In memory of Rosa Luxemburg, assassinated by proto-nazis in Berlin, on 15 January 1919.

She’s here, standing still on this bridge, over the canal I know so well: I am surprised she accepted the invite.

Her creator’s description of her is so true: the curves of a goddess, the raven hair, the icy grey pupils, and those lips…

Ah, this hunger, this hunger for her soul…

Looking down at me with utter contempt, she says: “Here, not that long ago, your minions killed a good woman, a very good friend of mine…”

I don’t have the time to reply, in a fluid and unstoppable move she seizes my bony legs and throws me over in the dark waters of the canal: she’s a warrior, and I a miserable devil.