[Story + Audio] Why have you never asked?

Note: I tried to do some voice acting here. Please be gentle. I love you all. x


It all started in ninth grade. Not the common type of love story where suddenly at the beginning of the semester a new face shows up and you immediately fall in love. Then, for the whole semester, you grief in unspoken love, until – eventually – you reach the desired heart during the holidays.

He – a young lad called James – had known him for ages. They went to the same class in primary school. They had serious arguments in sixth grade, when the boys started to fight about a certain anime type of thing. You know what it is like – either you love my stuff or you are my enemy. He had laughed at him in eigth grade when all the others were able to talk about their first “serious” relationships – but he, he couldn’t.

On this particular Monday, they had an exam. Math, very basic stuff. Something like “you got a y here and a z here, but the thing you need is an x, so do the kind of magic we taught you and scribble it down”. Marius – the other guy – was sitting right in front of him. Cool and calm as usual. “No sweat!” was his well-known phrase, and for some reason, his grades were good. Even though he was not the kind of guy to sit at home and learn a lot. A mysterious young lad.

The exam took hours. Well, in all honesty, it took like 45 minutes. But even 5 minutes can seem endless if you have no clue. James gnawed on his pencil. The clock was relentless and there was this thought which thing might happen earlier – the pencil to be gone or the time to be up. It was the time. Once the school bell rang, the teacher came along and collected their sheets.

There it happened. A little booklet fell to the ground when Marius started to pack his things. Just for a moment, but long enough that James was able to recognise the cover. “Doctor Who.” Some kind of fan magazine with short stories and fan made drawings. He knew the magazine, he was a huge fan. He had even submitted some short stories. For a short moment, James blinked and stared at that back in front of him. Marius? Could it be that he shared the same fandom?

This is not the kind of romantic stuff you read in books, you know. There was no magic sparkle. There was no sign that suddenly heaven came to earth. There was just one little thought: “Oh. I wouldn’t have known.”

Several years later, they all gathered again, all the pupils of the same class. They wore black. It was a rainy day. What a clich├ę. A rainy day in November for a burial. They all stood there, some arm in arm as they had married, others lonesome, but all with sad and worried faces. In the front, there was the priest and some woman, the mother. Her makeup was gone, not due to the rain, but due to the tears. The priest welcomed everybody and gave some soft introductory words. Then the mother stepped forward.

She trembled. “I… Thank you, everbody, for attending this…” Her voice broke. Another woman, obviously not related to her but kind, put a hand on her shoulder. The mother breathed, deeply, started again. “Thank you for coming. I don’t know how to do such a thing and I…” Her voice broke again and she fumbled on her dress with nervous fingers.

“He would have loved you all to be here. I know it. I know it, even though he never said it.” Some people burried their hands deeper in their pockets, other shared sad and worried glances. “I… he was a special boy, my young boy, and I miss you so damn much.” It was over, she broke in tears and was not able to recover for some minutes. The rain was pouring all over them, but nobody even dared to move a single step.

When she eventually came back, she snuffled and shook her head. From the inside of her coat she brought a little book. It was bound in bright colours, pink and yellow, a light blue and some green. There were drawings on top, some hearts, some stars, even a unicorn. It almost fell when she tried to open it.

“This… I need you to understand. All of you. And myself. This…” she held up the book a little bit “is… was his diary. A precious gem I found some days ago but did not dare to look into until yesterday. It is full of the stories and feelings of a young man trying to find his role in the world. There is one passage… only one… you need to hear.”

The silence all over those people got stronger. The rain got darker, colder. Instinctivly they grew closer, when she started to read. Her voice was shaking, but got firmer with every word, with every line her son had written. These words were written by her flesh, and she brought them to the light.

May 2, Tuesday, 19h

Why. Why me. Why not anybody else. I haven’t done anything. Why the fuck me?

He looked at me, again. Dark, brown eyes, sparkling in the sun, radiant. I have seen them so often and still find new details. The way he looks at something he’s interested in. The way he looks in disgust. His eyes when he is laughing. His glance when he is sad. I know every single mood and still there are new to come. This look he gave me? I’d call it “disinterest”.

I seriously don’t know what to do anymore. This fucking fuck book of a fucking book! It all started there, and it never ended. Why me? Why the fuck me? It could have been anybody. I just wanted to be normal. Happy. Somehow. I wanted to be… enough.

I don’t know how to stand yesterday. I went home from school, and as usual I passed the little park where he loves to play with the others. They had played basketball and were sitting there, making fun, jokes. He was happy. He wore that muscle shirt, yellowish, and his skin shone in the sun light. Does this make any sense at all? Fuck, no. Who cares. I passed by. I heard him. I fucking heard him. He was making jokes, and everybody was laughing. One of them was shaking his head. Then, he stood up and yelled “Oh come on, faggot, this was funny!” and they laughed.

