From: gardabr@unix1 (Gard Eggesbo Abrahamsen)
Subject: Reverse
Keywords: love, hate, dances, tears, wishes 
Organization: University of Trondheim, Norway
X-Newsreader: TIN [version 1.1 PL6]
Date: Fri, 6 Nov 92 10:56:18 GMT


                                 Reverse
                       by Gard Eggesboe Abrahamsen
                        dedicated to Irene Sylte

Cold.  Coolness.  The wasteland around him was empty.  Nothing but a  wet 
mass  of  snow and ice,  washing his face with frozen tears  of  anguish. 
Another hour, another day. Another night, it was all the same. As long as 
the weather beat him to the ground.
   With a few stiff pulls,  he managed to move his hand to the sword.  It 
was just as cold as him. Not the slightest sign of anything but cold. His 
name was Jeamund.
   They  called him Jeamund the Lucky,  but he knew this name was  wrong. 
The  only lucky thing he could remember was that he had  been  born,  but 
then again,  he thought he was unlucky having been born.  Luck was not on 
his side.
   He  stumbled  on a big blob of ice that cruelly  made  Jeamund's  foot 
slip,  as  if it didn't like it,  as if it didn't belong  there.  And  it 
didn't.
   "Bluppo," he moaned. "Must I suffer like this? For what purpose?"
   The  air  around him stayed silent,  as if his  question  was  utterly 
stupid  and  didn't  even need a stupid answer.  What'd  he  expect  from 
wastelands?
   His  hand stretched out in cramp.  The body slowed  down,  closed  his 
eyes.  Darkness fell over him, and he let the warmth of the cold fill him 
as it poured the last bits of energy from every limb of his body.  He was 
filled  with  dreams of a better time,  a dream of summer in  the  winter 
country. The odour of hot chocolate put to his nose, and he woke up...
   The scene had changed while he was asleep.  There was no  snow,  there 
was no ice. There was no cold, and there was a cup of hot chocolate under 
his  nose.  He took the cup gently in his hand,  felt it with his  finger 
tips,  felt  the  cuddly hand that had held it to him so  far.  His  eyes 
stared at it, examined its attachment to the arm, followed the arm to the 
neck and continued upwards till he saw the face of a beautiful blonde.
   "Drink," she whispered. "It'll do you good."
   As the liquid flowed down his throat,  the warmth spread to every cell 
of  his body,  begging him to throw off the Suicidal Tendencies  T-shirt. 
Angels sang in his ear,  he wanted to beg for more,  he would do anything 
for it. But the cup was empty too soon.
   "Thanks,"  he said as the image faded away.  The red hot walls  became 
massive  walls  of ice and rock.  The multi-coloured carpet  turned  into 
white, snow covered ground, and the female was gone.
   Cold.  Coolness. The wasteland around him was empty. Nothing but a wet 
mass  of  snow and ice,  washing his face with frozen tears  of  anguish. 
Another hour, another day. Another night, it was all the same. As long as 
the weather beat him to the ground.

                               --- --- ---

             As long as there is a hole in my heart to fill,
             My companion, the sadness, will try to fill it.

                        Sadness is a lonely thing
            (the sadness will vanish when you are not alone)
                       by Gard Eggesboe Abrahamsen
                        dedicated to Irene Sylte

The house was obviously old, and not exactly taken care of, as the yellow 
paint  was falling off the noticeably rotten walls.  The only thing  that 
made  one see that the house still was inhabited was the  newly  polished 
sign that was hanging over the door.  "Your Travels Inc", it said. Only a 
tiny,  hairy little man in the crowd of people rushing by on the pavement 
had decided not to ignore this house, as he carefully opened the door and 
entered.
   Squeeking sounds for each step he took up the stairs made him a little 
nervous,  as if he expected the house to fall apart any second. Still, he 
had been waiting for this day for a little while, now, and he didn't wish 
to miss it for anything in the world.
   The door was open, inviting him to simply enter the clean office where 
men in white were rushing to and fro between the different computers.  At 
the far end of the room, there was a huge machine with a chair mounted to 
it.
   "Ah! There you are!"
   "Has everything been prepared?"
   "Just sit down, and you'll be off any moment."
   He  walked  slowly  over  to the chair as  if  he  was  having  second 
thoughts, but as he got closer, her realized that he had to do it anyway. 
As soon as he sat down,  he was strapped to it before several  electrodes 
were fastened all over his body.
   His eyes closed as he awaited his departure.

   A  flash of orange light zapped in front of his  eyes.  Screams  about 
defect machines sounded through his ears. And everything went black...

   Only the faint sound of disco music could be heard.  Nothing could  be 
seen.  The music went louder and louder,  so loud he felt the  vibrations 
through the air.  He could smell a mixture of deodorant and sweat passing 
by. A strange bi-smell of perfume grew stronger till this scent dominated 
far above the other odours.
   "Do you want a dance?" he heard a sensual voice whisper into his  ear. 
He  immediately  opened  his eyes and found  the  most  beautiful  female 
creature he had ever seen just a few inches in front of him, inviting him 
for a dance.
   He got up on his feet and grabbed her hand, pulling her onto the dance 
floor.  Ready to dance,  he held her close, feeling her soft touch in his 
hand. The slow rhythm beat into his brain, making him move around, taking 
the female with him.
   The feeling of her body touching his body steamed through him, teasing 
his mind,  oppressing all other thoughts, as a mindless dance filled with 
an unexplained pleasure boiling inside his head,  concentrated about  the 
cuddly  female he had between his arms.  Only the remote  reminder  about 
behaving as a gentleman kept him from violently break the dance and start 
stripping all her clothes off whilst kissing her all over.
   "It's the last dance," she whispered into his ear.
   "I'm gonna miss ya', y'know!"
   "Yea, I know."
   The  music slowly faded away,  leaving the two dancing to the  silence 
that was filling the ear with a somewhat slower rhythm.
   "It's over, now."
   "I'm still gonna miss ya'!"
   "Yea, I know."
   She gave him a long and passionate kiss before she slipped out of  his 
grip and walked backwards towards the door, waving him goodbye.
   "I should've danced while I had the chance," he shouted after her.
   "You didn't?" she asked as she disappeared through the  door,  leaving 
him all alone on the dance floor.
   "No,"  he sighed.  He was the only one there.  There was no  band,  no 
other  people  that  had danced.  It was just his lonely  soul  that  was 
filling the room with thoughts and minute tears of dreams blowing in  the 
air like invisible drops of wet rain.

   A  flash of orange light zapped in front of his  eyes.  Screams  about 
defect females sounded through his ears. And everything went black...

   "He looks a bit pale, doesn't he?"
   "Nah! He's just coming around."
   He opened his eyes.
   "Welcome back."
   "Uh. Hi!"
   "Did you have a good time?"
   "Er...well..."
   "How do you feel?"
   "I'm fine, thanks."
   "Never felt better?"
   "Exactly!"
   "Not bad for someone who just amputated his right arm."
   "Wha...?" He intuitively tried to pull his right arm up, but couldn't, 
forcing him to actually turn his head to look at it. It was black, burnt, 
as  if  a  very high voltage had passed through  it,  boiling  the  meat, 
leaving only crisp bacon round his bones.


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