Klinikum am Urban


TEXT: She spent her days in the cold bright light, knitting owls. The bench was full of them. Circle eyed. When anyone asked her name, she replied ‘Eule’. When someone asked if they could buy an owl, she usually replied ‘One Hundred Euros’. Unless she liked their voice. If they had a good voice she would reply ‘Choose one you like. Look after it, or give it to someone who will treasure it. Keep your eyes wide, and take in everything you can during the daytime. When the night comes, and we drift to sleep, we hope that we will see the next morning. Think of birdsong in the early hours, they rejoice at the dawn. Never forget how lucky you are to be awake’.



TEXT: Jess sat on the curb opposite the building. Her legs stretched out straight, one hand on the warm pavement. It was a hot day. Unusual. Her trainers were dusty. She reached out, and imagined pressing the windows in on the building opposite. The windows were round, like bubbles. She imagined they would light up, and make a sound. She played the building, making patterns, a sequence in her head.



TEXT: The violent tiles and fluorescent light gave everyone a sickly glow, jaundiced, underground golden. Dark eyes, yellow skin. They had no wings here. When they emerged drenched from the enforced sun tunnels, the world would be cold, yet brighter than their blinkers could take. Then they would take flight, swift, into the blue and white.