Gedichte,
Kurzgeschichten,
Momentaufnahmen

20.03.2006 um 16:51 Uhr

The Masque of the Red Death (20.3.2006)

von: AngelInChains   Kategorie: Kurzgeschichten

I cannot remember when and where it happened, it was a long time ago in a far-away country, where a pestilence called the “Red Death” terrorized the people. Everyone infected by it, it is said, has to die a slow and painful death, breaking down and bleeding and finally ceasing to breathe. Every hour new victims were found and the whole population lived in fear.

Only the prince Prospero lived a careless live. He had to fear none for hiding in his castle, served by hundreds of people. There was no danger and he feasted every day while outside the people were dying.

Also that certain day Prospero reveled. In the evening, as on every evening, he locked himself up in a chamber, where no one was allowed to disturb him. In this chamber there stood a clock of ebony at the western wall, black as the night sky at midnight. Every hour the clock made a monotonous, enormous sound and all the servants in the castle listened to it in fear. They did not know why they had such a fearful feeling, but this sound turned everyone nervous.

And the clock stroke again! And a scream echoed between the castle walls! It came from the chamber of the prince. The guards opened the huge wooden door. The chamber was almost entirely dark, there were only a few rays of moonlight shining onto the floor, where there lied the body of the prince, all covered with blood.

He was still alive, and with a voice growing weaker and weaker every second he spoke: “The Red Death! I saw him!” And suddenly a gleam of light fell on the ebony clock and the reflection in the glass, only for a moment, showed a bleak face with a masque, a masque as red as blood: It was the Masque of Death.

20.03.2006 um 16:09 Uhr

An einen Freund (17.3.2006)

von: AngelInChains   Kategorie: Lyrik: Liebe

Die Glut des Abends ist ueber uns gesunken
Und du atmest, doch so fern von hier
Derweil mein Herz so trauertrunken
Mein Geist, er duerstet nur nach dir

Auf welcher Bettstatt liegt dein Leib?
Durch welchen Garten fuehrt sie dich?
Der Tod in eines Engels Kleid
Beruehrst du sie, so sterbe ich

So bleibt mir nur ein leidend Bangen
Eines Wesens, das qualvoll schweigt
Benetzt ihr Kuss nun deine Wangen
Wie Tau, der meinem Aug entsteigt?

Ist ihr Brautbett laengst dein Sarg?
Ist ihr Garten unser Grab?
Waer ihr Herz nur auch so rein
Wie ihres Antlitz Sternenschein