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Last year, I wrote a text, and published it as an article here (ko hoće, može da pročita na srpskom ako do sada nije). Someone asked if I could translate it to English, and I said I would try to, when I get some time. I finally got to it, and here's the result. It's a long read, so if you ever bother going all the way, you have my sincere gratitude. If you deem it worthy on top of that, you may also throw in a shout or two. Also, any kind of feedback is welcome. In short, it's a story of forbidden love, agony and war. Yes, you're guessing right - it's rather pathetic. I hope it evokes empathy in an average reader. Also, it's partially based on actual events, whereas some other parts are completely fictitious. Thus, you have reality and fiction entwined before yourself.

Here's a couple of notes, to make it easier to follow the story:
1. Nikola - masculine Serbian given name, equivalent to Nicolas; also happens to be mine; see Google translator for pronunciation
2. the cherubim - the second highest rank of angels in the Christian tradition; these angels are often linked with melodious singing; there's also a religious song named The Cherubic Hymn
3. archangel Michael - an archistratege (literally "first general" or "high general") of the God's heavenly army, an important angel; according to tradition, he mingles amongst the humans in this world and helps them
4. the Orthodox Christians cross themselves by joining the thumb, the index finger, and the middle finger - symbolizing the Holy Trinity; these three fingers are, obviously, very important; it's also important for a certain part of the text
5. "sjellin qentë" - meaning "bring the dogs out" in a certain language
6. Mihajlo - masculine Serbian given name, equivalent to Michael; see Google translator for pronunciation
7. Anđić - Serbian surname, deriving from the noun "anđeo", meaning "angel"; see Google translator for pronunciation
8. this text is not Orthodox Christian propaganda; had to mention that, because, as you see, I'm mentioning angels and such; worry not - this text will not nor aims to change your religious points of view, assuming that you are religious, that is

Let me just quickly suggest the music to listen to in background while reading: let the two of these play simultaneously.

http://www.rainymood.com/

http://www.listenonrepeat.com/watch/?v=IazLexjFpsQ

OK, now that all the cards are on the table, on we go, to the text itself.

PROLOGUE

"Tick tock tick tock"... "Nikola?", I hear an enchanting voice - somewhat curious, as it struggles on its way to my ears, through the squealing and the heavy, hot-as-hell air. I get weak in the knees, they totter, and I collapse straight down into the concrete...

WHY DOST THOU, LORD, ALLOW ME TO SEE WHAT I SHALL WISH FOR, IF I MUST NOT HAVE IT?

I met her one lovely December night. The winter had been besieging the city for days already, the icy frost crept deep into the bones, and it seemed as if the grim, lethal cold had been purging every single thing that moved. The hoarfrost was sticking onto the eyelashes and brows, much like the nostrils were sticking together when breathing, as the olfactory perception faded. It was always interesting to me that I always found it much easier to cope with the extremely low temperatures, than with those of July, that make a man literally boil in the city's tumult. Hence, this little ice age felt good. It was snowing that night - the snow was so dense that one was able to see no more than five or six meters to their front; those massive flakes of entirely dry snow that we used to spend long carefree hours playing in it after it would stop falling when we were kids, until we would catch cold, bringing troubles upon our parents.

We were sitting in a room. Her, my girlfriend, another one of their colleagues, and myself. Even though it was a small room, the radiator couldn't manage to warm it up. We were rubbing our hands together and blowing on them incessantly, striving to aid our blood on the long and strenuous journey towards the fingertips. Amidst all that cold, there was still one warm point there. The warmest. It wasn't the radiator, which struggled, in despair, and to no avail, to stand up to the glacial air, devouring the electricity, connected to a jack, resemblant in all its agony to a severely sick patient, with a hose in his hand extending to an infusion bag, receiving infusion, the cold gnawing at him, awaiting the final hour of his demise.

Nay. It was her face, endlessly warm and bright, which my eyes stuck upon, even though I've been trying to turn them aside as they persistently flew back to this splendor that could, it seemed to me, make the most adamant of the ices melt. Many a man would condemn me in my fervent pathos - delirium even, if you will; she was, after all, an ordinary girl - some would say an average one - but to my eyes... To my eyes she appeared to be magically perfect, all with every sweet little flaw of hers that you would effortlessly find, most certainly. Her complexion was pale, which made her skin overwhelmingly reminiscent of the glitter of that same snow outside, still persistently and heavily falling, whilst her raven black hair resembled the night that covered it. The soul that I saw in her eyes was arousing unease in me, but still making me feel like the most serene man in this world. Have I ever seen fairer eyes?

I was longing for my homeland. I still am. And she was from there... God, when did I last hear our accent... Which you would say sounds hilarious, no doubt...

