Mikro Myter 9

9. februar
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Pandoras profil
Hun er en dronning på Facebook, og hun har naturligvis sin egen blog, gudindeforendag.dk. Hvad den handler om? Hende. Hendes skønhedstips, tøjstil og ufrivillige succes. Hun skal helst ramme 100+ likes pr. opslag. Det får hun også den dag, og mere end 10.000 delinger. Hun bliver også lagt ned af kommentarer. Det er bare ikke nogen, hun har lyst til at svare på. På videoen kan man se, at hun sparker den hjemløse. Bagefter tørrer hun skoene af med en kleenex. Hun forstår ikke vreden. Kan folk virkelig ikke se, at det er et par ægte Manolo Blahnik?
#februaryfiction

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Pandora’s profile
She is a queen on Facebook, and she obviously has her own blog, godessforaday.com. What it is about? Her. Her beauty tips, clothing style and involuntary success. She expects 100+ likes per update. Today she achieves that and more than 10,000 shares. She is also brought down by comments. It’s just not any she wants to reply to. On the video you can see that she kicks the homeless guy. Afterwards she dries off her shoes with a kleenex. She doesn’t understand the anger. Can people really not see that it’s a genuine pair of Manolo Blahnik?

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Mikro Myter 8

8. februar
Denmark256


Operation Ares
Krig er et middel, tænker han og afsikrer sit gevær. Men målet, det kan han ikke få øje på. Delingsføreren gør tegn, og han følger gruppen ind i huset. Den skarpe sol forsvinder, og han bliver kortvarigt blind i mørket. Eksplosionen rammer som en knytnæve og kaster ham omkuld. Nogen åbner ild, andre råber. Det ringer for hans ører. Der er blod overalt. Dér. Han ser det. Målet. Ikke noget politikersnak, men det rigtige mål. Lige her, inde i sig selv. Han rejser sig og skyder, bliver ét med sit våben, holder aftrækkeren inde. Tømmer magasinet og når sit mål.
#februaryfiction

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Operation Ares
War is a means, he thinks and releases the safety catch of his rifle. But the goal, he cannot see. The Platoon commander signals, and he follows the group into the house. The bright sun disappears and he becomes momentarily blind in the dark. The explosion hits like a fist and throws him down. Someone opens fire. There is blood everywhere. There. He sees it. The goal. Not the talk of politicians, but the real goal. Right here, inside him. He gets up and shoots, becomes one with his weapon, holding the trigger. Empties the magazine and reaches his goal.

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Mikro Myter 7

7. februar
Denmark256


Sisyfos
Han stirrer ud af vinduet. Prøver at huske det. Alt for vigtigt til at glemme. Stemmerne bliver til støj i plejehjemmets opholdsstue, og han kan mærke uroen gnave i sine gamle knogler. Sneen ligger tungt på gærdet udenfor. Sten, en sten. Under en sten. Der er det! Midt i erindringens formløse hav, dukker stenen på bakken op. Han skjulte deres ringe der. Et sus af lettelse går gennem hans bryst. Du har besøg, afbryder en stemme. Ansigtet på kvinden irriterer ham. Hun taler til ham. Han stirrer ud af vinduet. Prøver at huske det. Alt for vigtigt til at glemme.
#februaryfiction

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Sisyphus
He stares out the window. Tries to remember. The voices transforms to noise in the residential home, and he can feel the disquietude settling in his old bones. The snow lies heavy on the fence outside. Stone, a stone. Under a stone. There it is! In the midst of the formless sea of recollection the stone on the hill reappears. He hid their rings there. A rush of relief goes through his chest. You have a visitor, a voice interrupts. The face of the woman annoys him. She speaks to him. He stares out the window. Tries to remember.

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Mikro Myter 6

6. februar
Denmark256


Bakkanterne
Han laver tre fatale fejl den aften. Den første er, at han følger efter kvinden. Det er mørkt, parken er lukket og han føler sig opstemt. Hendes sko klikker henover stenene, da hun forsvinder ind i det gamle lysthus med ham i sin hæle. Karret med vin og gruppen af nøgne kvinder overvælder ham. Han lurer længe og begår sin anden fejl. Vedbenden vokser vildt over vinduerne, og det samme gør egoet i hans bukser. Vinen flyder, ekstasen ruller, og han tror fejlagtigt, at de savner en mand. Blod blandes med vin, da han bryder ind i deres kreds.
#februaryfiction

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The Bacchantes
He commits three fatal errors that night. The first being that he follows the woman. It is dark, the park is closed and he feels elated. Her shoes clicks across the stone as she disappears into the old gazebo with him at her heels. The vessel with wine and group of naked women overwhelms him. He lurks and commits his second error. Ivy grows wild over the windows, and so does the ego in his pants. The wine flows, ecstasy rolls, and he mistakenly believe that they need a man. Blood mixes with wine when he breaks into their circle.

