes I can almost touch and smell the blocks of wood Traki is stomping out to chop when he snaps again. This story wants out, Paul! I have kept it to myself for long enough! I just don’t know how to go through this a second time.”

Paul paused the film. Helen looked at him then back at the screen. “Right. Maybe I should just enjoy this evening with you now and let it all settle and sink in. Can we skip back by maybe ten minutes and restart the film?” Paul handed Helen the remote, and they went back to being absorbed in someone elses’s adventure.

When they went to bed, the last thing he heard was “She wants out this badly? She might want to help. Good night, Paul!”

Paul woke up in the dark. He was alone in bed, but could hear steps in the corridor and a door opening. He yawned and stretched, then got up to follow Helen quietly. When he peered into their study, there was Helen at the computer, her arms folded and her face determined. She unfolded, leaned forwards and said, “Ellis? Teach me how to try again!”

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Like my contribution to the story challenge June 2022? On my blog you can find and read more of my stories!

My contribution to the deadlinesforwriters short story challenge May 2022. The prompt was „permanent“.

Nihil permanet, nec atramentum

Paul stared at the letter. He had not expected to win, especially not the main prize. He had only taken part because the riddle had been entertaining and there had been some interesting gadgets among the other prizes.

Paul quickly googled “painful areas body”. Not that he was going to actually do it. He had often wondered what it would be like but had never made a decision. Apparently, the face and the soles of the feet were out of the question. He laughed. As if that had been an option. Paul was not very sensitive to pain but also not that keen on it. But there were more green areas than he had expected. He saved the diagram to his phone fur future reference, just in case.

Paul took off his shirt and went to look at himself in the mirror. He was not unhappy with his body considering his age. His short brown hair was peppered with white and there were wrinkles around his eyes. In general, his skin had changed more noticeably lately. There was a lot more give but a lot less elasticity. Paul wondered if that would be a problem or if maybe it was even an asset that his skin had already matured somewhat.

Helen frequently told him how much she loved the way he looked. Like he had enjoyed life in a good way. Like there had been a lot to smile about. In the same way that he loved every single one of her white hairs, reminding him of all the years that they had spent together. She kept saying that from her natural mix of differently coloured hair, one day there would probably only be red and white left, and if he would love her still when her head was pink?

What would Helen think now? She was not exactly a big fan of his sometimes weird ideas, but would probably consider this particular predicament of his extremely funny. Paul could already see the tears of laughter running down her beautiful face. Not helping, but he could see her point. It was funny.

Apart from the placement, there was the question of which design to choose. Not that he was going to really go through with it. Just theoretically. He remembered that this was the main reason he had always put the idea off. What was so relevant and aesthetically pleasing and so much “him” that he would want it inked into his skin?

Paul went back to his phone to google some quotes. Which turned out to make things even more difficult because there were so many good ones. On the other hand, did he really want to read someone else‘s statement on life, the universe and everything every day? Did he want others to have to read it every day? What if he came to find it boring or lacking after a couple of years? Or find out the author was not a person Paul wanted to be associated with? What if the quote had been falsely attributed? Or misspelt?

Again, he could already hear Helen howling with laughter. He would rather pass on the prize than live through that kind of embarrassment. Even if Helen did not giggle about it, what if what sounded intelligent one day would later become contrived? Paul did not care if it was something exclusive to him, but neither did he want to be forever associated with something totally unoriginal.

Talking about original: He went back to the pain diagram. What if the arm, which was coloured in a friendly green, had already been done much too often over time? He looked for some more inspiration online. There was a range of blog posts and websites offering design ideas, in general and also for men in particular. Small drawings or just a couple of words were suggested as being “discreet”, minimalistic pieces as being “fresh and meaningful at the same time”.

He was not going to do this whole thing anyway, but if he was, he would not want to end up with something that was nearly invisible, would he? Skulls, crosses and stars were out of the question as well. And why would anyone want an image of a stack of bank notes? The blog claimed it would help to “remind himself of his ambition to attain his goals”. Paul scrolled on through the article.

