Day 1 – Frozen Valley

Breeze. Long, cold, biting. Stones covered with ice build the high mountains surrounding the valley. A lonely pair of trees is in the middle. The setting sun licks its last rays on the dying branches. Few see the decay of the living orgasms. Stiffened by the frost they can barely move. No birds visit to sing to it, no worms crawl around its feet, nothing sits by the side and gazes upon the world. No one leans on the cold rocks. No one let their heads fall back and has their vision framed by the mountains high around them. Not a soul slides their hand along the dying trees’ spine. The pair is all alone in the valley of frost. The sun has given up on it. Moving forward, to the all mighty mountains raging high in the sky. Cold, blue snow drips along its sides. Drops form rivers, rivers form a flood and the majestic rock loses its decoration. Leading to the shadow side, the melted snow finds the pair of trees. Circling around in a teasing manner it finally has to fall to its roots and blend with the rocks. In desperation the trees grasp the drops and sucks them deep into their veins. A quick meeting between the sun and his brother seals the valley. The winds cluster and smoothly swings around the mountain feet, breeze through the branches of the trees, freeze the melted water on the stones. Night has come and all things freeze, the trees a little livelier than the day before.

(Inspired by this cover)




The Stranger Within

Cover of "The Outsider (Penguin Modern Cl...

Cover of The Outsider (Penguin Modern Classics)

(This is the same assignment as my previous post, but this is for English A1. The book which this text is based on is The Stranger by Albert Camus. I chose to write a descriptive passage from the perspective of Raymond. The first passage is a scene, were Raymond tells Meursault about his problem with his unfaithful lover, written in with the thoughts of Raymond himself. The second passage is stream of consciousness during Meursault’s execution.)

Passage One:

I just met Meursault in the stairs again. He is an interesting fella, walking around in this little town, silent and mysterious. I have to actually really drag his attention to me to make myself look interesting enough. He is a really smart guy too. That’s why I asked him in for some sausage and wine at my place. I needed his brain for a little favor. He wouldn’t mind.

My hand started to hurt again. As I wrapped it with some bandage I found, he asked what I’d done to it. “I’d been in a fight with some guy who was trying to start trouble,” I tried to say casually. Somehow, he was quite good at leading the conversation the right way. I told him the story of the guy who got his lesson, and tried to slip in some hints toward him, saying I needed his help about something. I don’t even know why I try. These social codes weren’t his strongest point. It had to be asked straight out. Not that he would mind, he never cared for those sorts of things. As I finished my story I continued to the real thing. “As a matter of fact, Meursault, I could actually need your advice on this whole business. You know, because you’re a man, and you know about things, you could help me out! And then we’d be pals, of course.” I assumed he was at least a little normal, not too much of a freak. He had gotten Marie but she wasn’t a beauty queen. I had stopped talking a while ago, but it was still silent. I asked if he actually wanted to be pals. He seemed to be thinking. That was a good sign. He was considering it. “It is fine with me,” he said shortly after. I had him.

The only matter now was how to make him do it correctly. Meursault isn’t the man to question too much, just enough to get the little picture he needed. I liked that about him. Nothing complicated. He followed directions, but wasn’t easy to guide. Other people would have fled when I started talking about how I punished my cheating woman. Meursault, on the other hand, listened until I was finished. Nervous and soar after all the talking, I asked for his opinion on the whole thing. He said something that told me he wasn’t very interested. I had to keep this going. He couldn’t tell if she was cheating on me, or what to do, but did agree that she needed to be punished. Good, now that I had made him come to that conclusion it was simple to ask him. I told him about my brilliant idea and the complications with it. I needed his mind quickly. I couldn’t in a million years write the way that would punish her enough. He was silent after I requested the favor. “Would there be any problems if you did it right now?” I asked, and got a short “no” in reply. He wrote quickly, with nice handwriting. To check that it was OK, he read it out loud for me. He looked at me for a long while. It got very awkward, and I realized he was done. He had to read it again. I was still gone, but I was sure it worked. He wouldn’t have tried to fool me anyway. I told him good night, sure that we were pals.

