Svantje - Scream in the dark E-Book

Elias J. Connor

• Herausgeber: FINN Books Edition FireFly
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023

Beschreibung

Svantje is eleven years old and has recently moved into the Brookstrasse housing estate in Frechen with her single mother. The girl is very quiet, reserved and doesn't talk to anyone. One day, while Svantje is sitting alone on a bench at the playground, a twelve-year-old boy approaches her and introduces himself to her as Daryl. Despite their initial reluctance, shy conversations develop into a profound friendship that is soon permeated by tender love. But Daryl, who opens up more and more to Svantje, gradually discovers that her behavior is strange - the closer he gets to her, the more distant she becomes. Daryl's desperate attempt to break through the walls around Svantje's secrets is overshadowed by their unbearable burden. Svantje, marked by domestic violence and abuse, remains silent. While Daryl does everything he can to save the friendship, he has no idea what a harrowing reality Svantje is trying to overcome... Elias J. Connor's moving story "Svantje - Scream in the dark" is based on true events and unfolds a captivating social drama that sensitively illuminates the depths of family violence and a girl's fight for redemption. The author, known for works such as “Lovelights – Benjamin and Jane” and “Outsider”, takes readers on an emotional roller coaster ride full of hope, friendship and the striving to overcome.

Leseprobe

Elias J. Connor

Svantje - Scream in the dark

Inhaltsverzeichnis

Dedication

Chapter 1 - New beginnings on Brookstrasse

Chapter 2 - The playground behind the house

Chapter 3 - The first word

Chapter 4 - In prison

Chapter 5 - Secret meeting

Chapter 6 - Prohibitions

Chapter 7 - Do you want to come to my party?

Chapter 8 - The sound of the sad soul

Chapter 9 - Separation

Chapter 10 - Is all lost?

Chapter 11 - The escape

Chapter 12 - The intervention of the youth welfare office

Chapter 13 - Help me, anyone

Chapter 14 - Daryl's family

Chapter 15 - The official confrontation

Chapter 16 - Revelations

Chapter 17 - Daryl's worries about Svantje

Chapter 18 - A desperate escape

Chapter 19 - The mother's indifference

Chapter 20 - Alone in the middle of people

Chapter 21 - The act of despair

Chapter 22 - The voices of angels

Chapter 23 - The one true family

Help for children affected by domestic violence

About the author Elias J. Connor

Impressum

Dedication

For Jana.

My friend and confidant.

You know everything about me, accompany me through all the ups and downs of my life.

Thank you for being there.

Chapter 1 - New beginnings on Brookstrasse

The large apartment building, a prefabricated building from the 1970s, sits heavy and gray in the middle of an endless concrete desert. Its angular facades rise high into the sky and cast long shadows on the dreary parking lot in front. The sun fights its way through the cloud cover and throws isolated, pale rays onto the building, making the concrete shine in a pale light.

The gray facade of the high-rise building looks as if it has already experienced countless years of fate. Large, concrete balconies span the entire width of the building, testifying to a time when people thought they could brighten up the city's grayness with a few potted plants. But most of these balconies are now deserted, their flower boxes have long since faded, and only a few residents still have the will to look after their little green oases.

The windows of the apartment building are rectangular and sober. They reflect the sky, which on this day is dominated by a heavy gray. Here and there there are curtains that are either drawn to hide the dreariness of the outside world or with faded floral patterns and faded colors as if they have been around for decades.

The entrance area of the prefabricated building is unadorned and functional. A large double door made of wood, metal and glass leads into the interior of the building. There is a faded sign above the door that reads “Brookstrasse Residential Park”. The caption seems like a bad joke given the fact that the sun rarely shows its face in this location. There are several mailboxes on either side of the door, several of which are piled high with notes. The names on the pieces of paper are usually barely legible, and it seems as if residents no longer bother to pick up their mail.

The floor in the entrance area is made of worn linoleum, which was certainly modern in the 1970s, but today just looks dreary and stained. A moderately successful attempt to brighten up the room is to add a few artificial plants in bright colors placed in tall pots. Their leaves are dusty and the green has long since faded.

A large, dingy carpet leads further into the interior of the apartment building. It is littered with various stains and footprints that have told their stories over the years. At the edge of the carpet there are worn shoe cabinets where residents store their shoes. Jackets and coats hang here and there on the hooks, as if their owners could put them back on at any moment to go out.

There are old, yellowed photographs hanging on the walls, showing scenes from times long past. Groups of people in 70s clothing smiling happily into the camera as if the world was still okay back then. But the faces in the photos have long since aged and the joy has given way to tired smiles.