Further down, the author recommended portraits for „honouring a loved one or a celebrity”. This was where Paul drew the line. Absolutely not. Not even to honour Helen. Paul liked taking risks, but he had his limits. Maybe the lettering idea had its merits after all, less potential to go catastrophically wrong as compared to images. Then again, the more he thought about it, the more options he saw himself having to go through: Simplistic or elaborate in style and font, colourful or just black, something just nerdy and funny, some timeless wisdom, maybe in Latin? What was ink in Latin? Something musical? Well, that concept might be interesting. He made a mental note to list his favourite song lyrics later. Just theoretically, of course.

He suddenly remembered seeing a collection of hilarious fails where what people had ordered had branched off into an unexpected direction somewhere in the process. Just for fun, he looked for such a list of pictures and immediately regretted clicking the link when he saw a drawing of someone‘s mum looking like the zombified version of Elvis Presley. In his opinion, the first mistake was to pick a portrait of one’s mother to begin with. His own mum had always tried to encourage him to keep his feet on the ground of hard facts. He could still hear her saying: “If you decide to do this, you will have to live with it for the rest of your life! Do you want that? Think it through, Paul!”

Back then, lasers had already been a thing, and Paul had known that nothing was as set in stone as his mum had made it sound. On the contrary, these days he would actually appreciate some solidity in his life. The older he got, the more he thought about his own transience and that he would love to leave something behind. Was that a bit pompous of him? Was it even realistic? And what did “something” even mean? For how long? A decade? A century?

Why would people even need to know of his existence a thousand years down the line? How would he even be able to check if they did? He had heard people say that this line of thinking only detracted from living in the moment. Which they thought was most important. Were they right? To him, it felt like wanting to make a lasting impression made him appreciate his limited time here on Earth even more.

He had wanted to write a book for a long time. Paul felt that he had a lot to say, but he had also always kept this idea theoretical, because he was not sure if he really had something original or meaningful to contribute. He had also never advanced beyond the very general stage of wanting to write “something”. There were so many decisions that followed on from there, that every time he opened this mental box, he quickly shut it again. Only for the time being, mind you. One day he would very definitely sit down and start writing without thinking about it too much.

On the other hand, neither paper nor skin were exactly the lasting kinds of materials anyway. Maybe the way to go really was to be remembered. Leaving an impression in people’s minds. Would that make a difference for him? For the world? Looking at it from another perspective, if he kept holding back needlessly just because he was not sure about the details, what would his legacy be then? Maybe he could just try to leave the world a better place without what he did having to be overly meaningful. Without being too serious. Maybe what he really needed to do was to be happy and see how things developed from there?

Today he had been inspired to accepting that all these doubts were not originally his after all. He did not usually believe it was a great idea to align his actions with what others thought was right or proper. However, he realised that a part of him often did just that. Maybe the point was to notice how he was so often suspended between conflicting beliefs. And then accepting them both as true at the same time as well as neither of them. Maybe this win was his sign to investigate where else he held himself back without good reason.

He was jolted out of his musings by the click of the front door. Paul brightened up and shouted, “Helen, you are back! Guess what!”

He ran down the stairs. “I am going to get a tattoo!”

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Like my contribution to the story challenge May 2022? On my blog you can find and read more of my stories!

My contribution to the deadlinesforwriters short story challenge April 2022. Based on the prompt „Tempted“.

To be right or to be happy

On a quiet Sunday morning, Helen was lounging on the sofa in her dark blue flannel pyjamas. Her right hand held a mug of jasmine tea, her left reached for her phone on the table. Her thumb was drawn towards the blue icon with the little bird as if by a magnet.

Helens feed was full of funny cat pictures, links to articles, and her online friends saying hi. But there also was this one person always voicing his stance on climate change. People like him made her blood boil: Unrepentantly arrogant and always ready to share fake news with the world.

Whenever she saw him make fun of scientists at protests or post pictures of snowballs, Helen just could not help herself but respond. She shared lots of solid educational videos with him. Funnily enough, he was not keen on watching them. Instead his followers descended on her like a flock of vultures.

Even though she knew better, she hated backing down. Hated letting these guys have the stage to themselves when all they talked was nonsense. Nonsense leading to humankind‘s demise on top of everything. One comment led to another, and everything predictably escalated until she could have thrown her phone at the wall. Why would these people not listen to reason? Why did she always end up wasting and poisoning her precious time? And why did she keep falling into this trap?

