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The Dandelion Tempest Short Stories, Poetry, Essays and the Zeppelin Manifesto von Clutter, M. R. (eBook)

  • Erscheinungsdatum: 29.09.2016
  • Verlag: BookBaby
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The Dandelion Tempest

A collection of short stories, poetry and essays, that will have many people talking about new concepts for the future. Also tales within tales set in dystopian futures within the short stories. And several engaging poems to be discovered.


    Format: ePUB
    Kopierschutz: none
    Seitenzahl: 200
    Erscheinungsdatum: 29.09.2016
    Sprache: Englisch
    ISBN: 9781483582115
    Verlag: BookBaby
    Größe: 603kBytes
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The Dandelion Tempest

Braun "S ecrets I will reveal, even teaching you a depth perception a way of seeing deeper meaning beyond the topical public eyes reason for something's being, secret writing." The voice rings in the shadowed recesses of your cerebellum. You wonder who spoke as your eyes slowly open. Now fully awake from the handful of dream filled hours you've managed to sneak the most you've slept in three days you think. Your tired eyes squint against the searing glint of powerful lights unbearable bare bulbs in wire mesh so they can't be smashed as bright as flares and the light bouncing off the white sand stone walls glistening slick, cool and unevenly cut you can't imagine by what. Through the drowsiness reason returns in little sips, you're in a holding cell and still as tired as hell, a part of you wants to sink back into your finger thick mat, and for as long as they let you nap. But you must arise Georg Braun man of action third generation roofer hero of your tribe accused conspirator against the third Reich, for today is the day they will ascribe to you the character of a martyr all for a people victim to an imperial barter system. You stand up stretching your aching back your whole body is sore. Strange you think while contemplating the patterns of soft color, off white creams to faint swirls of amber the ancient mineral flows that stain the walls dripping through the porous stone in slow motion over millenniums. Once you lived upon the flat secure top of your island, now your enslaved deep within Helgoland, formerly Heligoland, your home your island your red stone. Coveted by empires caught in the crossfire of imperial struggles, the Gibraltar of the North Sea. Pulled out of your reverie the clicks from some guard's heels comes quick. The door is flung open. "Raus." The guard says as he stares at you like you're not allowed to be standing in your cell only splayed on your mat in a sort of exhausted delirium. You step from the cell no reason to ask why or where it's this simple routine which seems to be every few hours, no questions asked for no answers were given. You exit the cell and start walking two guards behind and one in front leading the way off to some new room to be interrogated. They seem to think alternating the decibels from which they scream and badger, the redder their faces the madder they get will somehow force you to relent and alter your answers. Walking through the corridors body still sore and mind thoroughly bored you know it will be a long stroll yet you try to keep alert. You try restraining the brain you've managed to retain so far as it sails through the confines of these sand stone enclosures. It floats outward and above the whole isle a fortress where the inhabitants only desire peace. Comprised of a single outcropping of red sandstone an anomaly amongst a region of low lying sand dunes barely above sea level during the greatest surges of tidal waters and this grand rock of red hue towering over all in view forty miles from the coast. The whole of Helgoland and its companion dune island were less than two kilometers in size combined. The rock's thin almost triangular shape had a length somewhat over a kilometer. Barely an inch over a mile it was really three different pocket sized worlds in one. The first world the flat oberland nearly two hundred feet high at the top of the giant outcropping of anomalous sandstone. At the north end looking outward you could feel so alone as the breeze pulled at your clothes. The altar like flatness made you feel like you were walking upon the stone of some man made placement again like an altar and it was sacred with many ancient burial mounds upon it, yet simply turn around and face the south eastern corner to witness on the great height the upper town packed tight with n

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