Dagmar Goeschick
Stories (106)
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The Summer That Stayed
The summer of 1980 was supposed to be a short, golden pause—a five-week escape after high school, a taste of something different before the serious business of university life in Germany began. That was the plan. But plans are fragile things, easily scattered like dandelion seeds in the right wind. What unfolded instead was a summer that lodged itself deep into the folds of memory, unfinished, unforgotten, and never quite let go.
By Dagmar Goeschick7 months ago in Fiction
"The Second Beginning"
Lydia never looked back. Her life had always been a series of departures—jobs, cities, lovers, hairstyles, philosophies. She had a particular talent for starting over, for making the past seem like a chapter written in disappearing ink. Her strength wasn’t in endurance—it was in escape. But somewhere between the lines of her boldness, between the ink stains of reinvention, she carried something unresolved. A haunting in the ribs, a whisper beneath the skin.
By Dagmar Goeschick7 months ago in Fiction
The 300-Year Lie
Berlin, Germany – Autumn, 2025 It started with a manuscript. Dusty, brittle, and bound in cracked oxblood leather, it lay forgotten in the cellar archives of the Staatsbibliothek zu Berlin. It wasn’t even catalogued. No record, no barcode, not even a penciled call number. It had simply appeared on a forgotten cart between two broken file cabinets, as if it wanted to be found.
By Dagmar Goeschick8 months ago in History
The Last Sickness
In the year 2143, illness had become a memory. Hospitals stood like empty monuments to an age of suffering, their sterile halls echoing only with the ghosts of what once was. Humanity had entered a golden age—no more cancer, no more infections, no more mental disorders. It was all thanks to a young woman named Lilli Artemisia, the so-called Queen of Medicine.
By Dagmar Goeschick9 months ago in Futurism
Captain Nemo 2.0
The soft hum of the spaceport filled my ears as I stood by the massive observation window, gazing at the ships departing and arriving like silent fireflies in the vastness of space. The year was 2125, and I was about to embark on the journey of a lifetime—one my great-grandmother could have only dreamed of. I had always imagined what it must have felt like for the first explorers of space, those pioneers who dared to leave Earth’s surface in search of the unknown. Now, I was one of them.
By Dagmar Goeschick10 months ago in Longevity