„NO!!! Not today!“ she shouted, the determination in her voice surprising herself. For a few moments she stared at her thumb still hovering over the blue bird. Then Helen decided to remove the icon from her starter screen and instead switched on her „Sunday morning music“ playlist. With a sigh of contentment she sank back into the pillows and finished her jasmine tea in well-deserved peace.

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Like my contribution to the story challenge April 2022? On my blog you can find and read more of my stories!

My contribution to the deadlinesforwriters short story challenge March 2022.

Saved by the squirrel

”I can‘t believe you lost both your phone and the map!” Helen set off stomping along the forest path, very clearly not looking back at Paul.

”Oh yeah? Well, at least I had a map with me! Wonder why you didn‘t want to take one yourself!” Paul went through all of his coat pockets and backpack again. He only came up with a tissue, slightly used, two sandwiches, slightly out of shape, and a handful of lint. He huffed and puffed for a bit, stuffed everything into the backpack and jogged after Helen.

”Wait up! Hey! Are you sure this is the right path?”

”We’d know that if we still had the map. Anyway, I wish there were more signposts here. There hasn‘t been one of those for miles!”

Paul looked at the trees left and right. He couldn‘t see any signs either. Then he looked at Helen. He raises just one eyebrow.

”You know what would be amazing too? If the battery in your phone wasn‘t down. I mean, who takes a phone on a hike that only has enough juice left to tell you it‘s going to switch off any second now?”

”I would have recharged it, had I known you would leave yours in the picnic area. Anyway, I haven‘t had any reception around here before it went down.”

”Like I told you before: This network of yours is cheap for a reason.”

”Ooooh, thank you, that‘s so helpful! We always use your phone to navigate or look things up anyway, so I don‘t see why I should switch to a network you approve of.”

Paul decided not to insist. Something else occurred to him: ”Have we been here before? I think I remember passing by these trees earlier today. Strange how they look so much alike. They didn‘t when I was here as a kid.”

Helen rolled her eyes and walked on. ”If we had been here before we would have gone in a circle, and so we would have had to pass by at least the one signpost with the green squirrel on it.”

Paul took off his hat to wipe his brow. ”Okay, but didn‘t the sun use to be on our left the entire time? I don‘t think so, but I remember having to blink my right eye when we set out from the picnic site. Wonder if we are still going south. What do you think?”

Helen stopped. ”What do you think asking me all these questions is going to achieve? You know I have never been here before. You know I don‘t usually go on walks. Especially not through the woods. How would I know where south is? I thought you had all this hiking experience! If you don‘t know, how should I?”

Paul stopped next to her and put his hand on her shoulder. He took a long breath. ”You‘re right. Let‘s just keep on walking. We are bound to get to the edge of this forest eventually, and then there will be people who we can ask for directions. We just have to stick to the path and everything will turn out fine.”

So they kept on walking until some time later they came to a fork in the path. Still no signposts, not to speak of the lack of any markers indicating official trails.

”So: Left or right?” Paul asked.

Helen shrugged. ”If we really got turned around, we should go left now. If we got turned around. I can‘t say that I remember having to squint my right eye.”

Paul closed his left eye, then his right. Left again. Right again. He shook his head. ”Hm. Well. Maybe I did squint on the left. So the right path it is. Let‘s go.”

Going right is what they did, but anyone watching would have had to say neither of them projected confidence. Helen threw suspicious glances at the trees as if accusing them of misleading and ridiculing her just out of spite. Paul pasted on a less than convincing smile and put a bit more spring in his step than strictly necessary.

The path went on and on. More trees. No signposts. They had run out of things to say even before they had reached the fork. Now the silence was growing louder by the minute.

”Oh no!” Helen pointed forwards to another fork they were approaching.

”What? Why no? What?” Paul looked from the junction to Helen and back. ”What is it?”

”It‘s the same fork! See the lump of wood over there? See the stump with the green stuff growing on it? We have definitely been here before. We really have gone round in circles! Damn!”

”Maybe we should actually have taken the left? Just maybe?”

”What kind of stupid date is this? Why did I let you talk me into this? Argh!”

”Well, excuse me, I just thought it might be fun. Mark the occasion and all that. You were the one who did not want to have a party.”

Helen shot him a dirty look.

”Right. Right. We‘ll go left then.”

Paul crossed his arms. ”Like I said, maybe we should have…”

”What I maybe should have done is not come along to begin with!”

