《Short Stories from Mitterpach’s Lab》


 Beyond the Bridge

    Floyd stood before the bridge. ¡°The Bridge.¡± He stared ahead, motionless, for several minutes. Moments¡ªperhaps hours¡ªflashed through his mind, tracing the path that had brought him here. He reflected on the morning¡ªhow many hours ago had it been?¡ªwhen, out of habit, as he did once or twice every lunar cycle, he set off, leaving Vivien behind. He¡¯d seen it on her face: today, once again, he would have to undertake his explorations alone¡ªthose ventures he found so fascinating.


    Alone, he would search for sights, scents, and moments reminiscent of their old Earthly life. Alone, he would wander beneath the surface, through the ghostly underground city bathed in a pale, spectral glow. Floyd knew he would carry this image with him through the forest until he reached the time gate that stretched into this world from the top floor of the tower. Along with it, he carried a faint pang of guilt, a subtle sense of absence, with Lili¡¯s face flickering in his mind.


    These tiny, nagging fragments of emotion didn¡¯t weigh constantly on his chest, but they did, at times, halt his steps. The trees and bushes blurred and faded, replaced by swirling thoughts of his morning tea, stirring at his heart. Moments later, the forest reclaimed its presence, its soft, aromatic essence guiding him forward once more.


    Reaching the gate, he ascended the many levels with practised steps, his breath quickening as he arrived¡ªalways at the exact same place. The vast, desolate street stretched out before him. The same view greeted him every time. The same lights, the same silence, the same smells, and the same dust. The same colours. The same feeling.


    The excitement of discovery filled him each time. There was no real purpose, no specific reason for his visits. He sought only to find whatever he happened upon. Every object was precious in its own right, though he never took anything with him. He observed, touched, and absorbed these once-familiar things. Wandering through the lifeless scenery, he relived¡ªmore vividly with each visit¡ªthe long-lost everyday moments.


    What he found most comforting was the lack of stark contrast between this place and the life he had left behind. Everything felt familiar¡ªonly here, the colours were grey, the air still, the life drained away. He had come to understand that nothing could have prevented the catastrophe. Leonard had speculated that it might have been the result of a failed nuclear experiment. Yet, he also recalled that solar activity had peaked in those days. In truth, there was no way to know what had triggered the months-long power outage or why the darkness grew heavier until it finally swallowed the city entirely.


    Perhaps all the causes collided at once.


    Maybe the intense solar flares disrupted a nuclear test. Perhaps the same destructive forces triggered an accident at a particle accelerator. Or maybe, due to the altered magnetic field caused by the solar storms, a nearby volcano¡ªdormant for centuries¡ªhad erupted.


    The volcanic eruption and the way it transformed the city into this cavernous void seemed the most plausible theory. Equally evident was that the civilisation that once thrived here was either only partially related¡ªor entirely unrelated¡ªto those still living above ground. It was possible that a few survivors had formed colonies on the surface, but both Floyd and Leonard saw little hope in that idea. They agreed that, after such devastation, the odds of rebuilding life under the known conditions were slim at best.


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    Today, Leonard was nowhere to be found. Floyd felt an even deeper sense of isolation amidst the grey dust of the city. His steps wandered, his thoughts darted between depths and surface, until he found himself standing at the foot of the bridge.


    The bridge he wasn¡¯t supposed to cross.


    Right?


    He kept staring into the distance, searching for the far side¡ªbut only dark outlines met his gaze. They didn¡¯t seem much different from what stood behind him now, across the bridge. This similarity only deepened his thoughts. Why, after all, shouldn¡¯t he cross?


    He would.


    He promised himself he¡¯d be extremely cautious, but he would cross and see what lay beyond.


    His first steps were slow and heavy, like a train pulling away from a station, its immense weight dragging forward until momentum carried it along with ease.


    The bridge didn¡¯t appear dustier than the rest of the city¡ªif anything, the light seemed dimmer the further it stretched.


    Scattered debris told of panic during those final moments. Long lines of cars now stood as silent monuments, their twisted forms fused into the bridge like ornaments of a colossal urban sculpture. Their doors gaped open, some torn off entirely, others left hanging. Dust and dim light obscured their colours¡ªsome slightly darker, others lighter. They differed only in size and shape.


    From above, the bridge resembled a broken string of pearls, the cars acting as pale beads against the ashen backdrop.


    Beneath it, the dry riverbed hinted at what had once been a broad, flowing river¡ªthree, maybe four hundred metres wide. The depth or direction of the channel was impossible to determine now, hidden beneath the shroud of poor light.


    Not a single body.


    Nowhere in the vast, cavernous concrete labyrinth beneath the earth¡ªno remains, no trace of human life.


    Deliberate.


    Far ahead, near the middle of the bridge, a large section was missing entirely. Or rather, it wasn¡¯t where it was supposed to be¡ªit now lay scattered across the riverbed below, like the unassembled pieces of a jigsaw puzzle.


    Floyd was lucky. A cluster of steel cables and pipes along the left edge still formed a precarious crossing. He gripped them tightly, every step deliberate, every movement calculated, as he crossed the thirty-metre gap.


    His eyes gradually adapted further to the darkness below, but colours remained muted¡ªonly shifting shades of grey.


    Reaching the far side, the city looked much the same as the one he had left behind¡ªperhaps the buildings were a bit lower, perhaps older. As he crept through the streets, hints of colour returned, faint and flickering under the city¡¯s dim, residual lighting.


