From: gardabr@unix1 (Gard Eggesbo Abrahamsen) Subject: Reverse Date: 6 Nov 92 10:56:18 GMT Reverse by Gard Eggesboe Abrahamsen dedicated to Irene Sylte Cold. Coolness. The wasteland around him was empty. Nothing but a wet mass of snow and ice, washing his face with frozen tears of anguish. Another hour, another day. Another night, it was all the same. As long as the weather beat him to the ground. With a few stiff pulls, he managed to move his hand to the sword. It was just as cold as him. Not the slightest sign of anything but cold. His name was Jeamund. They called him Jeamund the Lucky, but he knew this name was wrong. The only lucky thing he could remember was that he had been born, but then again, he thought he was unlucky having been born. Luck was not on his side. He stumbled on a big blob of ice that cruelly made Jeamund's foot slip, as if it didn't like it, as if it didn't belong there. And it didn't. "Bluppo," he moaned. "Must I suffer like this? For what purpose?" The air around him stayed silent, as if his question was utterly stupid and didn't even need a stupid answer. What'd he expect from wastelands? His hand stretched out in cramp. The body slowed down, closed his eyes. Darkness fell over him, and he let the warmth of the cold fill him as it poured the last bits of energy from every limb of his body. He was filled with dreams of a better time, a dream of summer in the winter country. The odour of hot chocolate put to his nose, and he woke up... The scene had changed while he was asleep. There was no snow, there was no ice. There was no cold, and there was a cup of hot chocolate under his nose. He took the cup gently in his hand, felt it with his finger tips, felt the cuddly hand that had held it to him so far. His eyes stared at it, examined its attachment to the arm, followed the arm to the neck and continued upwards till he saw the face of a beautiful blonde. "Drink," she whispered. "It'll do you good." As the liquid flowed down his throat, the warmth spread to every cell of his body, begging him to throw off the Suicidal Tendencies T-shirt. Angels sang in his ear, he wanted to beg for more, he would do anything for it. But the cup was empty too soon. "Thanks," he said as the image faded away. The red hot walls became massive walls of ice and rock. The multi-coloured carpet turned into white, snow covered ground, and the female was gone. Cold. Coolness. The wasteland around him was empty. Nothing but a wet mass of snow and ice, washing his face with frozen tears of anguish. Another hour, another day. Another night, it was all the same. As long as the weather beat him to the ground. --- --- --- As long as there is a hole in my heart to fill, My companion, the sadness, will try to fill it. Sadness is a lonely thing (the sadness will vanish when you are not alone) by Gard Eggesboe Abrahamsen dedicated to Irene Sylte The house was obviously old, and not exactly taken care of, as the yellow paint was falling off the noticeably rotten walls. The only thing that made one see that the house still was inhabited was the newly polished sign that was hanging over the door. "Your Travels Inc", it said. Only a tiny, hairy little man in the crowd of people rushing by on the pavement had decided not to ignore this house, as he carefully opened the door and entered. Squeeking sounds for each step he took up the stairs made him a little nervous, as if he expected the house to fall apart any second. Still, he had been waiting for this day for a little while, now, and he didn't wish to miss it for anything in the world. The door was open, inviting him to simply enter the clean office where men in white were rushing to and fro between the different computers. At the far end of the room, there was a huge machine with a chair mounted to it. "Ah! There you are!" "Has everything been prepared?" "Just sit down, and you'll be off any moment." He walked slowly over to the chair as if he was having second thoughts, but as he got closer, her realized that he had to do it anyway. As soon as he sat down, he was strapped to it before several electrodes were fastened all over his body. His eyes closed as he awaited his departure. A flash of orange light zapped in front of his eyes. Screams about defect machines sounded through his ears. And everything went black... Only the faint sound of disco music could be heard. Nothing could be seen. The music went louder and louder, so loud he felt the vibrations through the air. He could smell a mixture of deodorant and sweat passing by. A strange bi-smell of perfume grew stronger till this scent dominated far above the other odours. "Do you want a dance?" he heard a sensual voice whisper into his ear. He immediately opened his eyes and found the most beautiful female creature he had ever seen just a few inches in front of him, inviting him for a dance. He got up on his feet and grabbed her hand, pulling her onto the dance floor. Ready to dance, he held her close, feeling her soft touch in his hand. The slow rhythm beat into his brain, making him move around, taking the female with him. The feeling of her body touching his body steamed through him, teasing his mind, oppressing all other thoughts, as a mindless dance filled with an unexplained pleasure boiling inside his head, concentrated about the cuddly female he had between his arms. Only the remote reminder about behaving as a gentleman kept him from violently break the dance and start stripping all her clothes off whilst kissing her all over. "It's the last dance," she whispered into his ear. "I'm gonna miss ya', y'know!" "Yea, I know." The music slowly faded away, leaving the two dancing to the silence that was filling the ear with a somewhat slower rhythm. "It's over, now." "I'm still gonna miss ya'!" "Yea, I know." She gave him a long and passionate kiss before she slipped out of his grip and walked backwards towards the door, waving him goodbye. "I should've danced while I had the chance," he shouted after her. "You didn't?" she asked as she disappeared through the door, leaving him all alone on the dance floor. "No," he sighed. He was the only one there. There was no band, no other people that had danced. It was just his lonely soul that was filling the room with thoughts and minute tears of dreams blowing in the air like invisible drops of wet rain. A flash of orange light zapped in front of his eyes. Screams about defect females sounded through his ears. And everything went black... "He looks a bit pale, doesn't he?" "Nah! He's just coming around." He opened his eyes. "Welcome back." "Uh. Hi!" "Did you have a good time?" "Er...well..." "How do you feel?" "I'm fine, thanks." "Never felt better?" "Exactly!" "Not bad for someone who just amputated his right arm." "Wha...?" He intuitively tried to pull his right arm up, but couldn't, forcing him to actually turn his head to look at it. It was black, burnt, as if a very high voltage had passed through it, boiling the meat, leaving only crisp bacon round his bones.