Both of them stomped off at the same pace, looking like they were each determined to overtake the other in a dramatic exit. After about a mile of this they went out of steam, however, and settled into a sulking trudge onwards.

”Oh no…”

This time it was Paul who stopped and pointed toward the fork they had now passed twice before.

Helen threw up her hands and stared.

”But how…? What…? We can‘t have gone in a circle! Not this time and not the first time either. Did the website say anything about portals or dimensional problems in this forest? I didn‘t know they had them! I just don‘t get it!”

Paul scratched his head. ”Beats me too. Are we sure it really is the same fork?”

There was the short shrub with the frizzy needles on the left, the tallish tree with the round leaves and also the stump half covered in moss on the right. Either someone had designed this forest using copy and paste or they had to face the fact that they had got turned around twice now. On an unbranched path going straight forward.

”Paul? How big is this stupid forest? What happens if someone doesn‘t find their way out of it?”

Paul was slowly rotating on the spot and scanning the surrounding trees.

”Paul!”

”What? I don‘t know! When I used to come here with my family, we never got lost. We were always back at the car in a matter of hours. This forest sure has changed a lot since then.”

”I‘ll say! This is exactly why I don‘t go hiking in the first place! Everything looks the same and they only put up a few signs where you know where you are anyway and here there is nothing! Not even water! Paul? Do you have any water left? Why didn‘t we take more water? How big is this forest anyway?”

”Can you just stop with the questions, Helen? I didn‘t make us get lost, you know!”

”But you ate my sandwiches! Even worse, you lost your damn phone! And the map!”

Paul stopped spinning. ”Yes, I get it! It‘s all my fault. Like everything always is!”

”I didn‘t say that. I just wish I still had my sandwiches, if we are going to spend the night here outside. Actually, I wish I didn‘t have to spend the night here outside at all! I wish I had not come with you!”

”Then why didn‘t you say that before we went? Before we decided to go? Why didn‘t you make a suggestion that I could have then been against? Or could have pretended to agree with and then complained at length about afterwards? That would have been fantastic!”

Helen‘s stomach growled. ”What kind of sandwiches did you bring?”

”Hummus, olives and capers, why?

”Capers? Guess I am not that hungry.”

”So you are criticising my sandwich making decisions now? What next? Also, we are not going to spend the night here outside.”

Helen shouted: ”How do you know that? What makes you so sure that if we take either of the two paths again, we are going to end up anywhere but here? We are lost and there is no sign, no map and nobody else to help us!”

Paul tapped his chin. ”We could try going back?”

”Hah, and there is it, another genius idea: Why not go in circles but this time backwards? Why haven’t I thought of that?”

”As a matter of fact, that is a very legitimate question. Why don‘t you tell me how to get out of here?”

Now it was Helen‘s turn to cross her arms. ”You got us into this.”

”And there we have it. I come up with an idea, research a nice location, clean the car, charge my phone, drive us here…”

”Eat my sandwiches, lose said phone…”

”… and just because not everything goes to plan, I am to blame? I just wish that for once I was not responsible for everything!”

”And I just wish that for once we could do something that I like!”

”It would help if you told me what you wanted to do!”

”I would if you ever listened to me!”

Paul slumped for a second, then gripped his backpack straps and looked behind him.

”That‘s it. I officially don‘t care anymore. I am going back.”

Helen looked shocked for a second, then narrowed her eyes. ”I am most definitely not going back the way we came.”

”Suit yourself, then.”

And with that, Paul went back and Helen stayed. She frowned, then fished her phone from her back pocket and switched it on to check the reception. There was nothing apart from a beep and the message that it would switch off now. She stared after Paul for a few moments, then started walking down the left path.

After what felt like hours, she halted and took off her own backpack. Maybe there still was something left to eat in there, who knew? Yet, the only thing she found in there was a folded piece of paper. It read:

My amazing Helen,

I am so glad we found each other. My life so far would have been incredibly boring without you. I love how you always support me and my weird ideas and how you are so uncomplicated and easy to be around. Thank you for joining me on this trip, it means a lot to me.

