Lorol

I think that's the major problem with introductions, whether they are for your story, for your essay or term paper, for your love confession, hate manifesto, lengthy RPG which requires an establishing of the existing world, TV show, movie, manga, comic, or oneself. Congratulations for sticking with me through that comma-upon-comma section. But I think you agree with me on this point, don't you? Yes, I'm fairly certain you do. The problem that you just don't know how to start, how long to make it, and how much you want to tell about yourself. Or the show. Or how much you hate other people's opinions, or stingrays, or... Well, you get the gist.

  And while you listen, don't forget to imagine.  Dear child, don't forget to remember.  It all began in a hut in the middle of a nowhere surrounded by drowning fields. The rain had been going gravely for days and weeks, allowing no faint flicker of sunlight to caress the land. Instead, the rain was the only thing the skies gave the soil, the rain and the ghosts it brought. Ghosts from presents long past, ghost from memories long bleached, it brought the ghosts of children's horrors, of wraiths rattling at the windows, of banshees bellowing outside, memories of an end long gone and now returning.  The fire in the chimney filled the room w

Neatly organised Pots of cheese and meat. Decorations? Why? Just a slice of bread Lying on the grey Piece of plastic and Serves no purpose but Being eaten by She who doesn't have So much as a lamp Blue or yellow, but White. It's all in white. All shades of fancyless. All kinds of emptiness. Of inner spirit's death.

  Das helle Klingen der Glocke schwebte durch den Laden, als die Tür, zum ersten Mal an diesem Tag, geöffnet wurde. Eine leichte Brise Sommerluft trug die Geräusche des Lebens auf der Straße in den leicht stickigen Raum und brachte mit der frischen Luft auch neues Leben hinein. Der Klang der Glocke und die Geräusche der Straße  vertrieben die Still im Laden, die sich wie ein gewaltiges Ungetüm im Geschäft breit gemacht hatte. Das unsichtbare Monster zog sich zurück, nur um auf eine Gelegenheit zu warten, es sich wieder gemütlich zu machen. Vorerst würde das aber etwas dauern, wie jedes

  There was once a girl who lived on a little island in the middle of a big, blue lake. The island was no more than thirty-five steps wide and only featured a big tree in the middle besides which stood a small shack with a single door and a single window. The island was completely black and white; The ground was white with black spots and rocks, the tree had black wood and white leaves, and the shack's walls were white with a black ceiling. There was also a black boat with wide paddles on the shore.  The girl lived alone on that island; There were neither animals nor other humans. She had lived there as long as she could remember, and she co

Hör zu, hör zu, Kind, sei stets gut Hör zu, hör zu, esse brav leer Hör zu, hör zu, wer Böses tut Hör zu, hör zu, zu dem kommt er Pass auf, pass auf, wo du auch bist Pass auf, pass auf, zeig dich ja nicht. Pass auf, pass auf, du schläfst, du isst Pass auf, pass auf, stets sieht er dich. Lauf weg, lauf weg, er kann dich seh‘n! Lauf weg, lauf weg, schau dich nicht um! Lauf weg, lauf weg, und bleib nicht steh‘n! Lauf weg, lauf weg, sei doch nicht dumm! Versteck dich, versteck dich! Gleich ist er bei dir! Versteck dich, versteck dich! Mach keinen Ton! Versteck dich, versteck dich! Je

I will make it better. Again. I will not let her suffer. And again. I will be happy. And again. I will live a good life. And again. And again. I will not allow him to become like that. And again. And again. Again. I will take her with me. And again. And yet again. I will make their mother stop. Again. Again. I will not let the man with the gun in. Yet again. And again. I will not let her cross the street. But, again. I will be with them all. Again, always again. I will listen to him. Always. Always again. I will not let her die. It doesn't stop. I can't guard her. Never stops. I can't save him. Why? I can't rescue them. What should I do? But

They say an author should always write something he'd also like to read. Or she. Or they. For gender neutrality, or a pairing of authors, or Siamese twins. Anyway, an author's job is to create something he'd also love when he'd read it from someone else. Okay, let's give it a try. I love you. Well, wasn't that hard. But somehow... there's something missing. I mean, yes, it's true, I do love you, but it feels so unimaginative. And anyway, which genre is that? Fantasy? Crime? Science Fiction? Documentary? Well, guess I have to do better. Let me try it the Crime way, please. Those detectives are always so quick witted, why not let them first?