Story nr. 5
From Civilmedia
“Hey V, do you remember the days when right here, in the center of Salzburg, there was this huge golden ball, and everyone thought it was a statue until it rolled off and smashed all the mountains?”
“My dear 0/1, I never though you were so sentimental, it really doesn’t suit you. Of course I remember, I live in Salzcave nr. 50126, remember?!”
“Right, V, never mind, I'm already sorry I mentioned it. But where is the guy who stood on top of that statue?? I would like to know that. I really thought he was cute, immensely cute – for a cave-farmer.”
“He still lives in the city, down by the river. I passed him the other day. He is collecting bottles of air to make a new ball, a new weapon to open up the side of the mountain. He has a fremdsprachenmonstermaven who sits cross-legged, chained, on the bridge. The fremdsprachenmonstermaven opens up their mouth, swallows the breath of the people walking past, keeps it in their stomach and spits it into the bottles. The air comes from the humans. It carries all the weight of their memories and is as heavy as that golden ball. They won't stop until the ball is as big as the bottom of the bridge. But it is invisible. No one knows it's accumulating."
0/1: “Wow!!! It's great, maybe we can enjoy it!”
V: “Are you crazy? Do you not understand the situation?”
0/1: “No, I don’t, if you can tell me... Do you believe in this history? Nobody can do that.”
V: “Yes. This man can.”
0/1: “Show me! I want to go here now.”
Nobody knows 0/1 has a power – the POWER – for destruction or for construction. The POWER comes from the “ANCESTRAIS”.
Fremdsprachenmonstermaven called MIK. But friends called him KIM. He was a really moody fremdsprachenmonstermaven but he was one of the few left in Salzcave. And the man from the ball has been missing his breath since 2035. His job was not done yet.
Both of them went for coffee. Fremdsprachenmonstermaven had had a long night out and needed to start this new day with a clean mind. He drank lots of water. If he had to blow in the ball now, it would probably take a weird colour, and he would certainly end up in jail. Kim drove him back to the mountain.
In the rickety cycling apparatus, Kim also enjoyed the air. They had kept particles of human air to enjoy underneath their third breast, which sat in the middle of their chest, the nipple spread across it, enlarging with contact to the air. Kim was overstimulated. The air functioned like helium and Kim sang high-pitched songs as they loved to do. Finally Kim returned to their mountain lair which became their home. Within it, Kim could exist in multiple temporalities for it was here that they stored all the memories of civilization, in drawers and in boxes.
Kim had been given charge – the official title was Caretaker of Memories, and stored them in drawers around the capacious chamber which was their dwelling. Every drawer that opened a gaggle of voices hit the air, all vying for attention. It was a big responsibility, depositing memories and making sure they were heard. Kim enjoyed it though. And they had trained quite extensively.
Now Kim must go the distillation chamber – a space for distribution. Kim invoked all their creature power and opened the airwaves and spread the memories fast through dimensions, correcting any stories that were too monolithic or uncomplicated. Kim fell exhausted to the floor and wept. They didn't know how much power they had left.
