Stefan
-
Posts
71 -
Joined
-
Last visited
Content Type
Forums
Stories
- Stories
- Story Series
- Story Worlds
- Story Collections
- Story Chapters
- Chapter Comments
- Story Reviews
- Story Comments
- Stories Edited
- Stories Beta'd
Blogs
Store
Help
Articles
Gallery
Events
Everything posted by Stefan
-
A grunt in darkness. A scratching of feet, senseless uttered sounds. Water drops falling softly; a wet coolness to soothe his longing. Somewhere in his gloomy brain a cry came off. Not human, just brutish. A roar, that craved for attention and feeding. His finger scratched on stone. Restless he crossed the labyrinth - his labyrinth - set up to hide him from human stares. A gnarl escaped his hairy throat and his short, strong horns thrust against the wall. His mind was tired, like
- 4 comments
-
- 16
-
-
-
-
This is the ancient tale of Theseus, prince of Athens, who tries to stop Athens' tribute to Crete. He will not only meet a monster in a labyrinth but perhaps the love of his life. But the Gods are not always friendly. Being a plaything to the moods of the Gods, Theseus and Arian are stranded on the isle of Naxos where they will meet their fate and a God's private competition.
-
____________________ 1 ____________________ It was winter in Luca's heart. He had spent the night in a cell at the police station. His mud soaked clothes had become heavier and colder with every minute. And he was sure he would never forget the cracking of Raniero's skull. Alessandro had been taken away separately and was being interrogated by Vito who could add two and two together. Luca shared his prison-cell with Giano, Tino and Rosso. All three loo
-
I'm still holding his hand. Looking into Sandro's face was like coming home. But I wasn't sure if there would be a new start for the two of us. Too much has happened. A wise man once said "We don't realize the time when we are happy. We only realize the time when we have been happy". I feel his hand slipping from mine as he searches in his jacket trouser. His palm opens and I see the lizard. Blue lapis lazuli with green, serpentine eyes. My gift to him. I feel in my pocket and conjure
-
Spring had gone like the light-heartedness of these days. We sat upon a stony bench, overlooking our mutual hometown which hadn't changed in all the years. Funny, it seemed ages ago since we met, me standing awkwardly beside the procession that lead the corpse of his father to his tomb, he winking at me, beckoning me to the narrow path to give me the first kiss of my life. And yet the years went on. My heart was waiting, leaving the boy I used to be behind. But still I remained the boy deep
-
Florence, Italy. On the cemetery of San Miniato young Luca Montori meets Alessandro, the noble lad of the famous family Gondi-Lucertola. Both come from a very different origin, and yet they find a common base. After a mutual spent summer, Luca starts his apprenticeship at a workshop, and Alessandro starts his study at the university of Pisa. But then Alessandro is faced with a very difficult decision that will influence everything he believes in.
-
Two boys played with each other. Unfortunately one child hurt the other slightly with his sword. The parents sent out their boy to ask for mercy, but the father of the hurt one cut off the boy's hand and sent him back home with the message 'Tell your father that iron and no blabbering heals the wounds of swords.' Pistoia, anno 1326 San Miniato. The Cemetery of the Holy Gates. The mild breeze of a friendly day in May touches my body gently as I
-
"Already here or are you still here from the yesterday evening?" Marcus smiled at Johannes who was sitting on his stool bent over a small wood frame whose bronze paint needed cleaning. He looked up. "Back again, Marcus. I'm an early riser, as you know." The attentive pale eyes behind the glasses examined Marcus and found him in the same bad condition as before. Marcus met his questioning eyes. "Nick was in Rome, Johannes, as you supposed." "Yes? And?" "Nothing more. We flew b
-
Ben had kept on at Nicholas for days about seeing Marcus' workshop. Finally Nicholas agreed and he was to meet his friend later in the day. There was still no word from Marcus and Nick's longing had grown so much that he hadn't enjoyed masturbating under the shower that morning. Even imaging Marcus' mouth wrapped around his cock the last time they'd made love and the feel of being inside his lover's body had paled when he realized it might have been his only chance. The breakfast with Ludwi
-
"Tower Green!" the guide shouted over the heads of various visitors gathered together in the yard of the Tower of London. With relief, Marcus counted less than he'd expected, even for an off-season Tuesday. So it was with little fanfare that Marcus found himself fulfilling a life-long wish to visit The Tower. The guide, a Beefeater distinguished by his funny dress, stood beside a rail indicating a brass plaque. "This place marks the exact spot where scaffolds for private executions once sto
-
Rome airport, Fiumicino, greeted them with its usual turmoil. Kay got bored from waiting too long for their luggage to appear on the carousel and sneaked around the large blue and yellow painted halls. He had been in Italy before with his parents but they had gone by car usually and then always to the Adriatic to lie around in the hot sand under an even hotter sun which they called the Italian 'Teutonic grill'. He could remember a day trip to Venice but his mother had persistently complained abo
-
Three days later Nicholas came downstairs and sat at the kitchen table where Anna had made the breakfast. He sat down and looked at the slices of bread and marmalade. There was nothing more. Nicholas sighed and went to the fridge, opened it and pulled out butter, sausage and orange juice. Anna was a great one for her gargantuan lunches but for breakfast she was stingy like the old man in Dicken's Christmas tale whose name Nicholas had forgotten. He heard Marcus coming down the stairs with h
-
Nicholas groped for Marcus but his fingers couldn't find him on the other side of the bed. It was cold and empty. He opened his eyes and blinked several times. A bleak light seeped through the closed curtains. Nicholas sat up and looked around. It was as if he was seeing the room for the first time. It was exactly that, yesterday and the day before he had wasted no time looking at the room. He rubbed his eyes and ran his fingers through his hair. Then he heard steps on the staircase, the do
- 1 comment
-
- 10
-
-
-
The world, watched from the view of a street painter, was very strange to Nicholas. His knees hurt and the palms of his hands were grazed and burnt. But every evening, after his job as a sales clerk in a large shopping centre was finished, he was drawn out onto the street, armed with his box of chalks and with the little copies of the paintings he so loved to draw. It was the next-to-last Saturday before Christmas and the streets were an anthill of jostling people, with heavy bags, irritate
- 1 comment
-
- 11
-
-
-
Nicholas is a young street painter in Berlin and full of painful memories until he meets Marcus Weidenbruch, who turns his life up side down. He could be happy if but for Marcus' selfishness and his old friend Sebastian coming from Rome to celebrate Christmas plus Nicholas first exhibition. Marcus doesn't realize that Nicholas is in danger - with his heart because Sebastian is a big temptation - and with his body, for an old friend of Marcus has turned friendship into hate.
