Free Shorter Days by Anna Katharina Hahn

gesticulate in the background. One of them notices Kilian, who’s dared to come a bit closer, still holding fast to Judith’s sleeve, and he taps the beautiful one on the shoulder. “Come on Marco, there’s a kid! And Murat’s uncle, man!” Marco—the name sounds like vacation packages and celebrity crushes—returns to his cronies, making a contemptuous gesture. Judith stares at the hair, sticky with spray-on color, the black streaks on foreheads and cheeks. They fidget before the window, their long, narrow limbs in constant motion, prancing right, then left, turning and jostling each other, almost as if some dull beat was thudding inside of them, forcing them to dance and flop around. They were raised on morning television, Judith thinks. Then she watches as Kilian heedlessly lets the gnawed apple fall to the ground and takes a step away from her, up to the glass. Marco grabs a limp, dirt-colored mask from one of the Turks and stuffs it over his head. Huge eyes stare from the pumpkin-face, and the familiar, vertically-striped fruit displays a tangle of angrily bared teeth, all made of Chinese plastic. Even though the other boy immediately tears the mask back off, yelling, “Quit it with the bullshit, man!” in Marco’s face, Kilian flees into Judith’s arms with a soft cry of terror and begins to whimper. She picks Kilian up, presses her face into his warm neck, and murmurs, “Boo-boo go away,” even though he hasn’t actually been hurt. She feels like smashing her fist through the glass and sending a shower of glass shards down on them. “Hey kiddo, it’s only Hassan. It’s just for fun, see? Just Halloween.” Murat slinks over from the side, visibly embarrassed, and waves a banana. Kilian’s face remains buried in Judith’s jacket. Nâzim opens the door: “Murat’s busy! Take your nonsense somewhere else, people are trying to work here. Beat it!” The boys are visibly shaken by the stream of Turkish that follows. Nâzim closes the door forcefully, to the accompaniment of the glockenspiel’s frenzied tinkle. Judith wipes Kilian’s nose, shows him the embroidered rose on her handkerchief, and he begins to smile again. Judith catches a final glance of Marco through the window. He walks slowly, not rattled in the slightest, straightens his cap, shakes out the legs of his pants. His tongue pokes around his mouth, pushing out his fuzzy cheeks; he grins and calls over his shoulder: “Just wait an hour, man—then we’ll have a real party.” Murat looks out from behind the counter with a sheep-like expression. Nâzim hands Judith the greens for the soup, which he’s wrapped in brown paper. “I’m so sorry. They’re just dumb kids.” Kilian grips his basket tight. Judith lays a few coins by the old-fashioned cash register and leaves the shop.

Leonie
    Leonie opens the dishwasher and puts in the two soup bowls. Little pasta ghosts still cling to the sides, the remains of a bag of instant Halloween soup: a consolation prize for Lisa, who was in fact delighted to fish ghosts out of the much-too-tomatoey-smelling liquid, and thereby gradually forgot her defeat. Leonie threw in a package of colorful plastic spiders she’d gotten at the discount store as a bonus. With the distribution of the creepy animals, the washing off of makeup in the bathtub, and dinnertime, the night passes quickly. Felicia’s swollen lips shine under a layer of ointment; she wheezes, open-mouthed, her breath warm and smelling of children’s toothpaste. Lisa is completely exposed—her nightgown has ridden up to her chest, showing her skinny legs, which are long and tight with muscles. Blue and purple bruises, the marks of monkey bars and bike crashes, dot the fair skin of her legs. A pair of underpants with cat faces covers her hairless crotch. It would be so easy to destroy her, Leonie thinks—it