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   Chapter 17 No.17

Prey World - Citizen 1-564398B-278843 By Alexander Merow Characters: 5742

Updated: 2018-07-06 12:01


"Fuck these rats!", said Frank and tried to banish the thoughts about the terrible time in the holo cell.

"The entire political and historical background can`t be explained in two sentences, above all, if you have never thought about it before", ended Alf his small speech.

Frank signaled by turning around and pulling the cover over his head, that he wanted to sleep now. It was 21.16 o`clock and the young man was still exhausted and weak. He dozed for a while and examined the shabby, dark red wallpaper, then he fell in a deep and restful sleep.

On the next morning, Frank Kohlhaas felt unusually recovered. He had slept over 13 hours and for the first time since months, he had not awoken with a start in the middle of the night. He yawned and noticed that Alf had put some fresh dresses beside his bed.

Kohlhaas still wore his white prison clothes, which smelled of sweat and were still covered with dark red traces of the policeman`s blood.

Frank plodded out of his room and noticed that it was very quiet in the house. Nobody sat in the kitchen, so that he could look around without ruffle or excitement. Everything looked very poor. Dirty dishes were piled up in a rusty sink and in the corner of the room, an ugly mold spot was on the wall. Indeed, Alf lived in a hovel - if it was his house at all. However, his housemate seemed not to be here. The young man walked over some old wood stairs to the upper floor, where he found only a few empty and poorly furnished rooms. One of them was full of cardboards and wooden boxes, almost up to the ceiling. But Alf B?umer was nowhere to be found.

?Where am I here at all?", thought Frank and scratched his head.

Since the escape from "Big Eye", he hadn`t been in the condition to think about these strange men, who had rescued him. Who were they?

He opened the entrance door of the house and stepped outside, left it open a bit, so that he could come back again, because he had no key for the ramshackle door. When he looked down the street, in which Alf`s house was, Kohlhaas saw a lot of further hovels on each side. Some of the houses seemed to be empty, others had weathered fronts and in the gardens, a sprouting, uncontrolled growth was spreading everywhere.

Some of the windows had been nailed up with rotted boards, probably long ago. One house had even a collapsed roof. In addition, here and there, one of the houses had been renovated again and Frank heard the voices of children out of a side street. He could even understand their language, it was German.

Nevertheless, the sun shone on all the roofs, whether desolate or repaired again. But many people didn`t seem to live in this rundown village. Finally, Frank saw two men, who unloaded crates out of a delivery van. A tractor rattled somewhere in the distance and a mature woman leaned out of the window in the house op

posite to him.

Frank walked down the road and came to a square, which probably must had been the center of the small village in former times. Weed sprouted out of the cracks between the cobblestones, which covered the whole place. Here, in the center of this ghost town, Frank could see three old houses with big shopwindows. Two of the large windows were broken and the buildings looked dilapidated. The shopwindow of the other house was completely plastered with yellow cellotape. In the center of the square was a memorial stone, completely overgrown with all sorts of grass and bushes. It was surrounded by a wooden fence.

Kohlhaas could hardly recognize the memorial stone and, apart from this, the inscription on it was in Cyrillic, so that the man from "Central Europe" could not read anything.

On the stone, a soldier with a helmet and a rifle was shown. Nevertheless, Frank had already seen this helmet from the old time in a history book. Furthermore, he was able to decipher the years, which had been engraved on the memorial stone: 1941 and 1989.

The young man continued his walk and regarded a moldered church, which stood next to the village square. Its roof was damaged and had enormous holes, bricks covered with moss and lichens lay in front of the rotten, wooden front door, that was adorned with a hardly recognizable picture.

On the tower was a rusted cross of iron. The winged thing on the door of the church, which was completely overgrown with lichens, was probably an angel, that had symbolically welcomed the people at the entrance of the church in the old times.

But in a world, that had been left alone by God, perhaps even this angel had lost his "job" one day. Frank pushed the large wood door to the side and climbed over a pile of planks, in order to reach the inner part of the old church. Dried out leaves, dirt and dust were everywhere on the ground in front of him. The benches of the old building were dirty and everything made the impression of being lost. The altar was also damaged and had small tears and cracks, probably because of the cold of a hard winter. The visitor finally turned his head towards the ceiling and examined the wooden frescos on the walls, which also showed traces of decomposition. Frank beheld some angels, that were fighting against strange looking demons or something like that - creatures from hell. Other frescos depicted mother Maria and Jesus Christ.

"The superstar of Christianity…", said Frank to himself and smiled cynically. This church appeared old and somehow also sublime. The chapel had possibly been built in the late Middle Age, but Frank did not know it for sure. He knew nothing about history.

But the young man didn`t care about the age of this church. Only one thing was true – the building touched his inner self, although, he never had believed in anything.

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