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The German (excerpt)
Blind Man’s Bluff
Casual and Unobtrusive
Extra Strong
Cross
First time Bloomer
Hostage
Ideal Parties
A little Life
The Bowling Alley
The Other Woman
The Bird
Lost
No excuses
There were Two of them
The Signing
Philosophy of Silence
Precisely
Real Ugly Things
Situations
Small Town Diners
The In The Forest Thing
Underneath
Universe
The Shop Assistant
What it’s like being a man
Alternative Ending
The Incident
The secret Dialogues
Worded stimulation for the little urges inbetween

First time Bloomer.

The first thing I remembered was light, a crackle of, which was suddenly there in a distance. It was out of my reach and I saw barely a shimmer of it. As time went by the shimmer grew, sometimes sudden jerks would enlargen the gap, letting more gleaming light stream in. Then one day after a storm there was a final crackle, then I lost balance and started to fall. On my way down I kept hitting things I could as yet not comprehend, they felt hard and I felt bruised and dented, unable to move when I finally hit ground, which presented itself soft and moist. I sat there for a while, shaken from the fall, shaken from the first moment I had left my shell. The light was not as bright as it had seemed earlier, the source had expanded but its intensity lessened. I don’t know how long I was down there before I felt movement close by. Just moments later I was trampled on, careless by a squealing monster reeking a vile odour, I must have lost consciousness during this and when I finally came through it was dark and I lay buried deep, barely able to breath, trying to stretch beyond my confinement.

The urge lasted, I kept on pushing upward, towards where I suspected light to be, aching for the fresh breeze I had briefly tasted. Sometime later I could feel something burst, I was afraid when I first felt it, but it was like loosening a too tight belt and from then on I started to shoot up, felt unstoppable in fact. Once I saw the light again my complexion changed, I felt strong and healthy, looking up in wonderment at those stood around me, most whispered and smiled from time to time, conveying the wisdom they had picked up in their long live’s. I felt a certain pride to be associated with them and believe that they too looked at me with encouragement. So I grew, a little every day though often too little to see with the naked eye, still I knew I was getting taller. There were moments of despair however, I clearly remember the time I was ravaged by some beasts, almost torn to pieces, bent and disrespected and all along I screamed in silence, yet they didn’t seem to hear. I was still little then, and wondered whether this was to be the end or whether I would make it through and grow strong again, perhaps stronger than I had been before.

I healed, it was touch and go for a while, but in the end I came through, tougher if slightly disfigured. A strange bump had formed just above ground, on my left side. I had a sense of left and right front and behind even if an outsider may find it hard to see me that same way. Many winters passed and I grew tall, some who stood and admired my size and strength, thought me bigger than average and a prime example. The days a small rodent or larger pig would do me any harm were long gone, but as yet I had failed to produce flowers or fruit. It was then that I realised that I had been missing something inherent to most others around me and although that in itself was not overly strange I started to notice the talk which had spread.

With little else than growing further to do, I thought the problem over, putting it down to the trauma I had endured in my early years.

It was spring, perhaps the later half of April when I could feel them sprout, high above ground they started popping from beneath the bark tiny buds that send shivers through the rest of me before turning into small white blossoms who would bear fruit in the near future. I can not express the thrill I felt by what nature presented me with this first time, but it was repeated many times over for as long as I can think. Even now as I stand old and scared from the many seasons I saw, not bearing as many blossoms as in my heydays, the excitement of that first blossom indicating another cycle of life to start remains the same.

© Marcus Bastel