‘Naqsh-e Jahan’ By Schen

„I knew it as if someone had whispered it into my ears during a forgotten dream. The glitch of a halfway copied data. The plan was always somehow clear to me and I saw no disapproval in her eyes. We only had to make it look an accident. She and I, accomplices in the most twisted plot.”
As she dropped dead, her organs started to fall apart, splashing the whitish stinky blob everywhere. The loyalty of the head and upper chest was marked with the dead eyes staring at her killer, gazing in awe the impossibility of this sort of laceration and above all at this rate. No more struggle from the hands, as they were long gone, clutching at the unknown objects to them, to mark the new reality which could never been marked from them. Touching, clutching, scratching, seizing und crawling forward. Anything is just another grip for them to embark upon couple of centimetres further. That also didn’t last long, for the hands started to deteriorate as well, shredding into smaller pieces, knuckles apart left the trail of their departure not in blood red, but in the same stinky blob like slugs. In a blink of an eye, the eye-s which ironically still insisted on continuing their mute expression – eyes are not to see with but to show with? – it was like she never existed. Only now a disgusting random white germ on the floor marked her absence. One could ask if she ever existed, after all what is death but a limitation lift from life?  

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