Bombshell (English)

A surprising message offers a bombshell and a choice

— Brønderslev Writing School Short Story Collection 2017


1. Bombshell


He pulled the plug.

The TV screen in the corner of his narrow room, which usually smelled of clutter, went black during a heartbeat. He put his palms on the carpet and stretched his long noodle legs. They both slept, he'd been sitting in the same position for over five hours.

"Dominik?" The sound of his father's voice resounded in the hallway between the kitchen and his room.


"It's wash me up day!" His father yelled, leaning back in his chair that stood by the dining table.

His dark beard had grown so long that he got it in his mouth when he ate his morning buns and his hairline had begun to move too far back.

"Yes yes, I'm coming."

If there was anything Dominik hated, then it'd be when he was asked to wash up while he was playing.

He got up and went out into the hall. He glanced at the crackling front door and placed his foot - that he thought of as his own, even though he still couldn't feel it - at the threshold of where the two rooms separated. He threw a glimpse at the pile of dirty cutlery and cookware.

There were two plates, there always were.

Dominik went over to the sink, took a dish and a dishcloth and proceeded to do his chore. When he was about to open the faucet, there was a hard, heavy knock of fist on the front door, of which he'd looked hopefully at just a few seconds ago.

"I'll open!" He yelled out ecstatically and threw everything he had in his hands.

The door was opened in a rush, and on the cement staircase, Dominik's childhood friend Michael stood with his chopped straw bale-colored hair and a peculiar glimpse in his eye.

"Guess what?" He said with his usual American accent.

Dominik pulled his shoulders and slid his head.

"What?" He asked, one of his distinctive eyebrows lifting from its usual place.

"Let me in, then I'll spill it." Michael stumbled through him and the door, took a sharp turn into his room and sat down on the bed that hadn't been replaced since he was fifteen.

"You seem different?" It rushed from Dominik's mouth.

Normally, Michael would only show up on Friday night, so they could sneak into the neighbor Richard's garage and use it as their "hangout place" until he got home from work on Sunday afternoon.

They would spend the time watching porn and playing video games with an old 15 inch TV that Michael brought under his arm. Other than that, he'd primarily look at Michael while he was messing with old firework scrub and tied over screws, that he couldn't find because he'd used them to keep his curtains raised.

"Different?" Michael looked at him weird, as if he were stupid-of which he was, but it wasn't something he wanted people to trot on. Dominik sat down beside Michael.

"Anyway, do you remember that guy Christian I've talked about for some time?" Michael leaned on the bed, his dark eyes lit up like lanterns in the dimly lit room. There was only one small window in the room.

Dominik lifted his head, looked back at Michael and nodded briefly. Michael nodded back and continued, his foot tapping impatiently against the surface of the carpet as he put his hands in the pockets of his cargo pants, of which he only wore because of their roomy pockets.

"So, Christian made like a club after he dropped out of high school, can you remember me mentioning it some time ago?" Michael said, looking for some sort of validation.

Although Dominik could not quite remember it, he still nodded, hoping that Michael would move on with the story.

"Ah, that doesn't matter, point is, he's invited us into it!" Michael could not hide his excitement.

"Oh ... cool." Dominik straightened his hazel eyes against the large pile of dirty underwear in the corner of his room, they all begged to be put in the washing machine, before they became one with the floors' bacteria.

They all had a stain or two of semen in different sizes, and back where ones ass-cheeks would clench around the fabric, there'd always be a shit stain that one couldn't get rid of, no matter how much soap powder you scrubbed into it.

Michael jumped up from the bed and ran over to the half-opened door, quickly looking back at Dominik and exclaiming: "C'mon, what are you waiting for?"

The two men walked down the street, their course set on the main street, which looked more like a broader side street, rather than a main street. The club's headquarters was apparently located in an abandoned alley in the city center.

"What kind of club is it?" Dominik could feel the curiosity simmering in him now, a curiosity he rarely felt.

"Think it's based around video games?" Michael's feet went out of pace when he began to think, and eventually he came to a halt and turned around.

"You don't know what kind of club it is, but you said "why, thank you!" to the offer anyway? What if they're gangsters, or something?" Dominik pushed his lips together and raised a hand to his forehead in exasperation.

"Fuck you man, it's going to be fun, don't be such a Debbie downer." Michael turned around and continued forward, his pace faster than before. Dominik had to run to catch up to him.

A silence broke out when the rusty metal door to the club was opened and the two stood in the doorway to the room that had been attacked by mold. Thousands of eyes stared at them as they entered, and Dominik wondered why the club's venue was in a vacant basement.