Yours

Paul

Paul kept turning around to see if he recognised the trail from the two times he had walked it in the other direction. Hard to tell, no matter how much he squinted. When he had finally cooled off from his outburst of frustration, he slowed down until he stood still and sighed. He patted down his coat for the phone again and felt something in the inside pocket. It turned out to be a letter which read:

Dear Paul,

can you believe we made it this far? Every day, I enjoy your company so much, even though we sometimes seem so different. I love how you challenge and inspire me with all your weird ideas and how you are this big rock in my life. Thank you for agreeing to make today just about us, it means a lot to me,

Hugs

Helen

It took only about two minutes for them to meet again at the fork, completely out of breath but laughing. Paul was the first to find his breath and say something.

”Today was a stupid idea. I should have listened to you, and next time I definitely will. I just thought a fun trip with just the two of us would be special, you know? Spending time together in peace, enjoying some fresh air. Turns out this forest is not that peaceful after all. We didn‘t even see any animals.”

”Because I am usually such a fan of fresh air,” Helen chuckled, then became serious. ”Honestly, I am sorry as well. Nothing about today was stupid, it was so thoughtful. And I really do appreciate you doing all the planning. I even kind of like this forest and spending time together. I just don‘t seem to do that well under pressure. Sorry I panicked.”

Paul ran his hand through her hair. ”I know. I‘m not happy with myself either. Sorry I took your sandwich.”

”Sorry I blamed you for the trip going down like this. But sometimes I do learn, so I am going to make the decision: We will take the right path and this time focus on our surroundings instead of who did what. Or didn‘t.”

”The best idea I have heard in a long time.”

They hugged once more before they moved towards the right hand path. They walked for a few paces, then both of them reached out at the exact same time and wordlessly clasped each others hands, looked into each others‘ eyes and grinned.

Suddenly, something dropped onto the ground in front of them. Someone actually: A red squirrel that stared at them for a few moments, then scampered away only to stop again and look at Helen and Paul. It ran a bit further away, then looked at them over its shoulder. Finally, it jumped up on a tall tree stump and from there hopped onto some branches hanging overhead and disappeared.

”Look Helen! The squirrel!”

Helen patted his arm. ”Yes Paul, I saw. Very cute and fluffy. A wild animal at last, shame my phone is down and yours is gone or else we could have taken a picture.”

”No, I mean the green one! There on the post! It means, we are on the squirrel trail!” Looking closely, the stump was actually a signpost. Paul jogged over there and hugged it. Then he dropped to the ground to sit next to the post but immediately jumped back up.

”Huh,” he said and reached for his back pockets.

”What is it?”

Paul flashed a big grin. ”Would you believe it? My phone! And the map! And see? I even have great reception! Let me just have a look…”

Helen grimaced. ”Is it far to the car park?”

”Not really, just one more mile,” Paul beamed.

Helen did a little dance on the spot. ”You are the best, did you know that?”

Even the phone made a happy little noise. Paul checked his notifications.

”Tom and Nina say hi and congratulations!”

Helen smiled. ”That‘s lovely. Who would have thought we would manage 25 years, right?”

”And Helen? Next time you are in charge of our wedding anniversary planning. No pressure.”

”Oh, in that case, how would you like a day out? Maybe walking through the woods? Some fresh air?”

”With you? Just the two of us? Sounds perfect.”

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Like my contribution to the story challenge March 2022? On my blog you can find and read more of my stories!

My contribution to the deadlinesforwriters short story challenge February 2022.

Of mud, growing old and friendship

Mentions sickness and death

She reached far into the attic shelf where they had been sleeping for ages. There was still mud from the Holy Ground clinging to her boots. The crust was almost three years old now. Stupid virus, putting everything on hold while nobody was getting any younger. She went downstairs to get a cloth and soak it with warm water. Removing the mud seemed futile somehow, but still felt good. Like there was something she could influence after all, when so much of what happened was out of her control. She wiped the boots clean in slow circles. When eventually they were spotless again, she placed them on a piece of old newspaper to dry.

She had chosen them with care. They were old, well-worn and extremely comfortable. Made for standing in the rain, for walking across fields, for jumping and dancing. So many great memories, year after year they had travelled together to spend a short week of camping and Heavy Metal. Until the festivals had been cancelled. Which made sense of course. Global health took priority over entertainment. She was not about to complain at all, just looking forward to putting the boots on again and dancing in them. To getting them encrusted again with fresh mud.