-
"Damn! Think! Think!" The pale light of day illuminated the world outside his window and Nicholas knew that the dawning of another day would pose yet further problems, further indecisions. His penetrating blue eyes tried to pierce the haze outside his window, that characteristic haze that always seemed to lie over winterly Berlin and even here - a little further from the centre - created a suffocating blanket without noise and apparently without life. Nicholas saw his mirrored ima
-
Maxim was in the middle of cleaning the dishes when he felt it. He hadn't thought about Christian for a whole day. It was late afternoon, and the day had gone by without his ex-lover entering his mind. Instead of he had thought about Tim. It was Saturday and he wondered what he was doing. He imagined him laying next to him in his bed. Seeing the moon turn his hair into a sea of dark-silver and his eyes into black diamonds. He was fed up with the other's white gold and the ice-cold, grey depths.
-
Tim opened his eyes, but it didn't mean he had slept last night for a single minute. Too much was going on in his head. He thought about Maxim, sleeping or laying awake just some meters afar in the other room. When it was time to get up he turned off the alarm clock to prevent it from starting its annoying noise. It had rained for mostly the whole night. Tim had heard it beating upon the concrete of his small balcony. He stretched and hastily slipped into a short pyjama laying on the chair
-
It was noon when he arrived at the bookshop which was just in time for the closing hour. On his way back he had tried to find a reason why he had returned and if he should take Chris' offer to quit his job. Sure he had a row with all of his friends, but Maxim thought they had reasons to behave this way. That's what friends are for. He wondered if they would be cross with him. He himself was not. Well, a little bit. Relieved he noticed Wolfgang wasn't here, just the three of them. Their eyes
-
It was seven in the morning when he rang at his old flat. He had still a key but he didn't want to show up without warning. Philipp opened the door for him sleepily and almost naked. He was wide-awake when he saw Maxim's face. Philipp pulled him over the threshold and pushed him into the kitchen. Maxim opened the bag and his cat jumped out. Coco meowed delighted and instantly started to rush through his old flat. He sniffed here and there, returned finally into the kitchen and jumped into M
-
"Looks as if Luan is having problems at home." Wolfgang waved a letter and sat to the others in the coffee corner. "Problems?" Philipp could hardly hide a hopeful undertone in his voice. "Well, his father has become seriously ill." Maxim knew that Luan's whole family was poor and lived rather after a fashion from rice and fruits they sold in the next town. Earth and water were still poisoned from the US-Army and there was nobody to help. The GDR once offered to young Vietnamese th
-
"Sigmund Freud described it as "green monster" nobody was immune to. Jealousy is not only a dangerous feeling but countless offences of passion, crime and murder results from jealousy. Jealousy doesn't bother with logic. Many murder did, paradoxically, their deeds out of despair: they killed NOT the rival but their woman because they didn't want to lose them." Tim scrolled down the text he read on the monitor of his computer. "Pathologic jealousy contributes nothing to the solution of a pro
-
Christian had almost forgotten the cat when he came home. But Coco brought himself all to well into memory again. He had positioned in the middle of the living room and watched each step Christian made. Then he went on, gracious, with his tail high in the air, into the kitchen and sat expectantly beside his bowls. "Now, you funny lad, are you hungry again? The doc said there's no gourmet’s food for a couple of days. Just soaked bread." Coco meowed. Chris took a toast and soaked it
-
"Coco, come here sweetie, it's breakfast time", Christian heard Maxim calling. He heard him roaming the rooms in search of his cat. He snuggled deeper into the pillows and took the manuscript of Tim's novel. He had made it to the final story and the title had made him so curious that he couldn't stop once he had started. Maxim's calls became lower. He must had been in the living room or kitchen. At least the stupid cat didn't lay in wait and watched when they were having sex, he thought. It
-
Maxim piled up Christian's books in his guestroom for he was clearing up the shelves framing the fireside. They wanted to paint the wall white with terracotta-coloured patterns as Maxim once had suggested. It was Friday afternoon, but Christian was still in his office. Maxim guided his fingers over the book spines, bound in leather with golden imprints. A biography of Dylan Thomas; poems by Wordsworth and a treatise about his life together with his sister and his friend Samuel Coleridge; Sh
