SerraAvenger
Cuz I can
- Reaction score
- 234
FOREWORD
I've been Writing on a Novel called 30Days, but it is in German so I'll try to translate it for you.
While the blog is updated whenever John finishes a chapter (ie almost daily), this one will irregularly update whenever I have the time to translate more.
Since several people have been asking on my blog: No, I'm not John. No, I haven't been poisoned with polonium. No, I wasn't in the hospital.
Oh, and this is not meant to be crime fiction. It is a purely philosophical / psychological piece of work. If you like it, let me know. If you don't, tell me what bothers you = )
Now, have thought
Serra
24.6.
Time.
Time to reorder my thoughts and write them down.
Time.
Thirty days, they say. They say a lot. Fifty nanograms. I don't know if that's a lot or not. I can't imagine fifty nanograms.
Fifty nanograms of water... A drop of water has about ten million times fifty nanograms, they say.
Fifty nanograms of polonium...
Enough to kill a human.
Time.
Thirty days. At max, they say.
25.6., 29 days to the end of my minor existence
The chant of birds awoke me. The sun is shining, and children play on the street in front of my room.
There's blood in my face. I'm so tired...
Juliet called. Someone must've told her how I'm going.
I haven't heard of her for so long. Juliet says, she's fine. Her mother is fine, too. I hope it stays that way.
I miss her.
26.6., [del]28 days to the end of my minor existence[/del]
Headache. Even more blood. My "nasal musoca" is as dry as never. Every single breath translates to fear... Fear they break.
Supplemental: „Chelation-Therapy“. It will happen tomorrow. They say everything is over after five hours. Five hours of time, in which I just sit and wait, while some infusion sucks the poison out of my body. Am I perhaps allowed to survive this?
27.6
Chelation-Therapy!
They say I'm allowed to bring in a DVD... My brother gave me „The Bucket List“ with Morgan Freeman and Jack Nickolson. I hate him. My brother, not Jack Nickolson.
Supplemental: The clock in my room tells me it is 17:54. I'm so tired. The treatment was lighter than I've thought, but I'm dead nevertheless. That's a possible side effect, they say. I'm allowed to go home tomorrow. If someone will be there, waiting for me?
1.7., 23 days to the end of my minor existence.
Pain. I'm still contaminated, they say. Contaminated. Gone, terminated. Welcome back to the hospital...
At least I got another room. The first one was too loud. I'm out. No children on streets.
2.7., 22 days to the end of my minor existence.
22 days to the end.
I decided to have a bucket list. What will I be able to do in 22 days?
I've got money. I could voyage. Pain doesn't matter.
Supplemental: They say I may not leave the room. Bye bye, Bucket List.
Time.
22 days, waiting for death. Time, without deeds. Wasting away deedless. I was always in contrast of slow passages. I was always in favor of sudden change. Otherwise, you never know where the old stops and the new begins. Like a boat. Its spare parts being replaced every now and then. Now I'm preparing for the last passage...
Supplemental: They say death is different. Sudden death, though wasting away. Better, I ask. Yet I know the answer.
Supplemental: I feel like Picard. „Captain's log, stardate 17 - Supplemental.“. My brother brought all episodes of „Enterprise“. The next Generation takes over. Everyone dies. Now its my turn.
Supplemental: Does he do that on purpose?
3.7., 21 days to the end of my minor existence.
21. 3 * 7 = 21: My new occupation.
I cough blood when I laugh.
Had to think of Juliet. Juliet loves Star Trek. I called her, but she didn't pick up. Perhaps we can watch a few episodes together...
I have one entry for my bucket list. One entry. „Find out who's killed you – before you die“.
Supplemental: A list of „suspects“:
[del]Brother Brother[/del]
Davey
Jill. Jill, the old Floret.
Chloe
[del]Jones[/del]
Juliet
[del]Mum[/del]
[del]Dad[/del]
Actually ridiculous. I should drop a couple of names.
Mum, dad, brother, jones...
Although... I'm not too sure with my brother. He gave me „The Bucket List“ and Star Trek.
Dammit. I should have given up editing texts in retrospect. The list is strange now.
My god. My brother!
Dammit, more blood...
God, my friends. Why?
Why do I have to mistrust you?
Why do I have to die?
4.7., 20 days to the end.
I've talked with Jones. Perhaps I'm stupid. Perhaps I'm just incompetent. Perhaps I'm neither one nor the other. It's not important to be able to do everything. It is important to have friends who are, when combined, able to do everything.
Jones thinks that it is important to have friends who, when combined, know. For me it is the same.
Jones gathers.
