Death is Eternal #363

Monday. August 28, 2023. 2,156 words.

A normal... “normal” Death is Eternal this week. I’m still not where I wanted to be time-wise, but I’m in a way better spot than I was last week, which is good. Ideal would be better, but “better” is better than last week—anything would be better than last week. Also, apparently, I’m a kid who just learned the word “better” and is now repeating it to exhaustion. Better go straight to the newsletter before I repeat it again... oh, wait! Too late!

Contents

1. Barbed Wire Sunday (intro)

2. Barbed Wire Sunday

3. Writing: Peer pressure

4. Bye!

5. About the last Death is Eternal

6. Last week (from August 21 to 27, 2023)

7. This week (from August 28 to September 3, 2023)

8. Death is Eternal review #233: Multiversity: Harley Screws Up The DCU by Frank Tieri, Logan Faerber, and others

9. Death is Eternal review #234: Batgirls by Becky Cloonan, Michael Conrad, Jorge Corona, and others

10. The end

1. Barbed Wire Sunday (intro)

The Cold War is by far my favourite period in time, mainly because of all the espionage happening worldwide, but also because of all the craziness the world was living daily—not only there were two Germanys and two Berlins, but people were also living with the expectation of nuclear war! But when it comes to espionage, no one did it better than the Stasi.

Don’t get me wrong, the Stasi was a terrible thing, and we’re way better without them—and hopefully, we’ll never have anything similar to it. But it’s impressive to imagine that they built something so big and complex that most people spied on others without even knowing they were doing it. Can you imagine this? How crazy is this?

Anyway... Barbed Wire Saturday is the day the Communists began building the Berlin Wall. And I needed to write about it. Not only for what it meant to the world but also to highlight how cruel and crazy the Stasi was. I hope you enjoy reading it! Also, as always, please remember that’s a first draft!

2. Barbed Wire Sunday

In the dimly lit street, a string of German expletives slipped past Klaus’s lips, his frustration evident in the tight lines of his face.

“Shhhh,” Torsten cautioned, his eyes flicking towards the nearby watchful guards.

Klaus’s fingers clenched around the wire in his hands, his gaze following Torsten’s gesture to the vigilant guards. “They’re always listening,” he muttered, his voice edged with a mix of resentment and resignation.

Amidst the shadows of an undisclosed location in East Berlin, a Stasi officer allowed a small smile to curl on his lips. “Indeed, we are,” he mused to himself.

Minutes ticked by as Klaus toiled; his earlier exclamation soon repeated. “Verdammte Hölle!” He burst out once more. This time, his frustration carried a deeper note, his words gaining an undertone of exasperation that seemed to reach beyond the immediate task. “I don’t mind the division between us and them, but why must it be in the dead of night? Midnight’s darkness masks even the pain of these cuts; I can’t see where my hands betray me.”

“Shhhh,” Torsten’s caution echoed again, a hushed reminder of their precarious circumstances.

Klaus’s patience snapped, irritation replacing his prior restraint. “Oh, damn you!” He spat. His anger was a stark contrast to his earlier compliance. “I’m loyal, damn it! A believer in Khrushchev’s cause. I hold no love for Americans, and I’d march to claim Berlin as ours without a second thought. They wouldn’t dare silence me for speaking out against these ungodly hours.”

Torsten chose not to indulge in the comrade’s complaints, understanding the danger inherent in such open defiance.

Yet Klaus pressed on, propelled by his discontent. Like a steam valve pushed to its limits, he felt the urge to vent his frustrations lest he burst apart.

“We should be raising arms, not walls,” Klaus’s voice carried the fervour of his convictions. “Traitors deserve justice, and our city demands reclamation!”

Torsten took a cautious step away, physically distancing himself from Klaus’s impassioned words. He aimed to signal his disinterest and non-alignment.

Unrestrained, Klaus’s tirade continued, his words slashing through the air. “Brick and mortar, barbed wire—tools of cowards!”

When the last word escaped his lips, both men recognized that Klaus had crossed a line, irreversibly altering their fate.

Trembling, a tearful plea tumbled from Klaus’s lips, seeking forgiveness. “I’m sorry! The stress and fatigue... I don’t know what I’m saying--”

But the Stasi’s response was swift and unrelenting. Two officers materialized, their presence a chilling confirmation that apologies held no weight in the face of dissent.

Klaus’s thoughts turned to defiance, yet his knowledge of the inevitable outcome suppressed his urge to fight. Resistance would be futile.

Simultaneously, two more officers approached Torsten, their congratulatory expressions belying their sinister intentions.

“Well done,” they commended, shaking his hand with cold approval.

A trace of a smile curved Torsten’s lips as he joined the officers. An unspoken understanding lingered between them, sealed by the promise of a hidden bottle of vodka in a secure Stasi chamber.

As always, the Stasi’s message reverberated with clarity, resonating deeply among the remaining workers. With heads bowed and determination renewed, they buried their misgivings, channelling their efforts into their labour with heightened vigour.

The end

3. Writing: Peer pressure

Credit: DALL-E 2 (someone hugging a ball, synthwave)

When you are an amateur writer, it can be challenging to build a writing routine—I know, I’m living through that now, although I think I’m in a better place than most because, at least, I have Death is Eternal. And that’s completely understandable because if you’re trying to write on top of working... Well, time and rest get in your way.

And that’s where peer pressure, or any pressure, comes in handy. I’ve been feeling this since the end of The Writer’s Studio (TWS). Throughout TWS, I had no problem creating time to write my submissions because I needed to make the time to do it. I needed to send the submission, so I prioritized that. Same thing with the newsletter; I have to publish every Monday, so that’s on my calendar, and I do whatever I can to write it—even if it’s a tiny one.

Pressure makes me write. It makes me create time. It makes me choose to sit down and type instead of sit down and read, or listen to podcasts, or watch TV, or do nothing, etc. Since I'm not under pressure, I’m not writing everything I want. And although it makes me sad, I also enjoy resting after a workday. Granted, I was a bit tired when TWS ended—and I think I wrote about that here, but I can’t find in which Death is Eternal I mentioned that, well...—because it was so, so much. I wrote like never before and needed time to recharge. Well, now I’m refreshed but still can’t write daily because there’s no pressure.

Due dates can be overwhelming and a nightmare, but they sure help you keep track of things. Maybe I should create a due date for me. Or even better, perhaps I should stop being lazy and research places accepting short stories—like magazines or prizes. This would force me to write... Fingers crossed that I’ll get over my insatiable desire to do nothing.

4. Bye!

Here’s where we say our farewell to the free subscribers. If you want to read the rest of Death is Eternal, consider becoming a paying subscriber. If you already are a paying subscriber, first of all, thank you very, very much! And second, I’ll see you on the other side of the paywall.