Märchenstunde auf dummklicktgut! Also ich hätte heute gerne ein Märchen, in dem der Held sein Zuhause verlässt. Außerdem möchte ich, dass er gegen ein Verbot verstößt (der Schlingel!). Und dann soll der Held verfolgt werden, ach - undwennwirschonmaldabeisind - verletzt werden soll er auch, aber am Ende darf er dann auch wieder nach hause. Achja, und einen Bösewicht soll´s auch geben. Und der soll am Ende ordentlich bestraft werden.

Und das gebe ich jetzt in meine Märchenmaschine und heraus kommt folgende Gutenachtgeschichte (och manno: auf Englisch):

“It is said in the place where I live the soil is made of our people. People who toiled, sweat, cried, and screamed all bled into the ground and made us who we are today.

That sweltering afternoon day I opened the trunk my grandmother forbade me to open. Inside were a pair of leather bottomed shoes, a cap, and an empty canvas bag.

As the cinnamon fell on my eyelids I felt a burden shift onto my shoulders. I could not open my eyes but could tell my knees were sunk halfway into the weak soil. I heard the old woman exhaust her laughter into my ears, filling them with tones of mockery and deceit.

With no one to block me from my path I continued to follow my needle to the topmost peak of the mountain. There lay the lady of white hair and dragon scales bleeding with a wolf-girl licking her wounds. I reached inside her cut to take the strength she possessed in her creature form.

I saw the familiar clearing with my father’s chopping block and the axe he used for splitting wood on the ground beside it. Home. I ran through the trees, the wind in my ears, my breath leaving my throat in heavy huffs, my feet slapping the earth beneath the trees of these woods, these woods that had stood between myself and my home for so long.

My feet, wearing their newfound bottomed shoes, pressed gently across the soils as not to wake the men clamoring upwards. But I still felt a shadow trail at my footsteps that did not feel like my own. As I walked faster the shadow moved behind me as well, sometimes touching my bare skin with sodden ground.

The needle from my tongue flung towards the lying man and struck him in the heart. It gave him poison at the place where it would hurt the most, and soon the man became a limp purple figure of stone.”