Chapter 7. The Dead

Rolf! Hey, Rolf. He can’t hear you.

Can you make him hear me?

I am trying. Don’t know why I can’t bring him up to consciousness. I have never been hit by an incoming person.

What do you mean? How about me?

You are not an incoming person.

What am I then?

You are me. It is natural. Expected.

So you were expecting me?

Every one who is stored in here expects…

Expects one self’s other version?


And Uncle Ritschy?

He is not my self. He is an incoming person. And I can fire up his cortex.

Can you?

Bit tricky. Told you: never did this before. There is a risk I burn his brains entirely.

Cool down, Aquila. Keep…

“Rolf! Dear Rolf. Here you are! Oh God, am I dead? Think I saw a light. White. Intense. Welcoming. Where is Yashua? I want to meet Yashua! Rolf?”

Dear Uncle Ritschy. You are not dead. I am not dead. We are in Nirvana, supposedly. My avatar here says that we are also inside the Moon. How can that be possible, I don’t know. We are out of space and out of time. Yashua is not here. The light is a side effect of the repulsin, when it slingshots your body out.

“I must be dreaming. I heard Rivkah saying something about comatose.”

Rivkah? Is she okay?

“Doing fine. Well, quite desperate about losing me. I had a heart attack. They’ve poisoned me.”

Who poisoned you?

“Political rivals. Doesn’t matter, son. I am just curious: how comes that we have this dialog? You died during the war. In 1944, if I remember well.”

I would have died, shot for high treason. But Viktor saved me.

“This slingshot thing?”

Yes, Uncle Ritschy.

“Catapulted you to the Moon? You say.”

Inside the Moon. He says.

“He? Who?”

Aquila. My blue blooded avatar. The giant holding you in his hand.

“No giant that I can see or feel his hand for that matter. Sorry, son, I’m losing you.”

Aquila is the medium that allows us to communicate. It is complicated. I am trying hard to figure the situation here. What year was on Earth when they catapulted you?


Wish to ask you if…

Cannot finish my question. Uncle Ritschy’s body jumps from Aquila’s left palm into the right one.

Who is Aquila?

A dark surface dews blueish drops above my head. I feel the pressure of cold iron. From above and from below. the metal sinks beneath a blue watery film. The light. White.