The hallway stretches endlessly into the depths of the building. Here and there doors lead to the residents' apartments. The doors are all different designs, some freshly painted and with new doorbell plates, others weathered and marked by years of wear. Some doors are decorated with children's drawings, others with handwritten notes that say "Please don't ring the bell!"

There is a silence in the hallway, filled with the thoughts of the residents. You hardly hear any noise, apart from the occasional squeak of a door or the hum of an elevator slowly moving up or down. But beneath this silence there is a melancholy that permeates the atmosphere of the apartment building.

Some of the residents have been at home here on Brookstrasse in Frechen for decades, have raised their children and grown old. Others have recently moved in, looking for affordable accommodation in the big city. They all share a piece of their lives with this prefabricated building, this gray colossus.

The large apartment building may appear dreary and forbidding on the outside, but it holds stories and life within its gray walls. It is a place where time seems to stand still while the lives of the residents continue unceasingly. In the narrow hallways and unadorned apartments, dreams are dreamed, stories are written and destinies are lived. And so the prefabricated building remains not just a building made of concrete and steel, but a place where life in all its facets has found its place.

Svantje quietly slips out of the old wooden door of the large apartment building and enters the street. She glances left and right before shyly looking around. The hustle and bustle of the city around her seems to overwhelm her and she retreats even further into herself. Her petite figure seems lost between the tall buildings and the constant stream of pedestrians streaming past her.

Svantje carefully sits down on a lonely bench at the side of the road. Her eyes are downcast and her blonde hair falls in messy strands across her face. She pulls her legs close to her body, as if she could hide from the world outside in this small gesture. Svantje is only eleven years old, but she carries the weight of the world on her narrow shoulders.

Her mother, a disinterested woman, hardly has any time for her. When she is not at work, she buries herself in her own worries and problems. Svantje misses the security and warmth that other children get from their parents. Her mother is overwhelmed and burned out, and Svantje often feels like an annoying disruptor in her life.

Sadness has settled in Svantje's heart and she feels lonely even when she is surrounded by people. She longs for someone who will listen to her, who will take her concerns seriously and give her security. But so far she hasn't found anyone who takes the time to get to know her.

Svantje stares at the floor in front of her and sinks into her thoughts. She thinks about school, where she always tries to be quiet and inconspicuous. The other children laugh and play with each other while she stands on the edge of the action. She is too shy to approach them and has learned to withdraw into her own little world.

Her mother taught her to be strong and hide her feelings, but sometimes loneliness hits her like a wave. Svantje longs for a friend, someone who will accept her for who she is. But so far she has been too shy to approach others and the other children hardly seem to notice her.

People on the street rush past Svantje without paying her any attention. She is like a shadow in the crowd, almost invisible. The city lives its own life, and Svantje feels isolated from this world. It's as if she doesn't exist, as if she's trapped in a bubble of invisibility.

Svantje closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. She tries to push away the sadness and loneliness inside her, but it's hard. The tears burn in her eyes, but she fights not to let them out. She's so used to being strong that she can't allow herself to appear weak.

Her gaze wanders to the passers-by who hurriedly walk past her. She watches the happy faces, the lively conversations and the hands touching lovingly. Svantje wants to be a part of this world, a part of something bigger than herself.

But she doesn't know how to take this step. The fear of rejection is too great, and so she remains sitting on her bench, alone and invisible. Svantje longs for connection and a better life, but the path there seems rocky and difficult.

Time passes and the city pulsates around them. Svantje remains sitting quietly on her bench, trapped in her own world. She knows that she has to be strong, that she can't give up, but sometimes she feels so lost and helpless.

Maybe one day someone will notice her loneliness, maybe someone will come up to her and shake her hand. Until then, she will continue to sit quietly and reservedly on her bench, an invisible girl in a busy city.

When it was already getting dark, Svantje sadly went into the large apartment building and walked purposefully to her apartment. Dusk falls heavily over the small town and the street lights begin to tentatively unfold. Svantje enters her apartment, a place that normally represents comfort and security, but today there is something melancholy in the air.

The hallway awaits them with an innocent cage in which a little rabbit sits, curiously looking out into the world with his watchful eyes. But a quick look at the empty food bowls tells Svantje that he hasn't been fed yet. She sighs softly, feeling guilty that in her rush to get to school she forgot to take care of her furry friend.

Just as she is about to fill the rabbit bowl with fresh food, her mother's heavy step is heard in the hallway. Her mother, overwhelmed and irritable from a long day at work, storms into the apartment. Svantje flinches and turns to her mother, her heart beating wildly with fear.