Passage Two:

Meursault had killed that Arab. That’s odd. I thought he was rational. Maybe he’s faulty. The trial failed him. He shouldn’t have shot that Arab. He’s in prison now. I wonder how it’s like in there. Maybe he’ll like it. It can’t be much difference. He wouldn’t care either. He never cares. He shouldn’t have shot that Arab. He’s odd. Did he enjoy it? Maybe he is that type of man, a born killer. But why would he care? Nothing pisses him off. I’ve never seen him angry. Did the Arab make him angry? He shouldn’t have killed him. Meursault’s going to die. The trial failed him. Execution in public, of all things. He looks odd up there. I can barely see him. He doesn’t mind being up there. Why was he with that Arab? Right, that thing. He shouldn’t have killed him. Everyone’s shouting, I can’t hear what the man is saying. Meursault found me. He looks odd up there. Like he doesn’t fit in. He doesn’t mind thought. Why is he looking at me that way? He doesn’t belong. The other man stopped talking. Something’s going to happen. Right, the execution. Meursault wouldn’t mind. It’s not like he wanted to live. Well, it’s not like he tried to die. Or maybe that’s why he killed that Arab? He was looking for someone to kill. I was his pal, though. He couldn’t kill me. What’s that sound? Oh, the blade wasn’t sharp enough. Too bad. He’s dead now, isn’t he? It’s just hanging there, slowly ripping off. He was a good man. He cared. I’m sure he had his reasons for killing that Arab. It probably was for the best. He looked at me as the head fell into the basket. He looked odd up there. Without a head. Everyone else has got heads. He doesn’t belong. I’m sure he’s somewhere nice. I was a good man, Meursault.

Children of Divorce

There are many of us, the children born in a divorce. Some might call us lucky; we never had to go through the dividing of a once whole family. We wouldn’t have to wonder what we did wrong, what we said, or what we could have done to make it all work. Don’t mind us, we do only have to live through a life where we’ve never had a whole family. Never had a moment of everything being at its proper place. The dream will never be complete.
We have it better because when someone asks for your dad, you don’t know who to refer to. What a benefit we have, knowing all transportation systems between the parents’ houses by heart. How fortunate we are, being born with the features they hate about each other. We are their constant nightmare, reminding them of their former love, their past. They cannot escape us. We are the reminder they never wished for. Do not mind us, the kids who will never know who they are because their personality traits are despised by both sides. We cannot grow as we have no ground to stand on. Where do we come from; who do we belong to? These are questions that haunt us on the midst of the day. We have no place to escape, no one to turn to.
Ask a one of us to define Good and Evil. We will answer vaguely as we know that those who intentionally hurt other people are evil, but we don’t want to think of our parents as evil. There are no right or wrong, yet there are always two sides of a story, hard to separate from the truth. Excuses are vivid, we live among people who want to protect us, but drag us further down the rabbit hole.

Don’t mind us, we do only have to live through a life where we’ve never had a whole family.






It feels good when the water falls down and hits my skin. Cold and wet. The shower is empty, only me and the water. There is no light in the bathroom. No light in the entire house.

Ice-cold water runs across my forehead, one of the drops gets into my blue-green eye and the white quickly turns red. A tear flies beside my little nose and when it comes to my purple lips, it is lost to the world. But the water still falls under my lips and comes to an end. My chin, small and white, as the snow outside the house. My hand sweep over my face. I stop ends on my neck. A drop slides over my chest, passes my navel and continues down, until it silently hits the floor. I look down. Every little tear of water floats there, and at one point there is no water. Just a silver metal piece with a lot of holes.

More water rains down,  I like it. All my worries, pain and sorrow disappears along with the water. I’m empty, don’t feel anything. Can’t feel anything. I don’t know how to feel. But still. I do. I feel a smile stuck on my face and I know what it means.

My mouth gets filled by frozen water. Filled to the edge, so there is no space for more. The water changes direction and continues cross my neck and slides to my small, red buttocks. I try to move my feet, they won’t listen. Finally. They have long been numb and hard to order. I walk out of the shower and a little river follows me. The water is still on. A silent whisper from my lips says “Run! You are free. Enjoy it while you still can.” I hope they do, and I envy them. Free from now and forever. I can only be free when I’m in touch with


High-Res Stock Photography: Water drops on woman bottom


The grin on that slim face gives me goose bumps. How could they not see, what could possibly cover they eyes with such a thick layer that they even came closer to the wolf? The growl of the evil heart roared in the shivering air. Change was coming, but it wasn’t headed in the right direction. The devils were winning and people were celebrating their presence. Naïve they believed they had found the good soul, the perfect person. Oh how they were fooled. Clinging hard to the thin arms and bones of the little creature, smiling along with wide mouth of a liar, they all truly had faith in what the monster could do. But what they didn’t realize was what they were about to do. Feeding it with love and compassion, giving it the warmth it didn’t deserve. It was getting stronger, got connections and pulled the tiny strings in its spider web. As a snake she would eat them after she was done. There was nothing that could stop her, the people believe.  Their eyes were gone and the hope had vanished and was replaced by the evil of a liar. A fake that spread nothing but pain and sorrow to the hearts of the true. Creatures like her had no goals, had nothing to aim for, only destruction. The future would never come would these things continue to roam the streets of the people. They had to be disposed. We will dispose of her.
No one will believe the tales of the truth. The words cut through their simple brains and make them function, make their eyes open, but they don’t want that. They just want to sit and chat, have fun and live in their tiny little words, thinking everything is fine and all they do is right. How could they possibly have acted wrong? All they did was feeding the monster of evil. How could they possibly have done anything that could lead to the end of the world, the end of all good? All they did was believe the lies, breeding a being worse than all others, spreading the hatred and pain. There is nothing wrong in being so stupid.