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Mikro myter 5

5. februar
Denmark256

Søn af Ikaros
Han svæver, da hun ler af hans ord. Letter højt op under hendes gyldne blik. Lyset, den intense varme i hans krop, giver ham luft under vingerne. Men han vil have mere. Luften smyger sig om hans hud, og han bliver svimmel ved tanken om, at det kunne have været hendes slanke fingre. Han svæver hurtigt nedad, som i et fald, da han ser den. Kragen. Lyset svinder ind bag de mørke fjer og bliver til et nålehoved i dens blanke øje. Dens blik spidder ham, og han forstår sin fejl, men fortryder intet. Det var derfor, han sprang.
#februaryfiction

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Son of Icarus
He takes off when his words makes her laugh. Soars high up under her golden gaze. The light, the intense heat in his body, gives him wings. But he wants more. The air caresses his skin, and the thought that it could have been her slender fingers makes him dizzy. Hes whistling quickly downwards as in a fall, when he sees it. The crow. The light fades behind the dark feathers and becomes a pinhead in its shiny eye. Its gaze pierces him and he understands his mistake, but he regrets nothing. That was why he jumped.

 

 

 

 

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Mikro myter 3

3. februar
Denmark256

Vildfaren
Hun stirrer ind i spejlet og ser ingenting. Ansigtet er skjult i en labyrint af tanker, der leder hende rundt og rundt. Ariadne er blevet væk, mumler hun og lægger sin hånd på den blanke overflade. Intet er, hvad hun ser. Bortset fra mørke gange af angst og smerte. Gennem glasdøren ser hun ham, manden hun kalder far, slå og slå. Mor bløder. På hans blottede bryst ser hun tatoveringen, hun hader. Hovedet af en tyr, der ler. Hun tænker på manden i toget, mærker på kortet, han gav hende og ringer. Stemmen svarer: Theseus Security, vi sender en mand.
#februaryfiction

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Lost

She stares into the mirror and sees nothing. The face is hidden in a maze of thoughts that leads her in circles. Ariadne is lost, she mumbles and puts her hand on the smooth surface. Nothing is, what she sees. Apart from the dark corridors of anxiety and pain. Through the glass door, she spots Dad with clenched fists. Mother’s bleeding. On his bare chest, she sees the hated tattoo. The head of a laughing bull. She remembers the man on the train, feels the card he gave her and calls. The voice answers: Theseus Security, we’ll send a man.

 

 

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Mikro myter 2

2. februar
Denmark256

Nyx

Mørket løber hen over gulvet, som sirup fra en honningkrukke. Langsomt, glidende, en flod af skygge. Lyset svinder ind, dør ud. Hun griber den sidste stråle, knuger den grådigt i sine dunkle arme. Hendes længsel skærer dybt i nattens marv. Stjernerne skælver eller rinder ud som blanke skud på hvælvet. Du er mig dyrebar, hvisker hun, og smider sit slør.
#februaryfiction

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Nyx
Darkness runs across the floor, like syrup from a honey jar. Slowly, sliding, a river of shadow. The light fades, dies out. She grabs the last beam, hugs it greedily in her shadowy arms. Her longing cuts deep into the marrow of the night. The stars tremble or disappears as bright shots across the vault. You are precious to me, she whispers, and throws her veil.

 

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Mikro myter

Jeg har besluttet mig  for, at alle mine mikro historier til February- FICTION skal indeholde et element fra den græske mytologi.  Det bliver simpelthen mit tema i februar, og en udfordring jeg glæder mig til at arbejde med. Her kommer min første tekst.

1. februar
Denmark256

Obol

Pennen ligger mellem hans fingre, papiret foran hans blik. Han retter på det, retter på kanter og linjer. Vandet skvulper, båden vipper, mønten triller. Føler sig underligt til mode. Jeg skriver for at føle mig i live, skriver han og retter sig op. Igen. Mit liv er en gåde, tænker han, men skriver det ikke. På den anden bred taber valmuerne deres hoveder og kroppene svajer over den røde flod. Charon lægger til og manden sletter sine ord.
#februaryfiction

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Obol

The pen is resting between his fingers, the paper in front of his eyes. He adjusts it, adjusting edges and lines. The water is lapping, the boat flips, the coin rolls. Feeling strangely uneasy. I write to feel alive, he writes and straightens up. Again. My life is a riddle, he thinks, but does not write it. On the other bank poppies lose their heads and the bodies sway over the red river. Charon moors and the man erases his words.

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