“Why hasn’t the rabbit been fed yet?” her mother shouts, without a greeting or a smile. The words cut through the silence of the room like sharp knives.

Svantje stammers apologetically: “I’m sorry, mom. I just went outside for a moment to get some fresh air and then I forgot about it.”

Her mother rolls her eyes and snorts before she sets about feeding the hungry bunny. But the anger inside her continues to simmer. She handles the food and water bowl with impatient movements while she takes out her anger on the small animal.

“You can’t even do a simple task. You always forget everything. You’re so useless, Svantje!”

Her mother raises her head, her eyes burning with anger. Her voice drowns out the gentle sound of the rabbit drinking.

“Why do I do everything for you?” complains the mother. “What do I work myself out for every damn day?”

Svantje feels small and vulnerable. Tears gather in her eyes, but she bites her lips and refuses to cry in front of her mother. She doesn't want any more trouble.

The mother gives the rabbit a final blow on the head and turns to her daughter.

“You just sit here and do nothing, like you've just been moping around all day. You are so lazy. Can’t you do something sensible at least once in your life?”

Svantje wants to defend herself, but her voice fails her. She lowers her gaze to the ground and wishes she were invisible.

“Come here and get this rattle from the nursery,” the mother orders harshly. “So that the bunny doesn’t just fidget all evening.”

Svantje obeys silently, almost like a robot that has no other choice. She runs into the nursery and finds the rattle she loved as a little girl. She can still hear the ringing laughter she and her mother shared as they played with it. But today nothing is like it was back then.

With shaking hands, she returns to the living room and hands the rattle to her mother. Her mother takes her without a word of thanks and casts a disapproving look at her daughter.

“Now go to your room and don’t cause any more problems,” she hisses. “If you are unable to act rationally, then just stay there.”

Svantje nods, although she would have liked to rebel against the injustice. But she has learned that in such moments it is better to put her head down and obey. She turns around and makes her way to her small room.

The door closes quietly behind her and she sinks onto her bed. Tears stream down her cheeks and she wishes she could escape the world. The rabbit in its cage and the rattle in her mother's hand are the only witnesses to her silent suffering.

The hours pass while Svantje sits alone in her room. Her mother's voice comes through the door, muffled yet tormented, as she argues with a friend on the phone. Svantje would give anything to see her mother happy, but she doesn't know how to change that.

Finally the house becomes quiet and Svantje hears her mother going to bed. The evening is now as dark as her mood. She lays down under the covers and sobs quietly into her pillow.

At some point she falls asleep and in her dream she finds herself in a world where she can fly. In this world she is brave, strong and free. But the dream ends far too soon and Svantje wakes up in the darkness of her room.

The pain in her heart is still present, but she knows she must move on. Svantje wipes the tears from her eyes and thinks about the little rabbit in the hallway. She knows she has to take care of him, no matter how hard it is.

She gets up quietly and carefully, opens the door to her room and goes into the hallway. The rabbit sleeps peacefully in his cage. Svantje smiles as she looks at him. She resolves to always be there for him, even when no one seems to be there for her.

Chapter 2 - The playground behind the house

There is a small playground behind the large apartment building on Brookstrasse. This green spot in the middle of the urban concrete landscape is surrounded by tall trees that provide dense shade in summer. A mesh fence borders the area, and overflowing trash cans are strategically placed at the corners of the playground, their smells testifying to past adventures and picnics.

A mild spring afternoon envelops the playground in a warm atmosphere. Some children have found their way here and are deeply engrossed in their game. A little girl swings high into the sky, her laughter mixing with the chirping of the birds. Beside her, a boy sits in the sandpit, his eyes shining with the joy of discovery as he attempts to build the largest sandcastle tower the world has ever seen.

In the corner of the playground two girls have taken over one of the shady corners. They play skipping rope and sing a happy song. The sound of the ropes hitting the ground forms the rhythm to which they bounce, as if trapped in a world of their own consisting only of bliss.

The scenery may seem dreary at first glance, and the old, rusty swings and weathered slides are no longer the most modern. But for the children who play here, the playground is a refuge, a little paradise in the middle of the urban chaos. Here they forget the worries and troubles of everyday life and immerse themselves in a world of fantasy and carefreeness.

A group of boys are having fun on the basketball court. Their loud laughter and the resounding sounds of the ball hitting the ground mix into a happy chaos. One of the boys cleverly dribbles around the others and throws the ball into the basket. A storm of cheers erupts when the ball hits its target.

The parents who live in the surrounding apartments watch the hustle and bustle on the playground with a smile. They know that this place is invaluable to their children. Here they not only learn how to work together, but also the values of creativity, perseverance and teamwork.

