Prix Laurence - Bettembourg Prix Laurence 2018 - Luxembourg
 loading...

Prix Laurence 2018

Chelius Marie - Surreal flood, part 2





His tight grip is on the copper door handle. It must be locked. After a moment of slight hesitation the temptation overcomes him and he pushes it down. A sharp light blinds him and his hand covers his eyes. He can’t stop himself and sets his feet over the threshold. Eyes squinting, he moves further and the light gets weaker. His vision clears up.

The room is bathed in pleasant yellow sunlight coming from the window at the far end of the room. He’s unable to distinguish what’s outside because the glass in front of him looks more like a silver spotlight flooding light onto him. The floor is covered in stains that resemble those in his room from when his mom forgot to close the window during a thunderstorm. The confining walls embrace him with dark wood and grey floral patterns. The air feels stale, a mixture of acidic sweat and old furniture.

A loud bang pierces his ears and he whips round. The breath catches in his throat. The door is closed. Then, it’s back to deafening silence. A momentary illusion of human presence and a still absence of life make his heart beat faster. He stands blankly, as if he had just been caught. He knows that what he is doing is wrong, that he is invading somebody’s privacy but something inside of him forced him into this room. He doesn’t know whom it belongs to, but he remembers it from somewhere; it’s a very unclear image. His mind is blurry. He slowly looks around to find a person, but he is alone.

Underneath the window, there’s a desk with a lightly fuming ashtray that catches his eye. He carefully approaches it and observes the cloud of smoke building in size. He remains standing there, as if rooted to the spot. A pungent wave of cigarette smoke encircles him, he senses it floating around his ears and caressing his neck. He takes a deep breath of smoke that seems to be blown into his face and kissing his lips; he tastes it on the tip of his tongue.

There’s a delicate cup of steaming tea, which spreads a light tinge of mint into the heavy air, and a pair of smudgy glasses and an empty vase of dried flowers next to it. A bed stands in the corner, on top of which the covers are rumpled up. They are still warm. Someone has just slid out from under them. He sits down on the welcoming heat, his fingers lightly stroking the sheets and making out a remnant of female curves.

The window flies open without a sound and wind rushes in. Light mist intertwines with the dry air inside; it dulls his vision. He still can’t make out what’s behind the window but it must be early. He can feel morning hue form on his skin; small drops running down his bare arms and meeting like on a windshield. The dusty cigarette smell disappears and is replaced with wet purity.

More weak steam flows through the window and forms a coat of water on the floor and on the furniture. His hair is damp and drops run down his nose onto his lap. He licks his lips; they taste salty. The fog is getting denser and the sheets he is sitting on are soaking up the water, but they still feel warm in his hands. Frigid coldness spreads inside of him and shivers run down his spine.

He closes his eyes, pulls the quilt to his chest and smells it; sweetly musky. He sees sparkling eyes and raspberry lips in the dark. A feeling of arousal surprises him.

His feet are submerged and splashes are hitting his naked ankles. As he lifts his eyelids, he sees waves building on the ground. There’s transparent liquid flowing into the room. The fog hangs high in the air like an intangible cloud. Incredible amounts of water make their way inside and have nowhere to escape; the surface climbs and is already at the height of his shins. It seems still until the next surge arrives. He can see the floor drowning, the water is so clear.

A couple waves later, the wooden bed frame rises and starts to sway lightly like a baby being cradled by its mother. Furniture is floating around the room. More waves clash inside but it’s calm. He can hear every drop of water meet the surface. A salty smell unfurls; it floods his mind with memories of heartbreak. He emerges his wet legs from the pool and hugs them against his tight yet tingling chest. The level he is floating on is already a couple meters high. He is trapped but doesn’t sense a single drop of fear surge through his veins, instead he feels at ease, blissfully immerged in intense reminiscences of his present. The intervals between the breakers are getting shorter.

A hollow female voice appears from outside and rips him out of the room that smells of tears.

 

 




ageschéckt den: 18:33 Mon, 19 March 2018 vum: Chelius Marie

Zeréck

Matmaachen

Maach elo hei mat
beim PRIX LAURENCE 2018


bis den 19. Mäerz 2018. Fin du concours.
 

 

Mäin Text eraschécken

Recherche

Neiegkeeten

Wéi kann ech matmaachen?

 

 

LiteraTour 2018


vum 19. bis den 29. Abrëll 2018
zu Beetebuerg

De Lies-Festival fir Iech all!
11 Deeg BeeteBuerg - BicherBuerg


6. Editioun vum LiteraTour a
4. Editioun vum Prix Laurence


E schéine Succès!

Prix Laurence 2019
hei, vum nächste Juni un!

Elo do:
D'Anthologie mat de Finalisten a Laureaten vum Prix Laurence 2017.
Dir kritt se op der Gemeng Beetebuerg.

Och nach ze kréien:
D'Anthologie mat de Laureaten vun 2015 an 2016!

www.literatour.lu

*  *  *

Kleng Lecture, déi Iech vläicht weiderbréngt:


HELMUT BÖTTIGER

-  Wir sagen uns Dunkles
Die Liebesgeschichte zwischen
Ingeborg Bachmann und Paul Celan
DVA, 2017


LIZE SPIT

-  Und es schmilzt
Roman, S. Fischer, 2017


JÜRGEN BECKER

-  Graugänse über Toronto
Journalgedicht, Suhrkamp, 2017


LILY BRETT

-  Wenn wir bleiben könnten
Ausgewählte Gedichte, englisch & deutsch
insel verlag, 2014


CHARLES SIMIC

-  Picknick in der Nacht
Gedichte, Hanser, 2016


SERHIJ ZHADAN

-  Warum ich nicht im Netz bin
Gedichte und Prosa aus dem Krieg
Suhrkamp, 2016


HAIKU ANTHOLOGIE

-  Hrsgb. H. J. Balmes
Fischer TaschenBibliothek, 2016


KATE TEMPEST

-  Brand New Ancients
Gedichte, Suhrkamp, 2017

-  Hold Your Own
Gedichte, Suhrkamp, 2016

-  Worauf du dich verlassen kannst
Roman, Rowohlt, 2016

LUC SPADA

-  Fass mich an
Beats, Punchlines, Bitchmoves
éd. g. binsfeld, 2017


ISABEL SPIGARELLI

-  Nichts zu danken
Roman, éd. Saint-Paul, 2016


NICO HELMINGER

-  Autopsie
Roman (op lëtz.), Ultimomondo, 2014

-  Abrasch
Poesie, éd. phi, 2013

GEORGES HAUSEMER

-  Fuchs im Aufzug
Erzählungen, capybarabooks, 2017

KREMART

-  Déi 20 kleng Bicher am "Schuber"
aus der Collectioun smart
Erzielungen, éd. Kremart, 2017
 


Auteuren 2018

Archiv

Lescht Texter vum Concours

Carpe Nova Vita

Erageschéckt: 23:46 Mon, 19 March 2018


Wir schreiben das Jahr 2012 seit einem Monat. ...

méi liesen...

Es gibt kein Planet B

Erageschéckt: 23:19 Mon, 19 March 2018


Mutter Erde war grosszügig, man kann nicht klagen

méi liesen...

Unerwartete Begegnung

Erageschéckt: 23:04 Mon, 19 March 2018


"Eine neue Nachricht", meldet mein Handy. ...

méi liesen...