Trafika Europe 8 - Romanian Holiday

Christopher Kloeble

other circumstances, she might have taken him for some kind of servant. “It’s getting dark.” Before Anni knew what was happening, he was right in front of her; she could make out the tiny droplets of water hanging in his gray-brown beard. He said, “May I ask you something?” then slapped himself on the forehead with the palm of his hand, smiling. “Did it again!” A comely laugh. Then he reached out to touch a lock of her hair. “You smell lovely.” All of a sudden his voice was huskier and his nostrils flared and the muscles of his chest stood out. He had transformed himself into Markus. Anni flinched back, sucking in the damp air of the forest, her back colliding with a tree

trunk. “What do you want?” No answer. There was a new, more acrid smell in her nostrils now. The shape- shifter blinked at her, his mouth opened and shut, opened and shut. Like a stupid puppet’s. In her head there were so many words, and now all of them rushed out at once. Anni clawed with her hands into the tree bark, and it hurt her, that was a good feeling, she drove her fingers deeper and deeper into the wood, then a scream leapt out—and all of the words followed. The forest’s echoes could barely keep up, the words leapt out from every direction and whirred through the air, one devouring the next devouring the next, and the night was as dark as it was crammed with Anni’s words.

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