Dagmar Goeschick
Stories (106)
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Born to be a Hero
Born to be a woman is an issue in a world where men believe they always know better. Men are causing more issues, but women must bear the next heir, preferably a male, work in the kitchen or give orders to the kitchen and to house workers, learn to sing, do needlework, and that's all.
By Dagmar Goeschick3 years ago in History
The Sunday-Family-Walk
I'll never forget the Sunday family walks in the fields, the forest, or just down the street. My father and mother were arm in arm, with my sister and I in front of them. We were hopping, laughing, and tormenting one other. For all of us, it resembled a ritual, albeit a significant one.
By Dagmar Goeschick3 years ago in Art
Hunger
During WWII, two brothers stole a large truck full of meat to feed their friends and families. The crime began early in the morning, as they were loading the truck with meat for the highly decorated Nazis. They only took the best steaks and ribs, the best sausages, and the tenderest fillet. They knew it had to be done on the way to their target, a magnificent Baroque castle where the Nazis were having a party. So, after they completed loading, they prepared all of the proper paperwork and set off. The road was in poor condition, it was cold, and it began to snow. It was the 24th of December.
By Dagmar Goeschick3 years ago in Fiction
The "Erlkoenig"
Day 1 I climbed on my brand-new motorbike for the first time on a hot and sunny Monday morning. It was red, a dark scarlet with a little white border. The chrome gleamed in the sunlight, and the creamy leather seat added to the allure of this lady-motorbike. I've been saving up for a motorbike like this for the past five years. When my pals went on holiday, I went to work on a farm. When my pals went out to eat and party, I stayed at home and read a book to save money. Every penny I saved pushed me closer to this motorbike. Last week Friday, I was able to deposit the money on the counter and obtain what I so desperately want. All of my efforts had paid off at that point. I will never be sorry.
By Dagmar Goeschick3 years ago in Pride
The Riddle
Stay away, stay away, Don't come near me again. I am terrified, and I am old. You make me shiver and fearful. The old lady often reflected on instances when nothing went as planned. She recalls every detail of the day she discovered the truth about her best friend, Sally. A lovely young lady, much like herself. That summer, they had both turned 16 years old. That summer, they grew ancient, stone ages old.
By Dagmar Goeschick3 years ago in Fiction
The new jacket
My father went for a bike ride without informing his wife. The ride was enjoyable until an unforeseen disaster occurred. The gate he needed to pass through was closed, so pressing the brakes hard was ineffective. My father slammed into the locking bar at full speed, flew over it, landed hard on the gravel ground, slit over it and his jacket was in tatters. He left without telling my mother about it. You should have seen her expression when she discovered the jacket later that day.
By Dagmar Goeschick3 years ago in Fiction
Accidents Happen!
It was the first day of our autumn vacation in Germany. The twenty-eighth of september 1970. A Monday. The sun was shining, there wasn't a single cloud to be seen in the sky and the air smelled of freshly fallen leaves. The trees shone in their autumnal colors: brown, golden, red, green. A sea of colors as one could only wish for a golden autumn day. My father had taken an extra day off to take us, my sister and me, to the city forest and let the kite fly there. My mother wasn't exactly thrilled about it, but when she saw how happy we were, she just said that she wished us a nice day.
By Dagmar Goeschick3 years ago in Lifehack
Lost
Everthing starts with a Dream. My dream was to visit Mexico and visit all the historical sites, like Chichén Itzá, Tulum, Historic center of Mexico-City, Palenque, Acapulco and the cliff jumper, Teotihuacan and of course Chapultepec Castle. Sometimes a dream stays a dream and sometimes dreams come true.
By Dagmar Goeschick3 years ago in Fiction