I don’t know how long I must have been there, unable to move, until they recognised me. They stared at me. He stared at me, his eyes still sparkling full of fun. He meant it. He said it. He… Not him, too. After all, not him.

I cannot stand it anymore. My father saying that “they” all should hang. My mother just nodding and cleaning the kitchen. My best friend’s mum who said “they” try to kill us all, they bring diseases and are rubbish and like some kind of shit. The priest in the church yelling that “they” are a failure in HIS creation.

For fuck’s sake, what shall I do? God, if you are exist, what shall I do? What have I done? Wrong? I tried it all. I tried it fucking all, and I failed. I failed my Mum, I failed my Dad, I failed my whole family. My friends. My teachers. Why me? Where did I do wrong? I cannot ask them. God, hell, no, never. And I cannot stand it.

He was my anchor. Since that one moment when he dropped that book. Gosh, it’s over anyway, so why not finally write it out. Yes, I started to observe him. To stare at him. I realised his beautiful face, these magical eyes, that smile which brought sunshine into my life. That body which was neither muscular nor slim, but just perfect. His moves. His voice… I should note down his voice, right? Especially when he laughs. It is a small, a gentle laughter, but so attracting. There are so many things and interests we share, and he does not even know. I know. What shall I say? “Hey, Marius, I like what you like, what will that make of us?” Oh, I should remove that sentence, but I lack the energy.

He, for all people, said it. Called us. Named us. Not him. Please, please lord, not him. My anchor is broken and I feel like I’m drowning. But I will try to be strong. I try to. I promise.

The mother’s voice fell silent, and they all stood there and nobody was able to move. Some stared at her, unwilling, unable to process what they just heard. Others sobbed or cried silently.

“This entry was written one day before he jumped.” the mother concluded. She eventually went silent, trembling, shivering, not able to say anything else. The book, it fell out of her hand and into the mud. It was his diary. The little diary with that unicorn, and when they all had found out about it in tenth grade, they had laughed at him. A boy with a unicorn. He ran out of class, crying, and nobody cared – they all just laughed.

The sound of heavy steps. A trembling hand went to the ground and took the book. He was not wearing his yellowish shirt today. He was wearing black. For several minutes he stood there, his back to the others, looking into the grave, they all just saw his trembling. At some point he started crying and his steps took him away from the grave, his friends.

They all looked after him. Soon he was gone, hidden under some trees in the rain, alone. One voice alone reached out for them. She was his former girlfriend. Marius’ girlfriend. There were no emotions left when she did the final blow.

“He loved him. He had told me in tears. But had never told James. And that little magazine about Doctor Who? He bought it because of him. Why, James, why have you never asked?”

Share it with your friends!

Abstract: You got a new highscore on Flappy Bird! You finally gained that new level on Hay Day! Achievement unlocked! Mission accomplished! Whatever – we don’t care. But: Share it with your friends! Anytime!

And of course, there is some audio track as well. Enjoy it!

Continue reading Share it with your friends!

Registration – now with Audio Track

Good news, folks! A couple of days ago I wrote my German short story “Registration“, which is about a young (?) man being enforced to go to his civil registration where they know EVERYTHING about his life. I kind of like the story, and thus I decided to do a “read through”. Unfortunately, and due to my lack of English skills, I won’t be able to translate the story. But at least you can listen to me while I am reading it. Thanks for reading my blog and now happy getting the creeps because of this strange voice acting. ­čśë ENJOY!

[Story] Registration

Abstract: A little German story about a young person somewhen in the future who needs to survive his registration procedure. But besides all the advantages of modern technology, some aspects turn out to be rather troublesome…

Die Geschichte gibt es jetzt auch als H├Ârgeschichte – einfach auf Play dr├╝cken und vor der schrecklichen Stimme gruseln. Viel Vergn├╝gen!

Continue reading [Story] Registration

[GER] Kultur ist f├╝r mich…?

Dear English readers, this article is some contribution to a German blog campaign about culture. It is most likely I will not provide any translation this time. But I promise: the next articles will be in English again! ­čśë

Auch dieses Mal gibt es einen – diesmal deutschen – Audioschnipsel von 33 Minuten L├Ąnge zum Thema. Diesmal allerdings nicht der geschriebene Text einfach vorgelesen. Stattdessen habe ich mich etwas freier am Text entlang gehangelt und ├╝ber meine Gedanken zur Kultur gesprochen. Enthalten sind daher einige Zus├Ątze, die mir erst in der Aufnahme aufgefallen sind, sowie einige etwas tiefere Einblicke in manche Aspekte. Oder ein paar Secrets. Je nachdem. Ich hoffe, ihr habt auch diesmal Spa├č mit Text und Audio!