We were singing, I remember. You would've, of course, said that both her voice and singing were just average, as well. And to me... To me, that voice was irresistibly enchanting, her song nothing short of that of a choir of cherubim...

I had my head in the clouds, flew high in the sky. But, as it always goes, the wings disappeared, and I hit the ground. And a heavy fall it was. I've been in a three year-long relationship at that point! Yes, we had our frictions. Certainly, I experienced various letdowns, lost many of my ideals. True - unfortunately, we were already getting cold and drifting apart from each other. True, we were arguing more and more often. But none of that changed the fact that I still had a girlfriend. Nor that she was her friend... Don't get me wrong - I've never been a bastard towards my girlfriend. Believe it or don't - I treasured her the most, as one would treasure a drop of pure water in their palm during the worst of droughts. But a human can not reign sovereignly over their emotions. Oh, have I really became what I am? I'm feeble, lacking the strength to admit that I'm guilty, and feel the need to justify myself... The fear gnawed at me... I felt the storm was brewing up...

It seemed to me as if an hour lasted for a minute, a minute for a second, that night... We set off for our respective places, and I saw her off at the buss stop. We were waiting, the buss was late, and I subconsciously wished for it to be late even more. Yet, the goosebumps pervaded my whole body and I felt as if I didn't know what words to utter...

In the end, though, it eventually showed up, dragging slowly down the driveway. We said goodbye to each other, she climbed up the three steps and the door closed behind her. I waved my hand, looking at her direction, and stood there motionlessly afterwards. Not until the yellow box taking her away from me completely faded in the distance did I move. Then I snapped out of it, wiped off a whole snowdrift stacked upon my head, shoulders and sleeves and had my eyes nearly closed in an endeavor to catch sight of the opposite side of the zebra I was about to cross.

THOU SHALT NOT COVET

I started visiting my girlfriends faculty more frequently, at the expense of the lectures I was supposed to attend. I knew the reason for this, yet I didn't want to admit it to myself that I did. My feelings were getting more tempestuous and intense by the hour, and my girlfriend's talks of her virtues were not helpful at all; later on, when the tempest in me became evident, these talks metamorphosed into the talks about the flaws, but those pushed me even deeper into the waves.

The New Year was upon us. You can assume whom did I ask her number from, to send her a text message and wish her a joyous holiday... And then came an avalanche of other messages... She could see my affection in some of those, despite my effort to hide it. She tried to text sense into me, explaining that it was just a temporary "phase", which will pass very soon...

She saw, with the time passing by, that my relationship was in serious troubles, 'cause she often witnessed our quarrels. Naturally, she thought she was the culprit. For that reason, one day, she sent me an SMS, asking that we stopped texting each other... Even though I felt shattered, her wish to remain untainted before her friend made me hold her in even higher regard. I admitted to her that I have indeed evolved certain feelings towards her, and promised to do my best to quell them. And then I stopped going to their faculty as well. It was only a few times that I saw her afterwards. But she never left my thoughts. Just how many times have I been praying for her, how many candles have I lit for her health... Oh, how would you laugh if you knew about all my little rituals tied with her... I was left crucified between the reality and the dreams, between what I craved and what was right...

The time was passing by and some things were changing. My relationship came to an end. My ex found happiness and peace at last, and I was glad for her. Even though I've been treating her the best I knew, the end of us was a real torment for both. However, some things remained the same. I'm still thinking about her every day, I'm still praying for her... But I can't recall the color of her eyes anymore!

I don't have her number anymore. The only thing that's left of her is a photograph I found on the Internet. A plain image, made using a webcam... Blurry. No makeup, unruly hair, a plain white cotton T-shirt... But she wasn't looking straight towards the lens, and thus those warm, sparkling eyes are not clearly visible... A plain image, yet so special...

I'm lifeless. Like a dead man walking. The only thing that keeps me going on is the hope of seeing her again... Her and her eyes.

THE TIME IS RUNNING OUT FOR EVERY ONE OF US, WE'RE ONLY UNABLE TO HEAR OUR CLOCK TICKING

"... had the special police forces dispatched to the administrative crossings. The number of casualties remains unknown as of yet. The head officials of the state are expecting the conflict to escalate and announcing that radical measures are to be undertaken, since, as they say, the negotiations that have lasted for three years already, - and those have started after the previous attempt of the opposing side to take over these control points - were fruitless..." I turn off the TV and, after taking two pills, I go to bed. The scenario is the same as always - after I've prayed for God to keep her safe from all harm, I'm wriggling in bed for hours, sighing, getting up, walking around all upset, then getting back to bed. Eventually I fall asleep and dream the same dream over and over again: I'm walking, tired, it's pitch-dark all around me; the only thing I see is a giant clock, and I can hear nothing but clattering of its seconds han😛 "tick tock tick tock" and unbearable squealing. I'm sensing heat, feeling shortness of breath. The clock stops, and in that very moment I hear a divinely sweet voice calling out my name. I desperately want to turn around and see who is this calling me, but alas - I can't move... The voice sounds so unnervingly familiar...