"You're late," spoke a low voice.

The owner of the voice was dressed in the dark, his face unrecognizable in the black. As he stepped forward, his golden skin appeared.

Michael raised the voice: "What, where are the video games?"

There was still quiet among the flock of people. The tall man chose to break the ice wall that separated them.

"They're up on the first floor, but that's not what why we're here," the man said, taking a pack of smokes out of his jacket's pocket. One of the sheep from the flock flipped the light switch to the lamp in the ceiling and pulled back into the crowd. The blurred outlines of club members were now replaced by excessive clarity.

"What, Christian?"

When Dominik noticed that Michael was also nervous, it was like a bad stomach ache that spread. Christian seemed to mow himself, and the corner of his mouth was lifted as in an effort to dampen their concerns.

"We're talking about the final preparations for the party with another club tomorrow," explained Christian, who obviously was the leader of the sheep.

"It's getting pretty nice!" Said one of the others, and there was a talk about a low blouse that spread and it heated Dominik's cheeks like burning cocoa on a cold winter day. But in the midst of the heat he became nervous: He did not know whether he should be excited, for the last few years of his life everything had stood still. He could hardly remember when he had last been to a party.

"Where will it happen, Christian?" Asked one of the sheep.

"In Aarhus," he replied, as he lifted the carcinogenic smoke to the dry lips. As he had breathed most of the smoke out of his lungs, he looked Dominik in his eyes.

"And what about you? Are you going too?" Asked Christian.

"Well, that sounds good enough," he said, turning his head quickly, trying to avoid his gaze.

There was something to the eye.

As soon as he had thought that thought, people began to go again. He thought it was strange since they had just arrived, it was as if they had come in vain.

"You comin', cumstain?" It was Michael. Dominik turned his head and was immediately greeted by a crooked smirk.

"Yeah, yeah," he laughed.



Michael sent him a message the next morning. He obviously had the time of the party out of Christian, one of the kind of things Michael was good at, something he admired because he was not.

There was something that reminded him of throw-up when he watched the wizards moving around on the pixel TV screen.

The party was in the evening. He would probably get ready. Later. The hero on the screen came closer to the army of trolls. The hero put his sword in one. It died. The hero stayed on. Until a troll devoured him.

Game Over.

In response, he threw the controller over the corner along with his mountain of submarines. He had been there for five hours again, his legs slept again.

He decided to open the closet next to his bed.

Out came a avalanche of clothes that his father had washed the day before. He dressed up, stretched his legs and could first feel them after their usual encounter with the kitchen door threshold.

After dinner he took the door handle and went out to a layer of drizzle, and there was a square shoe car parked obliquely against the curb, with yellow headlights and a dull stench of cigarette in the seats as he felt as he jumped into the backseat.

He leaned back in the broken seats, which hopefully had seen better days. They drove in teams, five in each car.

Next to him was a dark-haired girl with a mole on her cheek, she gestured with her hands during the whole trip and apologized when she hit him in the face - of which was often. He wasn't wearing his seat belt, it was stuck in the mechanism and the windows were so greasy, that there were no reason they were still being used. He had to find an alternative; he looked at his feet - the alternative.

They stopped at a smaller house at the end of the city. The driver got out and met up with the people who'd come out of the house's front door. He made a last attempt to look out the window. Through the fingerprints and the greasy stains he spotted Christian and a shorter girl with similar golden brown skin. 

Christian sat in the front seat while the new girl hopped in the back seat, with him. The girl with the big arm movements immediately entered an unnecessary conversation with her to avoid the scary silence, the only thing he heard was the change of names.

Elise, the girl with the golden skin was named Elise.

It was an unusual Scandinavian name, but her hair was black like chimney smoke, and her pear-green eyes peered around curiously. When they met his, she smiled gently.

"And you?" Elise asked.

He hadn't heard what they'd been talking about.

"I- er, didn't hear what you said..." he said, his body tensing up in embarrassment.

"Oh, that's all right. What's your name?" Elise crossed her legs and stretched her neck to get a better look at him, since the girl with the mole hid his figure.


"What a strange name," she said with wrinkled eyebrows, but her face quickly softened, replaced with her vanilla smile.

The windshield of the car cleared up when the drizzle broke through the fading fog, and through the clouds, the nose of a gentle sun protruded. When the landscape finally came to light, they stopped by a stray gas station. The driver was wanted to scurry in and grab a six-pack, the girl next to him staying in the car..

He needed to take a leak.