An older man sits in one of the shady tree hollows. His gray hair blows in the wind as he silently observes the scene. He has the expression of someone who remembers times gone by when he himself played here on this playground. The memories of all the adventures he had with his friends put a smile on his face.

A little girl who has broken away from the group of rope jumpers approaches the old man. Her name is Emma and she is only five years old. She looks at the stranger with wide, curious eyes and finally speaks to him.

“Why are you sitting here alone, Grandpa?” she asks innocently.

The old man smiles down and takes Emma onto his lap.

“Well, little girl, I'm sitting here remembering the old days when I used to play here myself. This playground was my second home and I had so many adventures here.”

Emma looks around and nods understandingly.

“I love this playground. You can have so much fun here!”

The old man nods and tells Emma about his adventures in this playground. He tells her about the secret hiding places, the treasure hunts and the stories they told each other under the starry sky.

Emma listens intently and asks many questions, which the old man answers patiently.

While the two are chatting, a group of children who have been watching Emma's conversation with the old man approach. Curious, they sit around the two of them and listen to the old man's stories.

The sun slowly dips towards the horizon and the mood on the playground becomes calmer. The children have romped and played enough and are now enchanted by the old man's stories. The memories of times gone by mingle with the children's dreams of future adventures.

The playground on Brookstrasse is more than just a simple place to play this afternoon. It is a place of memories, stories and dreams. A place where the past meets the present and the future shines in children's eyes. It is a place that shows that even in the midst of big city life, in all its dreariness, the joy, imagination and lightheartedness of childhood can find a place.

Nobody noticed the young, blonde girl sitting thoughtfully and alone on the nearby bench. She looks sadly at the people around her, at the old man who tells the children stories.

Svantje sits alone on the bench at the playground. The last rays of sunshine of the day caress her cheek as she watches the children playing. A light breeze blows through her shoulder-length, blonde hair when she notices a boy of about twelve who keeps turning to her.

His dark eyes fixate on her, and a shy smile plays on his lips.

The boy takes the first step and slowly approaches Svantje.

“Hey, you’re in my class,” he states when he finally stands in front of her. Svantje nods and looks at him in silence. The words seem stuck in her throat, unable to find their way out.

The boy sits down next to her and looks at her curiously.

“Why haven’t you ever spoken a word?” he asks with a hint of surprise in his voice. Svantje just shrugs her shoulders and turns her gaze back to the children playing.

The boy doesn't give up easily.

“I’m Daryl, by the way,” he says. “I don't live here, but I've been visiting my friends here for a while. We’ve been in the same classes for years.”

He tries to start a conversation.

Svantje looks at him and seems to consider for a moment whether she should answer. Finally, she raises a hand and points to herself, as if to say she lives here too.

Daryl nods understandingly.

“That’s interesting,” he says. "I've never seen you here before, but maybe I just never got to the playground at the right time."

He tries to lighten the atmosphere and continues the story.

"I like to play basketball. That's my thing, you know? I dream of becoming a successful athlete one day.”

Svantje listens carefully to his words, her eyes full of interest, even though she hasn't made a sound yet. Daryl doesn't seem to mind her silence. He continues: “It's so exciting when you stand on the field and put the ball in the basket. You should give it a try if you want.”

The sun is leaning towards the horizon and the shadows are getting longer. Svantje watches the colorful sky while Daryl continues his story.

“The evenings here in the residential park are often the most beautiful. I often sit on this bench, play guitar and sing. That calms me down, you know?”

He looks at Svantje expectantly.

Svantje remains silent again, but a small smile crosses her face. She nods slightly, as if she understands Daryl and appreciates his words. Communication occurs on a different level, one that goes beyond words.

Daryl senses that she is comfortable and sits closer to her.

“It's not a problem if you don't speak. But we can meet again here on the bench tomorrow. Then I'll tell you more stories. Or I’ll bring my guitar with me and then I’ll make some music.”

The two are silent for a while and enjoy the last moments of the day on the bench at the playground. As darkness slowly falls and the lanterns illuminate the park, Daryl stands up.

“I should go home slowly. It's getting late and the children have to go to their apartments," he points out.

Svantje looks at Daryl and nods slowly. She also gets up and accompanies him until they stand in front of the large entrance door of the concrete building. Daryl stops and smiles at her.

“See you tomorrow,” he says expectantly.

Then he turns around and leaves.

Svantje watches him disappear and feels understood and accepted for the first time in a long time. She looks forward to tomorrow and listening to Daryl's stories and maybe even listening to his music. And who knows, maybe one day she will find the words to speak herself.