Picnic with Death

*A translation of the previous post in addition to some editing*

It had been a while since she last walked in the park. Many good memories came to life here, and one very traumatizing. Monica walked along the slim path. A thousand times she had set her feet here, but it all seemed so new. As if everything had changed afterwards. Yet there were things that had kept themselves as usual. The packed plum-tree hung over the shiny lake. The burden must have been great for the simple branches. No one ever picked off any of its fruits, no matter how delicious they looked. No one offered to lift the burden.
              Monica had a bright future. Last year on High School and soon University. She was going to major in art. The schools she looked at didn’t require a high standard of grades, and she had what it took to get in. For her friends there was another story. Her best friend since middle school, Alice, had no future.
               It was rare to see her at school and the few hours she appeared went quickly until she got bored again. Then she would leave. Just like that. How easy it looked. To walk away from the things that bore you. But she wasn’t able to walk away from everything. She was in trouble, massive trouble. By the end of eighth grade she was regularly sticking needles through the once soft skin. Monica never knew what was in them. Neither did Alice. Lately it looked like heroin; it gave the great kick as they called it. Monica had stayed through the other types of kicks Alice had searched for, she was not going to stop now. She didn’t want to lose her.
               Monica stayed clear of the needles, she saw what it did to her friend. Her stories of how the world was so much better with the new vision never convinced her. Neither did Monica’s endless trials of describing what Alice really was doing to herself, where she was headed. None of them were convinced any more than they had started off with. Alice had stopped talking about her belief in her little magic liquid and Monica stopped describing the horrible scenarios that taunted her head. The images didn’t get better after she watched a movie with her class on drugs. In the beginning she tried to sleep, not let the moving pictures get in her. She didn’t need it. She knew. The volume was loud and the movie distracting. Unwillingly her eyes caught the screen and got fixed. There was only one thought in her mind. Alice. Can’t. Die. When it finished the borrowed it and went to Alice’s place.
               The credits came, and went. Not a sound could be heard in the messy cottage she called a room. The red eyes said everything, she was petrified. The future had never been further than the next dose.
               They never went to the rehab center. She was going to make it, with Monica. Together. She was getting better. From endless needles a day she managed to get it down to two at most. “It all beings in the small steps” she had said with a crocked smile on her face while the needle pressed through her skin. She was moving forward, steadily, to a certain point. The addiction forced her down, not even her friend could help her with this part.
                There were days were Alice would shine like the sun. One of those days she went to Monica’s home with a stuffed little basket. “Picnic?” Her happiness surrounded her with miles radius. It was impossible to say no.
               They ended up under a magnificent apple tree in the park. The spring had arrived and the fruits hung over their heads, tempting their hunger for every look. While the girls got themselves settled two of the apples disappeared and just a stone’s throw away one could see a pair of apple cores sun bathing.
                Alice was no master chef, but the chicken sandwiches went down quickly. When all the food was gone and the sodas with it the park went quite. The glittering lake laid silently and waited. The trees swayed with the wind, letting it play with their leaves. The juicy grass made their blanket wet. The silence was interrupted by the sound of a searching hand in the basket. Monica didn’t need to look to know what her companion was striving after. The kick. “Do you have to? We’re having such a good time. You’re so happy! Can’t you feel the peace?” Monica’s voice was pathetic. There was no force, no point. She was clearly ignored. Alice found what she was looking for, and grinned with desperate lust. Monica didn’t turn. The whole sequence had started to disgust her. The tip digging itself into the vein, the moan when the liquid streamed into her blood. There had always been a little problem with Alice’s needle. It squeaked while it was forcing the liquid inside her. This time it was longer than usual. Panic flew through Monica’s limbs, she had to turn.
                She looked awful. With her back against the tree she looked insignificantly small. Small and pale. The golden glow that shone on her only an hour ago had vanished and replaced by a grey and blue tint. Now that the smile was gone the bags under the eyes screamed in vain, made her eyeballs disappear. They were looking, faintly, gazing at the still water, absorbing the sun. The mouth was slightly open letting out the last air of the small lungs escape. Her hands had slid of her lap and touched the humid grass, not feeling the coldness of the drops. The nails had clearly been used to rip apart the many things she had encountered. Quicker than they should have as they still hadn’t recovered fully. The whole body had become a doll. A giant, lifeless doll that had been thrown in the park at random.  She couldn’t touch her. Not this time. Watching as the life had drained out of her, listening to her last breath flowing through the air was more than enough.
             Monica followed the stiff eyes’ gaze over the water. It was really a beautiful day. She deserved to die on such a day. The sun hadn’t gone far down from the sky, but there was almost no one in the park. It felt like the world understood, it felt that Death was near. Wandering among the living bodies, collecting souls. He had been here, picking up what was left of her best friend. The air was still chill, He hadn’t left yet. There was still one more soul to get.
         Monica wasn’t sure she was ready. She could feel Him coming. His lust for the drive that kept her going. She could sense it leaving, but she had to give it up. The wind swirled around him, making the trees lean away, they had too much to live for. What did she have? Alice’s glorious liquid was gone. She might have suspected Monica’s actions.  She didn’t want anyone else to experience its devilish work. Monica’s eyes looked around and fixed your eyes on the shining water. Flat and silently reflecting the waves from the sun. It was a nice day to die.