Everyone knew that restrooms at gas stations were bombarded with parasites and ass worms, so everyone who needed to piss ran out into the forest with their pants halfway down their legs. He stood beside a few shrubs and took out his dick, his bladder slowly emptying. 

It was there, that he heard the sound of leaves crushing under a pair of running shoes.

Elise appeared, her dark hair shone in the last light of the sun. It was only there that he remembered that he still had his dick out of the battlefield, and his cheeks showered, their red glow might be impossible to overlook.

She blinked a few times, obviously innocent. It was only after the third flash that her gaze wandered down to his cock. Inside he screamed.

"Sorry!" She shouted with the otherwise mild voice that reminded him of the vanilla cake.

She turned her head the other way and hid her face behind her little palms.

He'd never taken his pants on as fast as he just did, not even those Monday mornings where he'd overslept, first realizing that he had an exam that day - after - finishing his strawberry marmalade toast.

His eyes widened: "Jesus Christ, I'm so sorry Elise, I didn't even hear you!"

Elise lifted her eyes to him while she lowered her hands, and a smile of relief appeared on her face when she saw that his pants had returned to his legs.

"Do you want a Marsbar?" Elise asked, dragging him out of his thoughts. 

He took the Marsbar she had in her hand, and tore the paper off. 

And then she laughed. So relaxed, that one would think it was a daily event for her to find guys in birch forests with their dicks outside their pants, still dripping of piss.

"Come, the others are waiting." Elise hit her heel in the ground and turned around graciously, her hands swaying side by side as she walked, and he could do nothing but follow in her footsteps.



The Marsbar paper lay by his thighs. He stared at it. He wanted to put it in his pocket. 

The trashed car parked obliquely against the house where the party was to take place. He took the Marsbar paper and put it in the pocket of his jacket, stumbling out the car. Even outside they could hear the music through the thin walls. They played something he did not feel, but the others seemed excited.

Elise walked before him, up the three narrow stairs to the front door. As soon as they entered, they were welcomed by a lingering stench of throw up and discount-bought liquor. It was a typical party; Red plastic cups filled to the rim with vodka and abandoned chips in all the hooks and cushions, was like something out of an American growing-up film.

He sat in the cushions and quickly acquired his own red cup. The many colorful lights on the white walls that dazzled one to the point of becoming dizzy, and the music from the stereo set, they all became a nuisance that he wanted to escape.

After a couple of hours, his frustration took him to one of the guest rooms. White walls met him with their emptiness, and he sat on the equally white bed in the corner of the room.

He heard voices. 

They seemed to come from the floor. He put the mug of vodka on the bedside table and squeezed his ear to the wooden floorboards. The voices were unclear, he couldn't understand what they said. The curiosity in his stomach simulated soup over a flare, and his throat tickled.

He opened the bedroom door. He forgot his red cup.

Dominik got through the surprising amount of people, coming to a halt at the end of the living room.

"Where?" There was a girl who murmured to herself, pulling him by the shoulder. When he turned his head to reject her, he saw who it was. "Where ... my brother?" She asked in a haze. "Christian?"

"I, I don't know." His mouth hung open, the innocent young girl, the black-haired baby bird, Elise - hung on his shoulder, a strong smell of beer emanating from her mouth every time she spoke.

"You ..." She tried to focus on him. "You're, really ... handsome." She chuckled, smiling until her cheeks were flushing dark red.

The situation got out of control when he felt her hand on his neck, and without warning, she lifted her face to his, leaning against his body, her weight overwhelming, considering her looking so flimsy.

She made him choke on her tongue, her hands locked around his neck, making him unable to escape.

He pushed Elise.

So hard in fact, that she fell backwards, but luckily enough she managed to grab a cupboard door. In response to his own doing, Dominik ran.

He ran into the only bathroom in the house and locked the door. He had to wait until everyone had, had enough of knocking on the door and pulling on the handle. He sat on top the toilet seat, his knees pushed up to his chest.

It was there that he heard the voices again - through the toilet window to the backyard that stood wide open. This time, he understood what they said.

"I've thought about the offer, Christian," said a voice. 

The accent was American, he recognized it immediately.

"What do you say?" Asked Christian.

"I'm in."

"All right. You get a sum for it, but remember, most of this is voluntary, it's not children's pranks.'

He didn't understand what Christian was talking about. Lord, he barely knew what Michael was saying.

"So, I'm just making them, and that's it, or what?" Asked Michael.

He lifted his head up to the window, so he could see who spoke. He was right on the mark, Michael and Christian stood with a beer in their hands.

"Pretty much," said Christian, taking a puff of the cigarette he'd kept in between his fingers.



It was half past six o'clock.

