Susanne Bruschke

A clear case

 I wasn´t it. How often I should still say it? I do not know it. They talk and talk and talk. To whom should I listen? The police or my thought? To consider generally needlessly, this. None of them has here any notion. Permanently they practice contradiction in me and want to submit to no logic. Thus this is with the thoughts. Thus this is also with the police. They do not believe me and see only the lie in my eyes. Only the lie which is none. A lie which speaks for itself, so that me nobody more must ask. Like a storm her accusations about me sweep away. A cold storm. A hard truth.

Your fingerprints were in the scene. A hair of you was in the scene. All proofs speak against you. There will be a process. You have to go in U custody. Do you have somebody who looks after your child? Want you to call a lawyer? Where from did you know the victim? Finally, you must talk with us, then there are also extenuating circumstances. Et cetera. I hear nothing, only one voice walk in my head, incessantly without betraying further details to me. I see nothing, only in myself purely. No bad conscience. I taste nothing, only the tired taste of an indifference. This indifference is new for me, a nice consolation for the soul. By them alone everything passes me. Again they talk. You can wear to me nothing. What here passed, is not right, is not right thus. It happens somewhere else. 100 spot. However, to me not. Here already not at all. Fact is, I do not know the scene, I do not know the victim, I do not know sometimes the town in which all that should be passed. A bad joke or a good one? There would certainly be people who would find this here funny. I fancy, there hangs a hidden camera and everybody laugh. I laugh with. What would give to laugh it then there? Ask. You do yourselves no fallen. With which? I do not get what they mean. Somebody shakes the head. A policeman? Or I myself? Also in relation on it I lack every examination. I do not want to understand. Does not want to recognise. Or do I already do it? Again 1 step farther. I really take care. In attempts I listen in and listens in and hear suddenly all of a sudden what the voice walk in my head. Proofs never lie. Of course not. If one hears in every police series, even in the cheapest ones which runs no more rates. I see it before myself. A scene littered with clever trace readers, computer, labs, the most modern technology. My judgment is already executed. You have no alibi, it further sounds. It has to deny no sense. They are transferred. How on television. The same sayings. Nothing new what it would give to say. I can say in addition only right nothing, crosses only the arms. How may this look fine? How does my defensive position come across? I observe myself, try a failed analysis of my state. A funny person who sits there. Looks silly, the action does not want to admit itself. Looks not only stupidly, it is also fine. Who thinks already of having done nothing if everything speaks against him? Nevertheless, maybe I was it and should better confess. Maybe I am somebody who does not know what he does. A psychopath. Of it there are many. Nevertheless, on more or a little it does not depend any more. Detached I further stare at the wall. The questioning goes on, takes his run according to own physical laws, completely runs off without me. Words like action weapon, motive and sting wounds, autopsy and arrest warrant touch me. Still they do not wound. They are only stripe shots of a language which me nothing concerns. It is her language, does not mean, so I am not probably meant. Their well specific shots hiss along me. Indignantly rough. More than scarcely besides. Somebody has died, been murdered. What then now? If both is, nevertheless, the same. No that it is not it and this you know. My mad conscience tries to reach to me by. There the chances are like zero. Since everything is not right here, twists, put on the head. Yesterday the world was still in order. In any case, for me. Today this should certainly say me: Now you are sometimes in it. Long enough it went well to you. End now, lady. Life looks different. There can be not only highs, there one must also sit sometimes in the cellar and cry. In perpetuity. In a cell sit. I see them already my cell. Cosiness. Is over long ago. Washing rooms with gone yellow tiles, a cigarette with the court way. Other women with puffy faces. Forget. Which earn no love. Not sometimes more of a dog. Kicked and buried. No part more of a society which rebels to the morality apostle. Well and nastily. Bad and well. Fills the vocabulary, leaves no place for other concepts. The world must be simply. Because she understands nobody else. No look about the edge of the plate. Not to the left. And not to the right. Only stiffly straight ahead. This is a justice. Guilty or innocently. Thus it wants the law. I already see the judge before myself, the lay assessors, the lawyers, also the press. Hungry dogs which wait for the feed. I will be the main dish. Besides, only one act sign.

The trains of thought which separate and break off. I am again here. Away are the illusions. It is 4 p.m., exactly on the point. Nevertheless, I hear the church bells hitting. Whether God see me here? Am I a sinner? Who knows. The church bells do not save me. Prayers. They do not occur to me. And no end is still by view. Questioning, questioning! And even more scraps of conversation. How spearheads all at once, now wounding. I writhe in invisible blood, stoopedly, put under. Nobody notices it. Their accusations move slash around slash to me. Hand lift! If the dentist has said. Hand lift if it hurts. My hands are difficult and furry. It would be to be lifted is absent on the place. Pure time waste. The fronts are cleared. For me hardens. Once again. Hits to aversion crossly. Adheres itself in my dry throat. Reaches my vocal chords. Nevertheless, understands, I was not it! I want to shout that the truth the space penetrates. But nothing goes. As I have grown on the chair. Even to the hair scuffle I lack the strength. Also around my daughter I give myself no more troubles. Bad mother! If they jeer, in addition. Murderer. Headlines the next day. I will have a look at them.



Todos los derechos pertenecen a su autor. Ha sido publicado en a solicitud de Susanne Bruschke.
Publicado en el 05.09.2009.


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