Everything hurts.
5.7., 19 days to the end.
Jones thinks he can hear everything within my room, as well as everything in front of it. He gathers. I'll call my list.
Supplemental.
Davey and Chloe - Tomorrow, 17:00
Jill – The day after Tomorrow, 18:00
Juliet - The day after Tomorrow, 16:00
6.7., 18 days to the end.
Two visitors today.
Davey and Chloe.
Supplemental:
Chloe doesn't talk a lot. I always believed she's depressive. I believe she's depressed now. I told her I had a tumor. She is inconspicuous, like always.
Davey knew I'm poisoned. Did I tell him? I'm not sure.
I always thought I'd been sure, but this assurance was a hole. Now I'm falling. Unsecured.
Supplemental:
Jones talked to Davey. Davey says I told him. How come Chloe didn't know about it?
I'll wait for Juliet and Jill.
7.7. 17 days to the end.
7717. I feel like an airplane.
Supplemental:
The butterfly. When it sits down on your hand, it feels so good. But soon, it's standard. The colorful wings. Their tender up and down. Only when it's missing you know what's missing. But then it is too late... The bird escaped. You can try, but you can never fly. I was always in favor of hard borders.
Now I'm hanging. Barbed wire. The butterfly is on the other side.
Supplemental: Jill was here. Jill didn't know about butterflyicide. Ergo Davey lied, or I've only told him. Can't concentrate. Jones thinks he'll do that for me...
Jones thought: „John, take care“. He often thought that.
Jones thinks „This time you couldn't take care. I couldn't either.“ He never thought that.
There was some sort of joke... Airplanes instead of butterflies? No. The other way. The towers have airplanes in their stomach. I fear I'm a tower, and next turn I'm checkmate.
8.7., 16 days to the end.
At times I awake. It's dark. I try to get up, but my body is too weak. Imprisoned in the void... If my brow sent light instead of warmth, I could at least see something...
I don't know where Juliet was. It wasn't here. I'll call her.
Supplemental: She came today. She knows of poison. We watched an episode of Star Trek. I miss her even more than I thought. She's happier than usual. She reckons me to be awfully looking. I don't know where my hair has gone either...
Supplemental: I wanted to write something, but I forgot. Perhaps on another day.
Supplemental: Warmth is light, too. Something with electromagnetic waves… Hard to imagine.
I've been Writing on a Novel called 30Days, but it is in German so I'll try to translate it for you.
While the blog is updated whenever John finishes a chapter (ie almost daily), this one will irregularly update whenever I have the time to translate more.
Since several people have been asking on my blog: No, I'm not John. No, I haven't been poisoned with polonium. No, I wasn't in the hospital.
Oh, and this is not meant to be crime fiction. It is a purely philosophical / psychological piece of work. If you like it, let me know. If you don't, tell me what bothers you = )
Now, have thought
Serra
24.6.
Time.
Time to reorder my thoughts and write them down.
Time.
Thirty days, they say. They say a lot. Fifty nanograms. I don't know if that's a lot or not. I can't imagine fifty nanograms.
Fifty nanograms of water... A drop of water has about ten million times fifty nanograms, they say.
Fifty nanograms of polonium...
Enough to kill a human.
Time.
Thirty days. At max, they say.
25.6., 29 days to the end of my minor existence
The chant of birds awoke me. The sun is shining, and children play on the street in front of my room.
There's blood in my face. I'm so tired...
Juliet called. Someone must've told her how I'm going.
I haven't heard of her for so long. Juliet says, she's fine. Her mother is fine, too. I hope it stays that way.
I miss her.
26.6., [del]28 days to the end of my minor existence[/del]
Headache. Even more blood. My "nasal musoca" is as dry as never. Every single breath translates to fear... Fear they break.
Supplemental: „Chelation-Therapy“. It will happen tomorrow. They say everything is over after five hours. Five hours of time, in which I just sit and wait, while some infusion sucks the poison out of my body. Am I perhaps allowed to survive this?
27.6
Chelation-Therapy!
They say I'm allowed to bring in a DVD... My brother gave me „The Bucket List“ with Morgan Freeman and Jack Nickolson. I hate him. My brother, not Jack Nickolson.
Supplemental: The clock in my room tells me it is 17:54. I'm so tired. The treatment was lighter than I've thought, but I'm dead nevertheless. That's a possible side effect, they say. I'm allowed to go home tomorrow. If someone will be there, waiting for me?
1.7., 23 days to the end of my minor existence.
Pain. I'm still contaminated, they say. Contaminated. Gone, terminated. Welcome back to the hospital...