And then I wake up, dripping with sweat. I've been wondering for days what is the meaning of this dream. What is this clock? Why does it stop? If God wanted us to know the hour of our departure, we would know it. But, what is the meaning of this dream? Would it be better if we knew when will we perish? Would even greater trepidation than that when we first started to comprehend the concept of death as kids, restlessness taking over us, pervade us then? Oh, Lord, forgive me for my feeble faith... And why do I hear that charming voice...?

WHAT DO WE LIVE AND DIE FOR?

"It's not pounding tonight", I said. "Yeah, 'tis calm", he replied, only for that awkward silence to settle in again. "If only this fog would disperse...", I uttered, I don't know why myself. "Yeah", he answered. Leaning against the walnut tree we were standing under, I aske😛 "did you know the Ancient Slavs believed that the ancestral souls live in shadowy trees?" "Hmpf", he muttered, inhaling the last bit of smoke of his cigarette, threw the stub into the ground, trampled on it, then went off down the hill, to patrol at the foot of it. I pulled out that picture of hers from my pocket and glanced upon it, put it back in place, then set my palms and my forehead against the old, gnarled walnut tree, and whispere😛 "pray to God for her, ancestors". After that, I hung my rifle over my shoulder and, as I was about to go to the other side, a strong burst of wind struck from out of nowhere (perhaps it had to do something with myself wishing for the fog to clear), and one of the branches dropping down all the way to the ground, carried by the wind, struck me, pulling me towards the trunk, as if hugging me. I picked up my beret that fell off, shook the snow off of it and put it on my head, then slowly left down the other side of the hill.

A few hours later, my relief was there, so I made my way up the hill, to the church. I went in and stood before a fresco portraying archangel Michael. I prayed to him, then crossed myself and left standing there a few minutes more, looking at him.

I moved onwards, to this house hit by a grenade, where we were stationed, took a sleeping bag and tucked into it to get some sleep. And then the dream again... "Tick tock tick tock..."

THE CRUELTY OF THIS WORLD IS CRUSHING, AND THUS: IF YOU HAVE NO LOVE - YOU GAIN NOTHING

"Quickly!" - someone shouted as we ran headlong towards the trench. When we finally traversed the slope that lead to it, which we were sitting ducks on, I threw myself against the muddy wall of the trench. It's whistling, cracking and roaring all around. Rounds flying over my head. Man down. I'm passing a mag to one of my fellow unit members who's out of ammunition, then turning to the other side and starting to shoot. Amidst the total disarray, I hear a sinister, heavy whistle over my head, then a blunt stroke in the mud behind my back. We're all turning around and, while the enemy is shooting like there's no tomorrow, for a brief moment, we're all standing still, fixedly watching a black nugget that just landed in the trench in disbelief. I somehow managed to pull myself together, so I lunged onto it, and as soon as i clutched it, I extended my arm to throw it away as far as I possibly could. It blasted a few meters away from me, in mid-air. Unbearable pain took over me, my hand firstly. I fell down and lost my consciousness.

WE'RE ALIVE AS MUCH AS THERE IS FAITH, LOVE AND HOPE IN US

"Tick tock tick tock..." "Hey... Nikola!", a whispering cry snapped me out of my dream. My ears were whistling and buzzing. It was pitch-dark around me. My body was still overcame by the pain. I set my arms against the ground, trying to sit up, when a horrible cry came out of my chest. With my left hand, I touched the right one, realizing there's no thumb nor index finger on it. I recognized the voice that woke me up - it was one of the men from my unit, so I aske😛 "Where are we?" "In the basement... They seized us... They were too many... There's only six of us left...", he said, telling me who else was in the basement along with the two of us. I sat up somehow, leaned against the damp wall, which smelled like mold, and then started palming my uniform in an upset manner. I pulled out a rectangular piece of slick paper, but then I realized I won't be able to see it... Then I started thinking... "Brown... Black? No, brown... Green. Black...", I wrestled with my thoughts until I fell asleep again. "Tick tock tick tock..."