Dominik had spent most of the days after the party lying in bed. The only thing he'd thought about during those days was if what he'd heard was true. What was being hid from him?

The clock on the wall ticked, and just as it hit seven, he got a message on his cellphone.

"Hang tonight, or what?"


A strange feeling rose in his stomach. It told him Michael had gotten himself into some serious shit. He'd always been good at doing that, but he'd gotten particularly good at it, after his mom fell from the roof two years ago.

"Comin'," he wrote, and got up.



The gate to Richards garage was dressed in orange sunlight. Dominik had his hands in his pockets because of the tingling cold and he slipped under the half-open gate. The first thing he saw when he got inside the garage, was pieces of a water pipe, nails and a bottle of chlorine, standing on a cardboard box in the middle of the floor.

He looked further into the garage and found a skeleton for something that looked like a home-made firework battery. Michael appeared in the backdoor of the house, his arms crossed and an eyebrow raised.

"What do'ya think? It's going forward, isn't it? "He padded towards Dominik with the flame of  triumph in his eye.

"What's that?" He couldn't help asking.

"A bomb, what did you think?"

It became quiet and it dawned on Dominik in that split second what his childhood friend had in mind.

"What in the hell are you doing?" He hissed.

"What do you mean, what am I doing?" Michael asked. Dominik could almost imagine the steam rise from the worn boy's nostrils.

"You're sick ..." Dominik couldn't move, the shock had hit him like an arrow in the chest. He'd noticed Michael had behaved strange, but homemade bombs, that was bigger than just being a little reckless.

"You know, you could've killed yourself, man!" He shouted, his blood boiled at the thought. He didn't want to, he didn't want such a thing, it was too fucked up.

"Tomorrow at the square, at the department store, 1:43 sharp," Michael said, sat down, his black eyes drilling through the floor as he fiddled around with the water pipes.

There was no doubt in Michael's voice, the idiot really was going to do it, and he didn't know how he intended to act, whether he should call it off or stay. No, it was out of the question, he didn't have the balls to.

In the middle of it all his cellphone vibrated in his pocket, and he dug around for it. It was Elise.

"Do you want to have dinner at some point? I give. That's the least I can do after that there for the party. "

Why should she write to him right now of all times? He raised his palm to his forehead, and when he moved it again, it was covered in cold sweat. He pushed the button without thinking of what she'd answer.

"No, I can't, sorry." Dominik stuffed the cellphone back in his pocket.

"It's fucked up, Michael." His voice got lower. He could imagine next-day's scenario on a dot: Four hours of sleep, handcuffs decorating his wrists and wounded people spread across a tiled floor.

"Why're you always such a pansy, be a man for once! This is our debut, if we're not performing grandiosely, we're never getting their respect, got it?" Michael's sharp tone did not make his concerns smaller, right on the contrary. 

They met each other's eyes shortly, and after Michael's last word was said, he turned his head again and fiddled with his scrap.

There was something to the eyes.

Dominik nodded briefly and mumbled something inconsistent before he sighed and let himself sink into an old armchair. He headed to his head and looked at Michael briefly.

"Are you with or not?" That was the only thing Michael said. Dominik hesitated, but there was something that told him that saying no would be a bad decision.

"Yes! Yes." He said, making sure it sounded as convincing as possible so Michael didn't doubt his answer for even a second.

"Good. Tomorrow, at 13:43, "Michael said, his eyes did not meet Dominik's. It was quiet again until it became too much for him.

"Why?" That was the only thing circling around inside Dominik's head.

"What the hell do you think, moron? Our society is fucked, the taxes are too high and we're raped by the rich every day, unless we speak in capital letters, who the hell will ever understand anything?" Yelled Michael, the words made of acid.

Dominik took it as an end to the conversation, nodding shortly before he turned back to the path he'd come from. Outside, the sun was going down below the birch trees, their white logs shone in the warm light of the tired sun that'd been through a hard day of work. He jumped over the fallen handrails that stood between Richard's garden and the rental apartments.

With heavy steps he walked up the stairs and unlocked the door. His father was asleep. He also wanted to sleep, but, he couldn't. The thoughts didn't let him, he was sweating, and the sheets eventually became too hot to lie with.

He lay there for so long he forgot what time was. He stared at the crack in the ceiling, it seemed to grow bigger, spreading to the walls and swallowing him whole.

At four in the morning he took his cellphone from the nightstand, put in his pass code, entered a number on the display and lifted it to his ear with shivering hands. Some time passed before the buzzing stopped, and a woman's voice sounded on the other end of the line.

"911, what's your emergency?

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