At least I got another room. The first one was too loud. I'm out. No children on streets.
2.7., 22 days to the end of my minor existence.
22 days to the end.
I decided to have a bucket list. What will I be able to do in 22 days?
I've got money. I could voyage. Pain doesn't matter.
Supplemental: They say I may not leave the room. Bye bye, Bucket List.
Time.
22 days, waiting for death. Time, without deeds. Wasting away deedless. I was always in contrast of slow passages. I was always in favor of sudden change. Otherwise, you never know where the old stops and the new begins. Like a boat. Its spare parts being replaced every now and then. Now I'm preparing for the last passage...
Supplemental: They say death is different. Sudden death, though wasting away. Better, I ask. Yet I know the answer.
Supplemental: I feel like Picard. „Captain's log, stardate 17 - Supplemental.“. My brother brought all episodes of „Enterprise“. The next Generation takes over. Everyone dies. Now its my turn.
Supplemental: Does he do that on purpose?
3.7., 21 days to the end of my minor existence.
21. 3 * 7 = 21: My new occupation.
I cough blood when I laugh.
Had to think of Juliet. Juliet loves Star Trek. I called her, but she didn't pick up. Perhaps we can watch a few episodes together...
I have one entry for my bucket list. One entry. „Find out who's killed you – before you die“.
Supplemental: A list of „suspects“:
[del]Brother Brother[/del]
Davey
Jill. Jill, the old Floret.
Chloe
[del]Jones[/del]
Juliet
[del]Mum[/del]
[del]Dad[/del]
Actually ridiculous. I should drop a couple of names.
Mum, dad, brother, jones...
Although... I'm not too sure with my brother. He gave me „The Bucket List“ and Star Trek.
Dammit. I should have given up editing texts in retrospect. The list is strange now.
My god. My brother!
Dammit, more blood...
God, my friends. Why?
Why do I have to mistrust you?
Why do I have to die?
4.7., 20 days to the end.
I've talked with Jones. Perhaps I'm stupid. Perhaps I'm just incompetent. Perhaps I'm neither one nor the other. It's not important to be able to do everything. It is important to have friends who are, when combined, able to do everything.
Jones thinks that it is important to have friends who, when combined, know. For me it is the same.
Jones gathers.
Everything hurts.
5.7., 19 days to the end.
Jones thinks he can hear everything within my room, as well as everything in front of it. He gathers. I'll call my list.
Supplemental.
Davey and Chloe - Tomorrow, 17:00
Jill – The day after Tomorrow, 18:00
Juliet - The day after Tomorrow, 16:00
6.7., 18 days to the end.
Two visitors today.
Davey and Chloe.
Supplemental:
Chloe doesn't talk a lot. I always believed she's depressive. I believe she's depressed now. I told her I had a tumor. She is inconspicuous, like always.
Davey knew I'm poisoned. Did I tell him? I'm not sure.
I always thought I'd been sure, but this assurance was a hole. Now I'm falling. Unsecured.
Supplemental:
Jones talked to Davey. Davey says I told him. How come Chloe didn't know about it?
I'll wait for Juliet and Jill.
7.7. 17 days to the end.
7717. I feel like an airplane.
Supplemental:
The butterfly. When it sits down on your hand, it feels so good. But soon, it's standard. The colorful wings. Their tender up and down. Only when it's missing you know what's missing. But then it is too late... The bird escaped. You can try, but you can never fly. I was always in favor of hard borders.
Now I'm hanging. Barbed wire. The butterfly is on the other side.
Supplemental: Jill was here. Jill didn't know about butterflyicide. Ergo Davey lied, or I've only told him. Can't concentrate. Jones thinks he'll do that for me...
Jones thought: „John, take care“. He often thought that.
Jones thinks „This time you couldn't take care. I couldn't either.“ He never thought that.
There was some sort of joke... Airplanes instead of butterflies? No. The other way. The towers have airplanes in their stomach. I fear I'm a tower, and next turn I'm checkmate.
8.7., 16 days to the end.
At times I awake. It's dark. I try to get up, but my body is too weak. Imprisoned in the void... If my brow sent light instead of warmth, I could at least see something...
I don't know where Juliet was. It wasn't here. I'll call her.
Supplemental: She came today. She knows of poison. We watched an episode of Star Trek. I miss her even more than I thought. She's happier than usual. She reckons me to be awfully looking. I don't know where my hair has gone either...
Supplemental: I wanted to write something, but I forgot. Perhaps on another day.
Supplemental: Warmth is light, too. Something with electromagnetic waves… Hard to imagine.
