The Manuscript

The queue at the post office didn't move at all. Heike moaned in annoyance when she saw the old woman emptying her purse onto the counter and slowly beginning to count her coins. It felt like hours had passed when the staff member swept the money off the counter and helped the lady to put it back in her purse. Finally, also this was done.

After the woman had inconveniently tucked the two stamps in her pocket and rammed her walking aid into the man's foot behind her – he took it like a real hero – only two other people had to be served before it was Heike's turn. Now they were preceding faster.

Half an hour after she stepped into the post office, she could finally hand over her five big brown envelopes. Once again, she renewed her attempts to successfully deliver one of her manuscripts to a publishing house. The fourth manuscript. She still belonged to the hunters and gatherers among writers – she hunted a contract of publication, but only gathered denials.

She put the receipts of the registered mails in her bag very carefully and sent a silent prayer that it would eventually come about a contract, when she turned to the exit.

Through the glass door she could see that it had started to snow. What is it, that impresses people so much about white Christmas? She turned the collar of her brown quilted jacket up, checked on the right place of her Norwegian cap, put on her gloves, and fearlessly threw herself into the snow storm.

Usually, she only needs ten minutes to walk back home, but the weather was not on her side that day. The wind blew the snow at full tilt, which turned into icy crystals and pricked her uncovered face. She reached the front door forty minutes later than usual and opened it. , She was chilled to the bones.

„Good morning, Ms Hannemann.“ The postman who had just thrown the letters into the postboxes was smiling at Heike. “Today, there’s something for you as well. It’s in your box already. I wish you a merry Christmas.” He waved at her once again, and left the house, whistling happily. He had a blithe spirit that couldn’t be disturbed by anything, not even a blustery snow storm.

„Merry Christmas. And please drive carefully!“, she called after him and fished, with her stiff fingers, the two envelopes out of the postbox.

Hm... Two thin envelopes, publishers' mails! She sighed. Well, two denials again! She plodded up the stairs to her flat on the second floor.

After she had put her wet clothes in the bathroom to dry, she let herself fall on the beige-coloured living room couch with a sigh and opened the letters.

„Dear Ms Hannemann,“ she read the letter. „Unfortunately do we not see a possibility to include your project in our publishing programme...“ Heike grabbed at the black suitcase next to the couch and tacked the rejection letter to the others.

The second letter looked just the same.

„Dear Ms. Hannemann. Unfortunately did your Manuscript not convince us...“ And off it goes to the rest of the rejections.

She flicked through the file. There had been quite a number of letters. She sighed. This time -again- had she been sure that the Manuscript pleased them. Also her „Beta-Slaves“, among them two linguists, who always judged her work very critically, held the opinion that she had definitely hit the taste of the fantasy-publishers.

She rubbed her eyes tiredly. During the last days she had slept very uneasy. The same dream struck her every night. And time and again she wanted to make a story out of it. The ring of the doorbells pulled her out of the musing and she got up with a sigh. In front of the door stood three men, unknown to her. They looked very strange in their long black gowns and dark sun glasses. Who is wearing sun glasses in a snow storm or a dark corridor, anyway? They must be lunatics. Damn! She thought. I haven’t closed the door chain.

„Yes, please?“ She decided to get rid of those men as quickly as possible, and got ready to shut the door right in front of their noses.

„Ms Hannemann? Heike Hannemann?“

She nodded. Before she could do anything, the man's hand shot to her wrist and held it tightly. Her vision blurred immediately and she felt herself fade away.

She became conscious again when a jackhammer tried to beat a hole in her head. At least it felt like this.

„She is waking up“, she heard as if spoken through cotton wool.

„Ms Hannemann?“

Heike sat up groaning and looked around. She seemed to be in a windowless cellar room in her house. Besides the couch, that she had laid on until just a few moments ago, the room was completely empty. The naked, cold concrete walls caused a dark atmosphere. The three men in their strange outfits were staring at her.

„Where am I? What do you want from me?“ The headache had now reached a bearable stage but at the same time she was filled by anger about the abduction.

„This is one thing. But where have you got your ideas from, for your stories?“, she was asked.

„Excuse me. What is that supposed to mean? They just spring to my mind. Most of the time I dream them before. What is this questioning all about, anyway?“ Heike was confused.

The three men looked at each other.

„Have you written another story? What is it about? Have you already sent them to publishing houses?“ All the questions came shooting at her.

Defiantly she answered: „Today I have – I think it was today; or how long have I been here, already? I have sent a new Manuscript today. What it is about, though, you will be able to read when you can buy it in a book shop.“

„It's very important we know what your novel is about...“ The speaker was cut off by the man next to him. „Let's tell her why. Then she will probably cooperate. So, Ms Hannemann. We have three of your manuscripts on hand. Everything that you have portrayed in them has truly happened.“

“You are just pulling my leg, aren't you?“ Heike looked at those three men, thunderstruck. “These stories are fantasy stories. With Wizards and witches, demons, and all this stuff... You don't want to tell me that this is all true, right?“

But exactly that’s it. The question arises, whether things happen because you write them or the other way around. So, now tell us what your latest story is about.“

Heike sat there a few minutes, doubtful, her mouth open, and waiting to get her voice back to answer. „The title of the novel for now is „Cabal.“ It's about two wizards’ circles that have been fighting for years against each other. But it comes to the situation that one of the circles can actually win out over the other. But honestly, that can't be reality.“

The three men whispered secretly to one another. Heike couldn’t understand a single word. „Can you tell how the second circle is going to win?“

Heike could almost grab the tension in the room. She was thinking hard. If the men were right. This was a chance to get out of here. „I could write down everything. That'd be easier. I just need a batch of paper, a pen, and silence.“

„All right. We are going to arrange everything for you.“ After that, they left the room and Heike was left behind alone.

A few minutes later they carried a table, a swivel chair, a batch of paper, and a bowl full of different biros into the room. Heike sat down.

„I can only work, if nobody is looking over my shoulder. This is making me nervous and nothing will come to my mind“, she explained, when one of the men was getting ready to stand beside her. With a sigh he turned around and went back to his colleagues. Heike started writing.

After ten minutes she had written half a page. A rumbling sound behind her back let her smile contentedly. Slowly she turned around. „With this, the question should be clarified.

Heike stood up and went to the door. Just like she had written it, she could open the door easily. She stepped over the three men that were laying on the floor unconscious, and exited the cellar.

She didn't meet anyone in the whole house – exactly how she wanted it. Undisturbed, she went up the stairs and into her flat.

Heike closed the door very silently and immediately fixed the door chain. Christmas Carols from her neighbour were carried through the walls. She sat down on her desk thoughtfully.

„This is crazy“, she said aloud. „Let's see what I can do with this talent.“ She booted up her PC, opened Word, thought about peace on earth, and started writing.

Das Manuskript

Die Schlange am Postschalter wurde nicht kürzer. Heike stöhnte auf, als sie sah, dass die alte Frau ihre Geldbörse auf dem Tresen ausschüttete und die Postangestellte langsam begann, das Kleingeld zu zählen. Gefühlte Stunden später streicht die Angestellte die Münzen vom Tresen und beginnt, der Dame beim Wiederbefüllen der Börse zu helfen. Dann ist auch das geschafft. Endlich!

Nachdem die Dame ihre zwei Briefmarken umständlich in der Tasche verstaut und die Gehhilfe dem hinter sich stehenden Mann auf den Fuß gerammt hatte – er ertrug es wie ein wahrer Held – mussten noch vier Leute vor Heike bedient werden. Wenigstens ging es zügiger voran.