The Rebellion

[Ukronija]

Evo Pobune (iz nekog n-tog radioničkog kruga) na engleskom. Nek stoji, kada sam ja ionako nedovoljno ozbiljna da negde, kod nekog, objavim neku zbirku priča...



The Rebellion


I've dreamt about him although we have never met.
I know his face and his body too.
Sometimes he fondles me and pulls the blanket over my head.
Sometimes he kisses me.
Lightly.
He just leans his lips against mine and keeps them there for a few seconds before he leaves.
This is how I imagine love. Maybe I am naive. I'm not sure. From the underground caves of the world love has disappeared.
I have a book by one French author. It's about a queen, a Catholic and a Huguenot. Lots of pages are missing, but I know how to read his handprints between the lines.
Others say love is possible just in books.
Maybe I am naive.

They caught Martin today. We heard the Machine has predicted him an execution by firing squad.
The rest of us know that we are going to end up the same way even if the Machine doesn't predict our deaths. But sometimes it's important to resist even if it turns out to be a defeat.

I dream about the sun. My book tells a story about it, too. I don't know how to imagine the blue colour of the sky, but I imagine the sun like the fire which keeps us warm through eternal nights. And I fantasize about clouds, too. I see them as huge smoke balloons, like the ones we get when we cook.

I have cried many times. This hero, from my book, he loves this queen, you see, but due to unfortunate circumstances their love is sentenced to doom. The funny part is that I know what is going to happen every time, but somehow it always leaves me blue. I hide myself when I cry. Others would understand, they cry too, but they would criticize me. Crying is pointless, they say. We have chosen by ourselves to be excluded from the surface community.

They caught Vanja today. The Machine has predicted her death from torture. We light a candle for her soul. She was caught in the supermarket, stealing food.

Sometimes, when silence is so deep that I can hear the sounds from above the ground, I can't sleep. I hear the rustling of silk dresses and wigs from my book. There is a sound of swords colliding, too. I imagine that this happens right in the centre of the town. A little further away there are supermarkets, soldiers and computers, too.
Maybe I am naive.
I'm not sure.

Sometimes I am furious. What kind of people give themselves the right to condemn others to the life of outcasts? What if I want to get out of the caves? And what if I don't mind being controlled and tested by the Machine? So what if they could determine every step of mine and the way I am going to die? I've heard love doesn't exist on the surface, too. That humans are selfish robots who are born only when the government allows them to live. They spend their lives buying things they don't need and then they die in a way which the unerring Machine predicts.

Sometimes I am insane.
At one moment, I trust my underground companions and in the other – I don't.
I didn't choose to be a fugitive!
I want out!
I am craving to see the sun!
And soon after these mad thoughts I am back to being a voluntary fugitive, too.
I want to fight, then.
Against being controlled.
For the freedom of choice!
For the freedom to be free!
And shortly after this, it usually strikes me – I am not fighting. I am buried alive! A voluntary corpse! I am writhing like a mole through subterranean tunnels. Stealing food is our only form of resistance!
Then I get sober again.
Hold on!
In each battle the winner is the one who lasts longer than their opponent!
And then I fall asleep, tired of distrust in the world I live in.
He covers me with a blanket.
And kisses me with his soft lips.
Secretly, I open my eyes. I see him walking away.
I fall asleep again.
Kissed.
Determined.

They caught Luka today. We are taught not to cling to each other. Underground people do not stay around for long. They move quickly and they get arrested, too. It is useless to love, they say. But I loved Luka, anyway.
,,What are we fighting for, then, if not for love?" I asked Luka one day.
He didn't answer but he understood.
I wish he was my father. Somewhere outside. In the sun and beneath the mountains, too. The Machine has predicted for him death through medical experimentation. Sometimes it seems that nobody dies free. And sometimes I think that freedom is what we want it to be.
Will I ever be free?
Will I ever leave this darkness and these black insects, too?

"Today is your turn to get the food, Anne."

I am not sure how to feel. Others expected I would be scared, but I just can't feel the fear. Instead, I am overwhelmed with some unclear sense of excitement which I don't show. They wouldn't understand it, for sure. It's my first emergence for the stupid reason that food is and it thrills me deeply. What should I be afraid of? The sun? The warmth of the day? Clouds? Everything that I have never seen before?
They say fear protects against suffering. And they say it is the driving force of the Universe. But I am not driven by nightmares and I am not scared of fear. Light kisses and unseen skies are what inspire me. I have nothing to lose and nothing to gain. I am just an underground shadow. Food for insects, too.

They caught me today. I didn't bother much. The supermarket is a room, and I wanted to feel the wind. I have felt sun, too. I am still blinded and my skin is burned. My clothes are muddy from running over ponds. I ran away just to see the world.
I know what red looks like, but today, in the light of the day, it seems magnificent. The Machine draws in a drop of my blood and it quietly hums. I know that I am going to die soon, and its forecast about the way it's going to happen is insignificant to me. The air in my lungs is freed from mildew and earthy stink. I can sense the smell of sweaty uniforms and machine oil from the guns. The worms, humidity and nothingness have disappeared. I just wish that the light dazzles me again soon. To surprise me and to burn me down to ashes, too.
The Machine ejects the result of its humming.
Everything makes sense in the warmth of the sun. I understand that I love because love is what we want it to be.
I love the touch of these cold chains and this strong guard's grip.
I love how light plays with the spider in the corner of the room and the dark colours of the only picture I have ever seen.
I love these bruises on my knees and this drop of blood the Machine has taken away from me.
I love the expressionless eyes of soldiers and all of their colours, too.
I love this window to the life I have never lived and all the people in it whose drops of blood carry the fate of oblivious detainees.
I love him, too, although we have never met and never will we.
So what if I am naive?
At least I am sure.

Whispering of surprised soldiers is spreading through the room. The sound of the prediction is wandering from one mouth to another and then it hits the attic's inevitability. Through the echo of the forecast, a delicate fly is flapping with her wings. Around her, strong walls are vibrating in the rhythm of my pulse:

"Love will kill you, Anne. Love and nothing else."


D.

[Scordisk]

Dobro zvuči na engleskom:D