Читать книгу The Blue Tree - Tillmann Rautenberg - Страница 5

A small black tree grew behind a house. Its branches touched the wall and lifted the body of the homeowner against it. Slowly but surely, the body grew leaves.

Red sap dropped down on the grass.

An unfinished grave remained open, the corpse of a cat lying next to it. A bike leaned against the fence.

The door inside the house was open. A TV sent static noise into the silence.

The sun falling through the window was dim and filled the house with a weak orange glow. It was noon, unclouded, but the sky had no more light to give, as the high-falling roots choked it, covered it. The bright line, the horizon once was, fell dead upon the weight of the roots.

No bird chirped. They watched and waited.

Down the house, past a street was a meadow. It was still covered in morning dew as the sun had not been able to lift it. Within the meadows freshness sat a woman. A man slept quietly next to her, his head on her lap. Their blue skin shimmered slightly.

She held her head high, eagerly embracing any ray of light the sun could bring through to her. It wasn't time yet.

The night appeared in a sudden moment, once the sky had fully shut. The next day couldn't come anymore.

The only light left was a faint blue aura on a lone dark meadow.

“Do not wake up, dear.” The woman gently lifted the mans head, stood up and set her bare feet on the street, attempting a long walk towards enwebbed nothingness. But she stopped. Static noise dwelled from inside the house and another noise, a distant purring. The front door was open and she could see straight through to the garden. For a moment she stood in front of the TV and stared at its flickering black and white picture. Then, as if she remembered something, she turned it off.

Behind the house she looked around. A black tree, heavily hung with pale black leaves grew in a corner. She touched its trunk.

A shiver went through every root. The horizon flickered. A bird chirped.

She noticed the open hole in the ground. She took the cat, laid it down inside and shoved the dug out earth on it. The purring finally stopped. She was satisfied.

“Sleep now, dear.”

She took the bike leaning on the wall, moved it through the house and just as she was back on the street, sat on it and began to steer it down a long way.

The bike lamp sprang on with it, cutting a bit into the darkness.

The bike bell sometimes clang from afar, some brave bird sometimes answering its call.

◆◆◆

It felt something. A tickle in its farthest extremities. The black fruit felt something.

Was it a notable experience? It didn’t know.

It learned that it didn't know how to scratch an itch.