SchWeinWelten.DE

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 before the keyhole, which had grown tired of being a passage and promoted itself to surveillance. “I designed it to look outward,” he explained, his… 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 spoken from a different corner that all occupied the same location. The Conductor tapped her baton against a wall that was simultaneously floor and ceiling… 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, waving her baton at waves that shouldn’t exist in solid matter. “It’s following a rhythm,” she explained. “Seven beats per undulation. Perfectly synchronized chaos.” The… 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. “We’re all horizontal if you squint,” Orange replied, though squinting required eyes, and the corridor had misplaced those during construction. A traveler entered—or perhaps exited—it… 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, der von unten nach innen schaute. “Sieben Stockwerke nach rechts,” antwortete der Architekt. “Aber nur, wenn man rückwärts zählt.” Der Turm hatte die unangenehme Eigenschaft,… 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 etwas leiser atmen? Sie stören meine Perspektive.” Der Archivar nickte und hielt den Atem an. Das hatte den Vorteil, dass die Zeit langsamer verging, was… 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 Wand schwieg rosa, was soviel bedeutete wie vielleicht-aber-rückwärts. Der Pfad bestand aus übereinandergelegten Vermutungen, jede Schicht eine andere Hypothese darüber, wo er enden könnte. Manche… 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 an andere Farben zu erinnern. “Wann wird geerntet?” fragte eine Stimme, die aus dem Boden kam. “Gestern,” antwortete der Gärtner. “Deshalb muss ich heute noch… 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 that was neither square nor sorry, “but have you seen my exit?” “Exits grow only in winter,” the gardener replied, though it was clearly summer,… read more – weiterlesen The Colorful Garden of the Entangled

The platform was a hallway. The hallway was also a prism. Every wall had forgotten its original color and was trying out new identities—yellow one moment, violet the next, pink in the interstitial spaces where decisions hadn’t yet been made. Herr Schwarz sat at his usual table, though the table had no business being there. It was Tuesday, which meant he would wait for the 4:17 train that arrived through the ceiling. He ordered his… read more – weiterlesen Train Arriving