Svantje then goes quietly into her apartment. Her mother isn't there yet, so Svantje hides in her room. She turns on the radio and listens to soft music as she lies on the bed and reflects on the day's events.

Svantje hasn't eaten anything today. Her stomach growls quietly, but she can't go out to get something. Her mother hasn't been home all day, so Svantje stays in her small apartment, locked away from the outside world. It was a sunny day today, but for Svantje it feels gloomy.

Time passes slowly and Svantje passes the hours reading and watching TV. But the thoughts of the empty refrigerator shelf cannot be banished. Her mother had promised to come back in time to eat together, but there is no trace of that. Svantje is worried and feels lonely.

When the sun has long since disappeared behind the houses and darkness is falling, she finally hears the sound of keys in the door. The mother is back. Svantje pretends to be sleeping in her bed, her eyes closed and her breathing calm. She doesn't want to blame her mother, doesn't want her to see how hungry and hurt she is.

The mother quietly enters the room, the radio blaring quietly. She goes to the dresser, turns off the radio and sits briefly on Svantje's bed. She gently strokes her daughter's forehead and whispers, "I'm sorry I came home so late, darling. How was your day?"

Svantje is totally taken aback. She doesn't know that kind of behavior from her mother. There must be something wrong here, she thinks to herself. Usually her mother is very irritable and takes out all her bad moods on her. But today? Today she is so friendly. Why?

Svantje slowly opens her eyes and smiles weakly.

“It was fine, Mom,” she replies, even though she longs for a warm meal.

Her mother kisses her on the forehead and stands up.

“I brought visitors with me today. I hope you don’t mind,” she says.

So that's why the wind blows, Svantje thinks to herself. Her mother has once again brought a strange man here who is supposed to know nothing about how things normally work here.

Svantje nods weakly and then turns to the side again. She pulls her blanket tighter over herself, as if to protect herself from the coldness of her mother's heart.

The mother smiles and leaves the room. Svantje hears her making noises in the kitchen and eventually hears voices outside. It is a strange male voice that she hears. Again her mother is just bringing someone stranger, Svantje thinks to herself. It gets on her nerves so much that her mother spends more time with strange men than looking after Svantje. She feels neglected and alone.

The hours drag on and Svantje hears the loud laughter and conversations from her mother and her visitors. She lies alone in her room, hunger in her stomach and sadness in her heart. It feels like her mother has forgotten her.

Svantje no longer feels important. In fact, she had never felt important in her entire life.

Tears stream down Svantje's face as she curls up in her bed. She buries her face in the pillow to stifle the sobs. She misses the days when her mother spent more time with her, when she was able to talk to her and comfort her. But those times seem to be over.

At some point it becomes quiet in the living room and Svantje hears her mother and the visitor go into the bedroom. The door closes quietly. Svantje is alone in the dark. Her stomach hurts from hunger and the sadness within her seems endless. She can't understand why her mother spends so much time with this strange man and neglects her.

Eventually exhaustion overcomes her and Svantje falls asleep. The tears have long since dried, but the emptiness in her heart remains. She dreams of better times, of times when her mother was there for her and she felt loved.

As the new day dawns, Svantje is woken up by the sun's rays shining through the window. She remembers the events of last night and wonders if anything will change. Her mother has already gotten up and walked out of the bedroom, and the strange man has disappeared. Svantje feels alone and hungry, but she knows that she will continue to wait for her mother, hoping that something will change, that her mother will have more time for her again and that she will no longer feel neglected.

Chapter 3 - The first word

Svantje sits in her classroom, her heart beating so loudly in her chest that she thinks the other students can hear it. Mrs. Johnson, their English teacher, hands out the tests.

“So, sixth grade, you get your English work back today,” says the teacher. “I am very satisfied with your results. With a few exceptions, the class performed well.”

Mrs. Johnson, a native of England, speaks in her accent and calls out the names one by one.

When Svantje arrives, she silently places the worksheet on her table.

Svantje closes her eyes and breathes in and out deeply as she holds the sheet of paper with her note in her hands. Her heart races as she opens her eyes and stares at the big, fat "5." A five.

Panic creeps up inside Svantje and she can feel the tears burning in her eyes. She studied so hard for this test, agonizing over vocabulary and grammar for hours, and now this. Her eyes wander around and she sees the other students reviewing their tests. Most of them got better grades than her, some even got an A.

Svantje lowers her head and sinks into her chair. How will she break this to her mother? Her mother always had high expectations of her and always said that good grades were important.

---ENDE DER LESEPROBE---