She went to her computer to switch it off, then paused to look at the pictures still open. There they were, her boots on the ground outside the tent. A coffee cup made from paper next to them. A picture of her mum, sitting on a camping chair, drinking beer from a can for breakfast. She smiled, grateful for this perfect example of someone not letting age decide for her what she could or could not do. Another photo showing Sophie and herself with matching unicorn hats. Theirs was a friendship based on music and laughter and being free from any ordinary day-to-day routines. She wondered why it was that they did not see each other more often, mainly to attend a festival or a concert. They had always made such a well-balanced team. Today it was time to meet again at last.

She went into the kitchen to pick up the beer cans. The ones with the Viking design on them. It was the same brand of beer her mother had been holding in the photos. With the can in her hand, she could almost smell the barbecues all over the camping ground. She could almost hear the music, sense the vibration in her feet. Almost could feel the warm August sunshine on her jeans, which had become wet from the Northern German rain. Very much looking forward to return to this carefree existence.

She realised it was time to get dressed. Putting some shirts on her bed, wondering what Sophie would be wearing. She narrowed it down between the 2020 shirt, the first festival that had not happened, and the one from the Indian folk metal band they had tickets for next. In the end, she decided to go with the band shirt. It was still a really dark black, with a red elephant head on the front. Underneath it were the words: „Live, Brave One“. She loved this band for making songs about mental illness, for being so empowering and so happily alive. Sophie and her did not always like the same bands, but this one they definitely agreed on.

She suddenly remembered and went back to her computer to really switch it off this time, then clicked on the folder containing the band’s first album. The drum and the flute in her ears, she put on black tights and a short black skirt, bopping and twirling in front of the mirror. Hopefully she would never get too old to twirl, she thought.

Same with braids, her trusty festival hairstyle of choice. There was still enough time before she had to leave, so she got out the brush and two small elastic bands. She parted her hair, caught one half of it in a band and braided the other half, enjoying the effect of the single white hairs mixed in. Looking forward to one day traipsing through the mud showing off a mane of pure white. Like her mum enjoying the morning sun on a camping chair, only with longer and brilliantly white hair. Looking forward to growing old on Metal.

She fixed the end of the first braid and was about to start on the other one when her favourite song ended. She leaned over to restart it before she went back to her braiding. Properly done, these would hold for two days, which was great when you did not have too many mirrors around. She would probably not really spend the week with her white hair flowing freely after all, however nice it may look in her imagination. It was good to have a bit of control. So even though she admired the surprisingly soft open manes some of the men in the crowds sported, she actually preferred to not have the wind shove hers into her face most of the time.

Sophie’s hair was much shorter than hers, much more practical. What Sophie also very much liked to have a say on was her level of cleanliness. Which could often be quite amusing, considering that at any given moment some clumps of dirt could come flying or a massive splash from someone diving into a puddle. Sophie always had her bag with her, carrying tissues and disinfectant, which she somehow always managed to sneak past the security who frisked them at the entrances.

Everyone trying to stay in control in their own way. Even though, after all, the main point of the festival was to escape for a while from the constraints of their everyday lives. To let it all go and not worry about much at all. To in a way let your hair down and be willing to get splattered by mud or even beer from someone enthusiastically waving their plastic cups or horns around to the beat of the drums. Trust Sophie to then have her tissues ready to delicately dab the foam out of her hair.

The last couple of months had made her think about how little influence humans really had on things. How we mostly lived under the illusion that it was up to us to decide most of what happened around us. Of course, on an intellectual level she had always known this. But now the realisation had reached her gut. Sometimes you were lucky. Other times you were not, or things did not turn out well for people you were fond of. Sometimes in the middle of a pandemic people worried about getting infected but then were hit by something else entirely. Sometimes things could not be helped.

She checked her boots, which were dry now and ready to jump back into action. Slipping her feet into them after all this time felt like meeting an old friend after spending a long time apart. She wondered why she never used to wear them for occasions other than festivals.

She put on a black raincoat, packed the beer cans into the car and drove off. When she reached her destination, she looked into the mirror and nodded. She got out of the car and started walking, listening to the crunching sounds her boots made on the gravel. She reached the plot, placed the Viking beer can on the black stone and traced the elegant letters on it spelling Sophie’s name.

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Like my contribution to the story challenge February 2022? On my blog you can find and read more of my stories!