The water had gone calm once again. The ripples were vanished and the sound of the last bubbles had passed on. The lake didn’t shine any longer. Grey, huge clouds had covered up the sun. Death had passed, satisfied. A nice day to collect days, He thought while wandering out of the park to other destinations.


Piknik med Døden

*This is one of my all-time favorites. I hope you like it!*

Det var lenge siden hadde sett parken. Den vekket mange gode og et veldig dårlig minne. Monica trasket bortover stien. Hadde gått der tusen ganger, men alt virket så nytt. Som om alt hadde forandret seg etter det som hadde skjedd. Men det var fortsatt ting som var slik det skulle. De stappfulle plommetrærne hang over det glinsende vannet. Hun kunne måle en meter fra den nederste plommen til kanten av vannet. Det måtte være tungt for greinene å holde på alle de plommene. Ingen som hjelper det med å ta vekk noen av dem. Hjelpe til så børen ble lettere å bære.

Monica hadde en lys fremtid. Siste år på ungdomsskolen og snart videregående. Hun skulle gå Design og Håndverk. Hun trengte ikke ha verdens beste karakterer for å komme inn, men hun hadde det som skulle til. Men blant vennene ar det verre. Hennes beste venninne siden barneskolen, Andrine,  ikke fremtid.

Hun var nesten aldri på skolen og de få gangene hun var det, varte det ikke mer enn maks en time før hun var lei igjen. Andrine hadde problemer, store problemer. Helt siden slutten av åttende hadde hun satt sprøyter i seg med diverse narkotiske stoffer. I det siste hun i seg heroin, det var visst det som ga den beste rusen. Men uansett hvor mye problemer Andrine skulle ha, ville ikke Monica gi henne opp. Andrine var hennes venninne og hun ville ikke miste henne.

Uansett hvor mange ganger hun så Andrine , så klarte Monica å holde seg ren. Hun hadde heller ingen planer om å starte. Heldigvis for henne så det ut til at Andrine aksepterte det. Hun tok det hun ville ha og spurte aldri om å dele. Etter hvert ville Monica få henne til å slutte. Det ble for mye, hun så det på henne.

Det var da kranglene kom. Selvfølgelig ville ikke Andrine slutte, det var ikke annet å forvente. Men for en stund siden så hadde de sett en film på skolen, som selvfølgelig Andrine ikke så. Den handlet om narkotika og avhengighet. Selv om Monica ikke var spesielt glad i filmer tenkte hun mye på bestevennen mens filmen gikk. Da den var ferdig, fikk hun låne filmen av skolen. Hun ville vise den til Andrine.

Det fikk en slutt på kranglingen. De rød sprengte øynene talte mye for seg, hun var redd. Hun hadde vel sikkert ikke forstilt seg hvordan alt kom til å ende?

Men det ble ingen rehabiliteringssenter på Andrine. Hun skulle klarte det selv, med Monicas hjelp. Hun gjorde framskritt. Fra én sprøyte om dagen til en gang i uka. – Det starter i det små! hadde hun sagt med et skjevt smil om munnen, idet sprøytetuppen presset seg inn i blodåren. Hun fortsatte å gjøre fremskritt. Det ble to hver måned og noen ganger mindre enn det, men så holdt det. Avhengigheten ble for stor og viljen for svak, selv ikke med Monicas hjelp.

