Category: The Flying Dutchman
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I Know Where Words Fail Us
It is a heart-jumping, throat-strangling kind of fear. It makes me want to slam close my computer and smash the whole thing on the ground and to pretend, just for once, that I am what these terms say I am, that I fit perfectly into this definition, that I belong…
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The Walls Have Ears
Written for The Flying Dutchman Issue #28’s open call for submissions. The walls have ears, and they listen. Hundreds of thousands of stories have been heard by the invisible walls that surrounds you, be it the walls of your family, your peers, your world, or those of your heart. The…
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For the sake of prisoners and the flight of birds
There is no point in thinking about the Roman Empire. There is no point in thinking about anything, really, as if there is some meaning, some universal truth, some point to our existence, as if the universe cares.
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The Love for Strangers
My first memory of Maastricht was rain. As we dragged our tired feet and bulky luggage towards the bus, the cold rain pelted us, falling from the grey, smothering skies, drenching our jackets and our carry-on bags. My parents used to tell me how rain came to be: whenever humans…