Category: Pigture

The Architect painted his face with arguments. Orange for the vowels he swallowed in 1987, purple for the consonants that refused to leave his throat. When he spoke, the audience heard only the colors bleeding into one another. “Listen,” he said, but the word came out cyan. The auditorium was… read more – weiterlesen Der Farbensprecher

The Architect found it on a Tuesday morning, exactly where he hadn’t put it. A balcony had grown inside the building, surrounded by blue walls that insisted they were sky. “Architecturally impossible,” noted the Color Commissioner, though her measuring tape had started laughing halfway through the assessment. The Conductor tapped… read more – weiterlesen The Balcony That Refused to Stay Outside

The Jester arrived on a Thursday that had been cancelled three weeks prior. He carried his bells in a suitcase because they had complained about being worn. “I’ve come to deliver the punchline,” he announced to the Color Commissioner, who was measuring the temperature of purple. “But no one told… read more – weiterlesen The Fool Who Forgot to Laugh

The yellow eye had been watching too long. That was the Conductor’s professional opinion, delivered while her baton traced the curve of suspicious architecture. “It blinked last Tuesday,” reported the Color Commissioner, consulting files that had reorganized themselves into magenta. “When it blinked, three walls exchanged positions.” The Architect stood… read more – weiterlesen The Keyhole’s Complaint

The Architect had made a mistake during construction: he had placed seventeen rooms in the space meant for one. They had been trying to separate ever since, but geometry kept losing the paperwork. “This is highly irregular,” the Color Commissioner announced, though her words came out in fragments, each syllable… read more – weiterlesen The Conference of Overlapping Rooms

The Color Commissioner arrived on Tuesday to examine the floor’s rebellion. Someone had filed a complaint: the checkerboard pattern had started to breathe. “Unacceptable,” she noted, though her clipboard had dissolved into magenta three inspections ago. “Floors are contractually obligated to remain flat.” The Conductor stood at the room’s edge,… read more – weiterlesen The Inspection of Forgotten Rules

The architect had forgotten to install gravity on Tuesday, so the corridor stood upright inside itself. Red insisted it was ceiling. Blue claimed to be floor. Neither could prove their position because geometry had stopped taking sides. “I remember being horizontal,” Purple murmured from what might have been a wall…. read more – weiterlesen The Argument Between Colors

Der Architekt baute einen Turm, der aus allen Richtungen gleichzeitig bestiegen werden konnte, weshalb niemand je ankam. Die türkisfarbenen Wände erinnerten sich an die Zukunft, die gelben Balken vergaßen die Gegenwart, und das Blau dazwischen tat so, als wäre es nie gebaut worden. “Wie hoch ist er?” fragte ein Passant,… read more – weiterlesen Der Turm der verpassten Treppenstufen

Der Archivar kam morgens in die Bibliothek und fand, dass sie über Nacht eine zusätzliche Ecke gewachsen hatte. Das war das dritte Mal diese Woche. Er seufzte und begann, die Bücher umzusortieren, damit sie in die neue Geometrie passten. “Entschuldigen Sie,” sagte Violett von der linken Wand, “aber könnten Sie… read more – weiterlesen Die Bibliothek der falschen Ecken

Die Architektin folgte dem blauen Korridor, der behauptete, er führe nirgendwohin, was sie als gutes Zeichen deutete. Rot versperrte ihr zweimal den Weg—einmal von links, einmal von der Zukunft—aber sie wusste, dass man Farben nicht trauen durfte, wenn sie Meinungen hatten. “Ist dies der Weg?” fragte sie eine Wand. Die… read more – weiterlesen Der Weg zur Mutmaßung

Der Gärtner säte Feuer in parallelen Reihen. Jedes Samenkorn war eine kleine Flamme, die er vorsichtig in die Erde drückte, wo sie sofort zu wachsen begann—nicht nach oben, sondern nach innen, in die Vergangenheit hinein. Die schwarzen Linien waren Zäune, die er gezogen hatte, um das Rot davon abzuhalten, sich… read more – weiterlesen Das rote Beet

The gardener planted doors that morning, watering them with yesterday’s light. By noon they had grown into rooms, their walls soft as membrane, their corners humming in turquoise and pink. She walked between them with scissors, pruning the yellow thoughts that leaked from the ceiling-soil. “Excuse me,” said a shape… read more – weiterlesen The Colorful Garden of the Entangled