Kultur ist f├╝r mich – Download (MP3)


Kultur ist f├╝r mich…? Das ist die Frage, die Tanja Praske in ihrer aktuellen Blogparade: “Kultur ist f├╝r mich…” stellt, neukulturell nat├╝rlich auch gleich mit dem passenden Hashtag #KultDef versehen. Und wie sie in ihrem Blogeintrag bereits deutlich macht, ist diese Frage nicht eindeutig, aber schon gar nicht einheitlich zu beantworten. Wie w├Ąre es beispielsweise mit einer philosophischen Antwort wie “Kultur ist f├╝r mich das, was den Menschen menschlich macht”. Man k├Ânnte sich auch als Verfasser eines Lexikoneintrages bewerben und Kultur als die Gesamtsumme aller mentalen, k├╝nstlerischen, Gemeinschaft stiftenden Werke der Menschheit definieren. Oder man kehrt zur├╝ck in die Welt der Literatur, bedient sich vielseits geliebter Sprachbilder: “Kultur ist, so sprach der Mensch, Luft zum Atmen, Boden als Halt, Baum als St├╝tze und Feuer als treibende Kraft”. Man kann es aber auch machen wie ich – und einfach in einigen Abs├Ątzen ├╝ber den Begriff schwadronieren, wie ich ihn eben so wahrnehme. Daf├╝r muss ich aber zun├Ąchst ein kleines bisschen ausholen.

Continue reading [GER] Kultur ist f├╝r mich…?

The Passion of Gaming

Little something for you – as this is a very long article (and I know very well that reading such long articles on screen is not easy), I tried my best to make some proper audio record. Please excuse some little misreading at the end – the whole text has been recorded at once, I did not want to correct it. At least, now it is much more human. The record is about 21 minutes. I hope, you enjoy my thoughts, textual or auditive. ­čśë

The Passion of Gaming – Download (MP3)

Today, I will share a little secret with you. Are you ready for it? Yes? But you have to promise to read on, whatever might happen. You might be shocked, you might be trembling in fear, but I count on you reading on. Do you really think, you could do that? Yeah? Okay, I have warned you. Remember it. Deal is deal. Do not disappoint me. So here it comes, my very personal secret, just for you. I have to confess that I am a little bit nervous. Telling secrets is so exciting. Gimme a second to take a deep breath. Okay. Did you ever have to confess something? To come out with something? Did you ever have to feel these very few seconds when you have to decide whether to tell or not to tell? And you have no idea about the reactions. Will they hate you? Will they accept you? Will they support you? That is the way I’m feeling right now. But you promised to stay with me. I trust you. I am ready. Here you go.

Continue reading The Passion of Gaming

[GER] Andrew Shei – Realit├Ąten

Dear international readers,

this article┬áis about a short story written by myself – and in German. It is about my new Shadowrun character and the┬átry to rediscover my writing skills. Unfortunately there will no English┬átranslation. At least not anytime soon. Thank you for your understanding!


Shadowrun. Wir schreiben das Jahr 2075. Vor ├╝ber 60 Jahren endete die F├╝nfte Welt – und die Magie kehrte zur├╝ck in unser Leben. Menschen, Elfen, Zwerge, Orks und Trolle. Magier mit m├Ąchtigen Zauberspr├╝chen, Stra├čensamurai mit Pistolen, Gewehren und Baseballschl├Ągern. Bleichgesichtige Technikfreaks in den Untiefen der Matrix. Sie alle k├Ąmpfen tagt├Ąglich um das ├ťberleben in einer Welt zwischen Verbrechen und Konzerngesch├Ąften. Der Runner erledigt schmutzige Auftr├Ąge gegen eine saftige Bezahlung – falls er ├╝berlebt.

Die nachfolgende Geschichte erz├Ąhlt von┬áAndrew Shei, einem asiatischen Decker aus Seattle. Nicht jeder meiner Leser wird sich in der d├╝steren Welt von Shadowrun auskennen, vielleicht deshalb auch nicht alles verstehen. Ich hoffe trotzdem, dass euch dieser erste kleine Einblick gef├Ąllt. Wenn ihr mehr von Andrew Shei und anderen Runnern lesen wollt, lasst es mich wissen – Kommentare sind mehr als erw├╝nscht! Viel Spa├č beim Lesen!

Eine Verbreitung dieses Textes ohne meine Genehmigung ist selbstverst├Ąndlich verboten.



Auch diesen Text kann man sich nun ganz bequem anh├Âren – mit der Stimme des Autors. Das gibt es auch nicht ganz so h├Ąufig! Viel Spa├č auch mit der auditiven Version!