In den letzten Stunden haben wir uns in Englisch in der Planetenschule mit dem kreativen Schreiben beschäftigt.

Es folgt meine Kurzgeschichte:

Arbeit mit digitalen Medien


It’s already dark outside.

The sun set hours ago.

On a warm day like this, Amaya would have watched the burning sky turn into a sea of stars, but dark clouds quickly pushed themselves in front of the beautiful spectacle, covering her village in a grey fog. It started raining soon after and it seems like it’s not going to stop.

At least she doesn’t have to water the flowers in her backyard. The smell of freshly cut tulips and roses, from her flower shop below, creeps through the window. Accompanied by a whiff of wet earth.

fresh cut tulips

A strong wind blows through the streets, filling Amayas kitchen with a cold breeze. Goosebumps form on her arms and a slight shiver runs down her spine. Automatically, she addjusts the grip on her still steaming tea, sinking deeper into her cardigan. She doesn’t close the window though, too glad about the fresh air after the heat of the summer.

A flash lights up the sky at the horizon, declaring this storm to the first thunderstorm of the summer. On a Friday in mid June. Amaya smiles, remembering the amount of times she ran into her room as a child, hiding underneath her blanket. Too scared of the roaring wind and the flashlight concert of the nature. Now her eyes are caught on the power of the wind, admiring the unique flashes fluttering across the ink-blue sky.

She hoped the mailman would deliver her a letter today, but he didn’t come by.

Maybe tomorrow in the morning, she thinks, although it’s not much of a consolation. Two weeks had it been since she has sent a letter to her parents. Two weeks has she been waiting for an answer.

Amaya sighs deeply, wondering what they would tell her in their writing.

Absently she stares past her kitchen window, looking into nothingness. Lost in memories of her home, until a sudden ringing brings her back to reality.

She hesitates. Was it real or in her thoughts?

There it is again. The high-pitched sound of her doorbell. Could it be?

She moves to the window. An excited screech slips past her lips, her heart jumping in her chest like a bouncy ball, as she recognizes the unexpected guest. The cup of tea in her hands stands on the counter within a second, almost being spilled. The door to her flat flies open. She rushes down the stairs, the old wood protesting under their sudden weight. The lock on her front door unlocks with two metallic clicks and–

There he stands. Damp and with a promesing smile – the mailman she’s been waiting for.

‟Good evening Mrs. Swan.“

‟I told you to call me Amaya.“

‟Sorry Mrs. … Amaya. And I apologize for distrurbing so late, but,“ he opens his yolk yellow bag, pulling out a pastel purple letter, holding it out to her, ‟I thought you probably can’t wait any longer for this to arrive, so–“

‟The letter from my parents!“, she exclaims, feeling like an excited little kid. ‟Thank you so much, Nick.“

‟You’re welcome. Have a nice evening! Or, well… night.“

‟You too“, Amaya says absently, already focused on the letter in her hands. She locks the door and holds the paper close to her chest. Finally, she thinks, relieving a calming sigh.

promising envelope

The scent of lilac lies in the air, smelling like home. Not being able to wait any longer, she opens the envelope, revealing two notepapers covered in the clean handwriting of her mother. A warm feeling nestles in her heart as she reads the first words.

Dear Amaya…

making of des Website-Eintrages

Dieser Artikel wurde verfasst von einer Schülerin der Station D071 des Klinikum Chemnitz gGmbH am Standort Dresdner Straße.