    Floyd paused for a moment and took a deep breath, drawing in the living particles of air from beyond the bridge.


    And yet¡ªsomething felt different.


    He inhaled deeply again, held the breath inside, then exhaled slowly, calming his racing senses.


    The smell.


    It was the smell and the silence that set this side apart.


    The air here was different¡ªnot by much, but enough. Something subtle lingered, so faint it would have gone unnoticed without keen attention.


    Even the silence sounded¡­ different.


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 Angel – A Love Beyond Time

    You lie beside me. I should leave¡ªslowly, gently¡ªbut I cannot. Only the soft rise and fall of air moving through you can be heard. There is silence. The silence of our existence. No sound outside, nor within. Only quiet breaths, a fragile rhythm.


    I should go. I must. Yet your gentle pulse fills me with such profound peace¡ªlike a mother¡¯s heartbeat calms her unborn child. This peace wraps us both, a silky veil beneath which the world could become anything.


    Still, I linger. Still, I listen.


    Now, I can feel it¡ªthe steady pulse of the universe, its ceaseless beat that draws tides and lifts moons, that births stars and leaves riddles for earthly minds to chase. They peer through vast telescopes, searching for truths, unaware of the tiny breath-cosmoses you create right here, beside me.


    I must go.


    Perhaps I¡¯ve been here for millennia, or only for the barest fraction of a second. Time moves as we choose to measure it.


    It¡¯s hard to lift my wings¡ªso complete is the stillness, so pure the silence that you, unknowingly, have given me. You don¡¯t know I was here. And so, it cannot hurt when I leave. This is how it must be. Not by rule¡ªonly by wisdom.


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    I could have been something solid¡ªa mountain lost in verse¡ªbut wings are for flying. That¡¯s why they exist. Yet, still, I hesitate. I fear the faintest movement might ripple through your quiet rhythm, shattering entire worlds you¡¯ve crafted here, in this fragile, careful silence.


    The wonder of it holds me still.


    But what if one day your calm ceases? If you wake¡ªand find me here? That cannot be. I must go.


    But I don¡¯t.


    And as the pulse of creation shifts¡ªsometimes steady, sometimes restless¡ªthe sun begins to rise, sure and constant, its light climbing higher, promising safety.


    Dawn breaks.


    And I stay.


    As the light thickens, it filters through my heavy wings. I see it pass through me¡ªbut not through you.


    You stir. You rise.


    And you do not see me.


    You no longer lie beside me. No longer does your soul¡¯s rhythm calm me. No longer do you create cosmoses.


    I must go.


    And so, I do.


    This time, my wings lift easily. What once held me captive now raises me high¡ªlight as the breath-worlds you once created.


    I will return.


    Someday.


    Time flows as we choose to measure it.


    To you, I was never here. I am not here. And perhaps you will never know what a wonder you are.


    Do your work¡ªor what you believe to be your work. And sometimes, when you¡¯re not paying attention, create new worlds.


    I will watch. I will marvel.


    But you will never see me. Never touch me.


    Because everything could break.


    Dream.


    Of angels.

 Shoes on the Hill -An Exclusive Moment (Check Your Inbox)

    It was autumn. Far away on the hills and close by on the meadow¡ªrolling lazily over a hill of its own¡ªtiny grasshoppers called out to one another, or perhaps just to the world itself. Grasshoppers, yes¡ªbecause at the moment, no one feels like deciding whether they are crickets or grasshoppers. They are simply there, chirping, and that alone is enough to warrant a few lines about them.


    The steps of four shoes move across this hill¡ªone that sits slightly apart from the others, which in turn all sit apart from one another. Their movement does not disturb the delicate soundscape of the tiny creatures; only the brittle plants beneath them whisper dryly underfoot.


    The shoes stop. And wait.


    They are waiting for the moment.


    The sun is high now, far away in space, doing just as it once learned from its stellar companions when it was young. It travels high, it blazes, and with its heat, it thickens the air¡ªpressing down on the quiet murmur of solitary creatures, amplifying the restless rustle of the many.


    The shoes stand still. Waiting.


    Where is the moment? Was it here already, long before? Had it slipped away in the morning, or did it vanish just before their arrival? If it left, where did it go? And if it is still to come¡ªhow long should they wait?


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    Such a things are hard to know these days, at least in this galaxy.


    But the shoes wait.


    Is the moment truly so rare and precious? Or is it simply some overhyped spectacle, an exclusive event for which only the two of them were sent a special email invitation? Is that why the rest of the world isn¡¯t here, gathered in awe, straining to catch a glimpse of its arrival?


    The shoes shuffle slightly, uncertain. But still, they wait.


    No one told them what the moment would look like, or where it would come from. And yet, I am certain there has been someone¡ªsomewhere, sometime¡ªwho has seen it, felt it before. Why didn¡¯t they ask someone wiser, someone who knows the endless cosmos better than they do? Someone who could have told them how to wait. What to wait for.


    Oh, yes. The moment.


    It was here. Of course, it was here.


    The grasshoppers noticed it, but it no longer interested them enough to change the rhythm of their song. Neither louder nor softer, their steady pulse remained unchanged. They had seen too many moments before, knew them too well to be stirred by the arrival, presence, or passing of another.


    Everyone knew it was here¡ªthe hills, the plants, the tiny creatures.


    Everyone, except the four shoes.


    The sun had already turned its gaze to another room, where more water, more people bustled. It left the four shoes behind, to either find the moment for themselves¡ªor, failing that, to make one of their own.