Det hendte at Andrine hadde en god dag, det hendte faktisk ganske ofte i det siste. En dag kom hun hjem til Monica med en flettekurv og en bylt hengende over armen. – Piknik? Hun strålte. Man kunne se det på lang avstand. Dette var en av hennes gode dager, de dagene Monica aldri kunne si nei.

Det ble til at de satte seg under et stort epletre i parken. Det var vår og eplene hang tungt over dem. Mens jentene rigget til med tøybylten og piknikkurven, forsvant plutselig to epler og bare epleskrotten ble igjen på bakken.

Andrine var ingen mester på kjøkkenet, men kyllingsandwichene gikk temmelig kjapt ned. Da all maten var spist opp og all drikken hadde slurpet av sted, ble alt stille. Den glinsende innsjøen fristet med klart og glinsende vann. Trærne svaiet i den lille brisen som kom nå og da. Det saftige gresset gjorde teppet fuktig under rumpene dems.

Stillheten ble brutt av en rasling fra kurven. Andrine lette etter noe. Monica trengte ikke spørre, hun visste hva hun lengtet etter. Rusen. – Må du? Vi har det så bra sammen. Du er jo så glad! Monicas stemme var ynkelig. Ingen vilje var å føle, det var ingen vits i å si det. Andrine så ut til å overse henne, men fortsatte å lete til hun griskt smilte mot den hvite posen.

Monica ville ikke se lenger. Hun hadde sett det tusen ganger før, det var ingen forskjell fra andre ganger. Det var like forferdelig å se på hver gang. Hun kunne høre sprøytetuppen trenge seg gjennom albuen og inn i pulsåren. Det hadde alltid vært noe med sprøyten til Andrine, fordi hver gang hun dyttet på tuppen kom det en pipende lyd. Sikkert luften som går ut eller noe sånt, pleide Monica å si til seg selv. Hun kunne høre den pipende lyden lenger enn vanlig. Et lite snev av panikk fôr gjennom henne og hun kunne ikke motstå fristelsen av å se på venninnen sin. Andrine lå på piknikteppet, lent mot treet. Hun så helt forjævlig ut. Posene under øynene hennes var utringet og fikk øyene selv til å se ut som om de var helt borte. Men de var der, hun kunne se dem. De hvilte på det flate vannet og reflekterte det svake solskinnet som falt over dem. Munnen var åpen, samlet støvet som falt ned fra trærne. Monica kunne allerede se at huden ble blekere. Den fine gylne fargen hun hadde før alt dette tullet startet, var nå helt borte. Et lite gråblått skjær herjet over huden hennes. Hendene hennes var blitt likbleke. Neglene hennes hadde tydelige merker etter all rivingen og bitingen. Hele kroppen hennes fikk Monica til å tenke på en dokke. En stor, livløs dokke som hadde blitt slengt helt tilfeldig inn i skogen. Hun klarte ikke å røre henne. Det var ekkelt nok at hun hadde hørt henne dø, hun ville ikke gjøre det verre for seg selv ved å ta på den iskalde huden hennes.

Øynene til Monica fulgte de døde til Andrine ut på vannet. Det var virkelig en fin dag i dag. Hun hadde fortjent å dø på en slik dag. Det var ikke sent, men likevel var det lite liv i parken. Det var som om verden forstod at dette var dagen hvor døden streifet omkring. Vandret rundt på kloden på leting etter sjeler å hente. Han hadde vært her, men hun visste at han ikke hadde dratt enda. Det var enda en sjel å hente. Monica visste ikke om hun var klar for det, men hun visste han ventet på henne. Hun kunne føle begjæret etter sjelen hennes. Hun kunne føle det i luften, hvordan den dirret sakte bortover, i trærne, hvordan de trakk seg mer unna stedet han ventet. Andrines lykkestoff var det tomt for, hun ville ikke la noen andre ta det djevelske stoffet. Hun så rundt seg, og lot blikket gli over vannet. Så blankt og stille med solen glinsende over seg. Det var en fin dag å dø på.

Vannet var igjen blitt stille. Krusningene var borte og gjenlyden av plasket hadde forsvunnet. Solen skinte ikke lenger over vannet, men ble sperret av store gråe skyer. Døden hadde dratt sin vei. Tilfreds med dagens fangst. En fin dag å hente sjeler på, tenkte han mens han vandret ut av parken.