Jeskes Little Poems and Proses.

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Yesuke
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Re: Jeskes Little Poems and Proses.

Beitrag von Yesuke » Sa 19. Dez 2009, 16:38

Omg. Eine grosse geschichte : O
Ist wirklich passiert. Aber nicht bei mir :P haha. Zum glúck. Ist auc nicht 100% so passiert ;) aber fast so.
Bah ich kann wirklich nicht gut schreiben x33
Danke@goggl : )



Black Coffee

Prejudice.
An awful sin, engraved in the mind of all. Taught by parents, books and friends. Learned through experience and interpretation. A habit which sticks to your life and is impossible to get fully rid of.
She knew this.
He knew this.
As did everyone.


With packed bags full of groceries I left the counter, heading for the exit. It was snowing outside, like it did every winter, and this made me make up my mind: I would wait just another few minutes before stepping out into the frozen rain. So I placed my purchases on the floor, sitting down on a bench – luckily the store had these in this time of the year – next to a guy who smiled at me heartily. I smiled back. He couldn’t be much older than I, maybe twenty-five or twenty-six, outmatching me with just a couple of years. His skin was dark as chocolate, perhaps even lickerish, and this made his teeth shine all the whiter. The first impression was good, and as we got entangled in conversation, I knew I had to meet him again.

That was not because I liked him for a boyfriend. No, I had to meet him to finish the discussion we had by then started: Prejudice about black people. Why this conversation in particular had become that interesting, had one simple reason. The man, Ndidi he told me he was called, didn’t defend his side. He actually dared to admit that prejudice always comes from both sides of the people in question, and that his people hadn’t been all nice either. That his people had in some way actually drawn the prejudice to themselves. I, fed with false beliefs and stories, was tempted to hear more about this. To finally sort out my own thoughts about his race, about my situation in this. Yes, I must admit I hadn’t thought that I’d ever meet such a nice, interesting, black person.
And so we set a date. The following Friday, at Amsterdam Central Station.

His fingers stroke the long blonde hair on the picture. They were so beautiful, so… lively. But that wouldn’t last long. “Such a pity…” he murmured, slightly sneering, “…And I’m so very, very sorry…” His sneer broke into a grin. “…Just a couple of weeks to go, just a couple of weeks…”

One week later I sat there, at the bus stop – waiting for him – just as I had promised. The sun was set high above in the sky, indicating that the day was spent half way through. People all around me were hurrying, like they always do near this station. It was edging me on a little, making me uncomfortable. Why couldn’t everyone just relax and take a little more time.

Ndidi had taken time, and that calmed me down a bit. The cold weather had drained my face of all colour, but his was dark brown as ever. “Well, we don’t want to stay here out in the frost, right?” he laughed warmly. I shook my head fiercely. “Hmm well I guess we could go over to a friend of mine. Give me just a few seconds to ask permission!” He took out his phone and dialed a number, turning away for some privacy. This left me some time to think. A friend? I had specifically chosen a neutral place. This was the first time we met privately, and I didn’t want to take any risks. So why should we go to a friend? Left alone he could do anything to me… I caught myself in these thoughts and dismissed them. I was only thinking that because of his skin colour, I wouldn’t have thought that if he were a white man. I was being foolish and prejudiced. “Okay, he said we could come over. Let’s go by taxi. I’ll pay.” And took his cell phone out again.

I know where you sleep. You have no boyfriend, no roommates. You live alone, and no one will miss you. Your mother visits you once a week, usually on Thursday. Your father has left you to go abroad. No one will miss you for a full 5 days at the least… He smiled at his thoughts, patiently biding his time, fantasizing about his future.

Ndidi had gone out of the taxi without telling me a specific reason. I saw him entering an alcoholic drinks shop. It was quiet in the car, the taxi driver was careful to avoid looking me directly in the eyes. It gave me the creeps. A few minutes, Ndidi returned. Both his hands were clutching a few bottles of whisky, wine and beer. “For my friend” he explained as he seated himself next to me again.

The sun had broken through the clouds as I stood outside again. Children were throwing snow balls at each other, a few were making a snowman. The street in which we had arrived was surrounded by withered flats that cast off a depressing, grayish gloom. Ndidi walked up to one of the houses and opened it up. He put the key back in his pocket and led me in. Such a nice person.
The house smelled funny, though. The walls looked moldy and the rooms had a stiff feeling about them. We entered the kitchen and he bad me sit down. “Do you want to drink anything?” he asked, pointing at the bottles he had just bought. I, being just sensible enough to know that alcohol would only get me into trouble, thanked him but refused. Instead, I let him make me coffee.

Heroine is very addictive. A mere snuff can make you totally dependent. It slowly shuts down the nerve system, slacking your consciousness. The perfect raping drug.

“Maybe you can read this in the meanwhile.” Ndidi said, handing me over a couple of A4, stapled together. “What is this?” I asked. “Oh, just a story I wrote a few months back. It’s not much of a feat. I like writing in my spare time.” The answer came from behind me, as he was putting water into the boiler. I started reading.
It wasn’t some bedtime story one would read to their children when helping them to bed. It was a creepy one. A horror story. Very well written indeed, but it scared me intensely. It was about a woman, a blonde woman just like me. But it wasn’t just that parallel. Excluded the fact that she heard footsteps and voices all the time, which I had never, the story described her meeting a man like Ndidi and coming over to his house. The setting was quite different than my situation, a lot creepier. I had the weird feeling that this story had some connection with me, but I shook it off, knowing I was only feeling that way because I hadn’t got used to the fact yet that Ndidi was black. Prejudice be damned.

She took a zip and he smiled, knowing that she would have only minutes left before passing out. The human mind is such a beautiful thing, but so fickle. So easy to manipulate. Just a few minutes…
“It might taste a little strange,” Ndidi told me, handing over a mug, “It’s from Kenia - my home country.” The dark liquid threw off a strong smell, but not of pure coffee. Slightly suspicious, I poured a little into my mouth. It tasted just fine, a little bitter perhaps.

She felt dizzy. Colors fading everywhere, sounds muffled. A steady throbbing ached through her head. She almost fell in the attempt of getting out. “I cannot let you go.” He whispered, holding her back. “Just lie down a little…”


“NO!” I blurted out –almost choking in saliva-, but my voice sounded weak and unstable. Grasping the doorknob, I pulled it open, tumbling out into the white street. The sky above me looked prettily bluish as I lay there, unable to move my legs. Everything that happened to me from then on I only witnessed as a sort of slide show, picture after picture, not fully aware of the happening. Headache. Nausea.

Prejudice.
An awful sin, engraved in the mind of all. Taught by parents, books and friends. Learned through experience and interpretation. A habit which sticks to your life and is impossible to get fully rid of.
She knew this.
He knew this.
And he had taken the advantage.

The water is pulling me near...
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Silbermondie
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Re: Jeskes Little Poems and Proses.

Beitrag von Silbermondie » Di 12. Jan 2010, 08:30

Wenn du nicht gut schreiben kannst bin ich eine Katze! :O
Ich find die Geschichte sehr gut! Und joa...schreib weiter so tolle sachen ^.^
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Jake
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Re: Jeskes Little Poems and Proses.

Beitrag von Jake » Di 12. Jan 2010, 14:36

Jap, da muss ich Lexi voll und ganz zustimmen ^^
Du schreibst, photographierst und photomanipulierst echt wahnsinnig tolles Zeug xD
Die Geschichte ist super, die werd ich mir ausdrucken. Hilft sicher für mein eigenes Englisch!
MfG
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