Ah, I believe Schacht. Only too willingly; that’s to say, I think what he says is absolutely true, for the world is incomprehensibly crass, tyrannical, moody and cruel to sickly and sensitive people. Well, Schacht will stay here for the time being. We laughed at him a bit, when he arrived, that can’t be helped either, Schacht is young and after all can’t be allowed to think there are special degrees, advantages, methods and considerations for him. He has now had his first disappointment and I’m convinced that he’ll have twenty disappointments, one after the other. Life with its savage laws is in any case for certain people a succession of discouragements and terrifying bad impressions. People like Schacht are born to feel and suffer a continuous sense of aversion. He would like to admit and welcome things, but he just can’t. Hardness and lack of compassion strike him with tenfold force, he just feels them more acutely. Poor Schacht. He’s a child and he should be able to revel in melodies and bed himself in kind, soft, carefree things. For him there should be secret splashings and birdsong. Pale and delicate evening clouds should waft him away in the kingdom of Ah, What’s Happening to Me? His hands are made for light gestures, not for work. Before him breezes should blow and behind him sweet, friendly voices should be whispering. His eyes should be allowed to remain blissfully closed and Schacht should be allowed to go quietly to sleep again, after being wakened in the morning in the warm, sensuous cushions. For him there is, at root, no proper activity, for every activity is for him, the way he is, improper, unnatural and unsuitable. Compared with Schacht I’m the trueblue rawboned laborer. Ah, he’ll be crushed and one day he’ll die in a hospital. or he’ll perish, ruined in body and soul, inside one of our modern prisons.
Robert Walser
I am seeing someone.It gets quiet enough to hear our breathing.You're dating someone? Aidan asks, sitting back down in my chair. Nadia retakes her spot on my mattress.I glance down at my hands, feeling my cheeks redden. Not dating, really. It's more like I have feelings I haven't told her about yet.Do we know her?I shake my head.Who is she? Nadia inquires. I glance up and instantly hate the look of rejection on her face,The lies flow out of me too easily. Her name's Ivy. She lives over in Harraway with her parents.Is she our age?Yeah. She's only a year older. Try a lot older. I am answering myself again.An older woman? Awesome! What does she look like?I close my eyes as I remember her human form from my dreams. She's about my height, has long white-blond hair and green eyes. Ivy's very beautiful. Beautiful? More like drop-dead gorgeous. She sounds like it. Aidan leans back, putting his hands behind his head. So where's you meet her?At the hospital in Harraway. Ivy does her service hours there.How come we never saw her?You missed each other. She came there at different hours than you guys did.Nadia sticks her hands up and stretches. What did you two do?Talk. Just what we do now. Ivy gave me her phone number and email before I left.Have you talked to her since?Practically every day. She's a wonderful person. You guys would like her. That or you would run away in terror. So let me get this straight. Aidan scrunches up his face as he thinks everything over. The reason that you're not gag over Melanie anymore is because of some older chick you met in the hospital?Yep.Aidan lets out a long, low whistle. Damn. If she's good enough to kick Melanie off the love pedestal, she has to be worth going after.I nod. Yeah. Ivy is. I...I think I like her.If this were a cartoon, Nadia would have a rain cloud over her head—she looks that bashed from my news.
Colleen Boyd