Dagmar Goeschick
Stories (112)
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The Knock in the Night
The air outside was heavy with the metallic scent of smoke, the remnants of fire still clinging to the broken city like a shroud. My mother, only five years old at the time, woke in the middle of the night to the silence after the bombing. That silence was the most terrifying part. The roar of engines, the sharp whistle of falling bombs, the thunder of explosions—those had become familiar, almost expected. But when the world grew quiet, when the sky held its breath, she knew something worse might be coming.
By Dagmar Goeschick5 months ago in Fiction
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 Goeschick8 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 Goeschick8 months ago in Fiction
