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Literary ping-pong - Chapter 2
3.12.2020
Translation: machine translated
Pictures: Clémence Censi
One crime novel, two authors. My colleague Carolin and I are writing a short story, alternating chapter by chapter. This week, our protagonist ventures into a self-therapeutic renovation project that is overshadowed by a gruesome discovery.
In the intro article, Carolin and I explained the rules for our new series and let you vote on the genre, time and product to be included. That's why we're now taking turns every Thursday to write a crime thriller set in the present day. The highlight: you can intervene in the action yourself by voting at the end of each chapter. As a reader, you decide which product from a random preselection the author has to include in her sequel. A kind of mini-challenge from the Community.
What has happened so far
Ephraim, a weaver of sun blinds with the soul of an artist, is lonely. An assassination attempt on his workshop not only killed a high-ranking member of the PdA, but also his faithful companion and dog Hannibal. The police are in the dark, while the media suspect that the exploded nail bomb was politically motivated. There is no trace of the perpetrator. Ephraim then decides to embark on a blood-red mission.
All previously published chapters can be found at the bottom of this article.
Chapter 2
Delivery from the afterlife
B blood red or rhubarb red? Ephraim's gaze wanders from his left hand to his right. He holds a can of paint in each. He looks intently at the labels, which depict a Dalmatian happily looking over his mistress's shoulder as she paints the wall. Tears cloud Ephraim's vision. A public display of his feelings in a paint shop is the last thing he needs right now. Was it the wrong decision to give his workshop a new coat of paint? Deep down, he knows that this action will not jeopardise his memories of Hannibal. It's high time to finally move on and put his thoughts of revenge behind him once and for all with a change of scenery...
Before he can finish his thought, Angred Eder, the shop owner's wife, interrupts him. "Are you going to be OK?" she asks with a smile that is probably meant to be seductive. If only he had gone to Peter Krämer's paint shop round the corner. At least there he would get free expired chewing gum, which Peter gives to every customer for promotional purposes. Here, on the other hand, at Lack und Eder, it's mostly just a hail of immoral offers, which Angred fires off as if her mouth were an automatic rifle. Ephraim nods in astonishment as he fixes his gaze on the one purple strand in her otherwise blonde short hairstyle. The strand seems to be just as lonely as he is. Angred disappears behind the next shelf. Ephraim ignores her resinously staged hip swing.
Just as he strolls towards the till with two tins of rhubarb red, there is a clatter behind him, as if the shop is about to collapse. Ephraim turns round with a jolt. It seems that someone has accidentally knocked over one of the shelves, which has caused other shelves to tilt like a domino. Several dozen cans have fallen. A few of them have even burst open, covering the concrete floor in a liquid rainbow. In the centre of it all: a chalky Angred. Ephraim could swear that even her purple hair has lost some of its colour. Just at that moment, a man in a poisonous green, pulled-up hoodie storms out of the shop. The little bell at the entrance rings indignantly after him.
On the way home, Ephraim makes a quick stop at the pharmacy. He has run out of chafing ointment. The fifth tube this month. It almost feels like he's just weaving blinds to finance the expensive remedies for his work-related aches and pains. A vicious circle. But as his sometimes somewhat confused master weaver used to say: an artist who doesn't go round in circles will eventually end up in a triangle. When Ephraim steps outside again, his gaze lingers on something green. Something poisonous green. Someone seems to be ducking behind the overflowing rubbish bin on the opposite side of the street. Only the tip of the hoodie is sticking up. Strange.
Ten minutes later, Ephraim is standing outside his front door. With two fingers and a little dexterity, he fishes three envelopes, the village newspaper and a flyer from "Bennis Storen Atelier" out of the letter slot. He briefly scrutinises the striking "Blick"-style layout. The thought that his fiercest Storen rival could be behind the attempt on his heart is immediately banished. Not Storen-Benni after all. He already reaches his limits with the flyer design. The construction of a nail bomb is probably far beyond his abilities.
With a sharp tug, he opens the milk crate in the hope of finding his Galaxus order there. However, there is no parcel in the crate, but a white, stuffy thing that someone has obviously stuffed in there in a hurry. Ephraim carefully pulls at the tip of the parcel, which looks towards him, until he holds the soft - and to his surprise, heavy - bundle in his hand. It is the heated blanket that he has ordered. Wrapped in it is a bottle of cognac. Ephraim swallows empty. Only now does he realise what is written in greasy red letters on the blanket: "Woof". But that's not all. Something seems to have fallen out of the blanket. Hannibal's collar lies in front of his shoes. The collar that Ephraim used to bury the Kangal in the back garden weeks ago.
Continued on 10 December 2020
You can vote until 23:59 on 6 December 2020. The product with the most votes at that time will be included in the next part of the story. Follow the topic "Series" here or us as authors to make sure you don't miss an episode.
All parts published so far
Natalie Hemengül
Senior Editor
Natalie.Hemenguel@digitecgalaxus.chAs a massive Disney fan, I see the world through rose-tinted glasses. I worship series from the 90s and consider mermaids a religion. When I’m not dancing in glitter rain, I’m either hanging out at pyjama parties or sitting at my make-up table. P.S. I love you, bacon, garlic and onions.