WE PAY FOR OUR SINS ON OUR OWN, ONLY THE METHOD AND THE MOMENT OF THE PAYMENT ARE BOTH UNKNOWN TO US

"Sjellin qentë!", I awoke hearing the yelling outside. The buzzing in my ears was still there - I was even under impression that my hearing is not all that good. I had no idea how long I've been sleeping. The door opened and my eyes got dazzled by unspeakably bright light. While I was trying to sit up, the two silhouettes stepped in; I was able to vaguely discern rifles in their hands. Everyone got upset and disturbed; I tried to exploit the moment and quickly pulled out the picture, but before my eyes managed to adapt to the light, one of the two that entered the basement noticed me and plucked it out of my hand. Then they started beating us with their weapons, shouting "Get up! Out!" I got up, staggering in torment on my way through the door frame, behind which a couple more of the armed men awaited us. Raising my eyes towards the sky, I realized that the light, which seemed so bright to me before, was in fact quite dim, for black clouds were sailing above my head. They shoved us out, to a huge fire, set in the middle of the yard. Reaching it, I stumbled and fell down on my knees, in the mud. The man who took the picture from me down in basement approached, pulled me on my hair, brought the pic close before my eyes, but facing it so that I could only see the back of it; he said something I couldn't understand, then threw it to the fire. I was struck with rage, but it was soon overcame by grief, so my head lethargically drooped on my chest, and I remained kneeling there. I could feel my cheeks were wet, but I couldn't tell for sure if there were those saline drops of water that purify the human soul which dried up in my eyes long ago on them, or if it was the phlegm of this man who just spat in my face whilst burning the photo. I was a dead man kneeling. I knew what awaited us, but I had no willpower to think over the possible ways to stand up to them. Crushed with thoughts, I didn't hear what they were speaking anymore, nor did I pay any heed to the carnage around me. All around, there were shouts, applauding, noise of knives being unsheathed, death rattle coming from the throats of my friends, gunshots. I couldn't lift my head. After a few minutes of kneeling, I felt a sharp pain in my scalp, and my head swung backwards. They grabbed my hair again. Before my eyes, the fire was still burning, and I tried to recreate her face in it. One of them approached and thrust a torch into it. When he uttered something incomprehensible afterwards and turned towards me, with unanimous approval of the "audience" that stood all around, occasionally shooting bursts of bullets into the sky, I figured what was about to happen and creeps pervaded me. The hot, glowing flame of the torch was just before my eyes the next second already, and after that - darkness, followed by a gruesome scream that echoed several times. That hope that kept me going - that kept me alive - had died. I was a dead man. Merely a dead man. The end did not draw nigh. It already passed. I was now just waiting for one of them to put a bullet in my head, to slice my throat, or to hit me on the back of my head with the butt of his rifle. They were howling, while my head fell on my chest again, due to unbearable pain, and I was kneeling motionlessly, with my hands lying limply by my body, almost out of consciousness. And then, through the squealing in my ears, I heard a shot and felt a piercing pain in my chest that pushed me back and knocked me down into the ground. I realized I was shot. I feel the blood coming profusely out of my chest, but I'm still conscious. In that moment, another shot, but from far away. Then again. Then again. I hear shouts and the noise of running steps. And then a shout: "Quickly, see if there are any survivors!" Someone grabs my shoulder: "He's alive! Major Mihajlo, he's alive! Over here, quickly!" Major Mihajlo Anđić. I've heard stories about him. A true hero, they say. The medic is bandaging me, and the major speaks: "Hold on, boy! You'll be alright!" I'm catching his arm and saying: "I am dead, major... Let me go!" He grasps my hand and answers: "There, there, boy, there's life before us!", then turns away and asks: "Are there any more survivors?"... Silence. "Tick tock tick tock..."

CAN THE DEAD LIVE?

When I woke up, they called for the doctor, who explained to me where I was.

"… brought you down here, to the city hospital. The penetrating wound in your chest was, luckily, not fatal. Still, certain complications with the cardiac muscle have arisen, so your cardiovascular problems risk factor has significantly increased. You'll get a therapy that will help you, and we hope to see you get well very soon."

"… you will sit in a soundproof booth and put on a headset, while I'll remotely emit sound signals in form of whistling tones. As soon as you register a sound in one of your ears, lift your left or your right hand, accordingly. OK?" I sit for at least a minute, then I hear a sound coming from my right side. I raise my hand...

"… that the buzzing in your ears is, unfortunately, permanent, and your auditory perception is impaired by 21%. However, these problems could be solved with hearing aids."

After I've spent a few days in the hospital, they informed me that it was time for me to go home. I asked them to take me to the church, up in the hill, which the major's men told me was damaged when we were captured – the cross from the dome was severed, and the door was hit by a grenade... The eyes are scratched off of frescoes...

I enter the church and stand before that fresco with archangel Michael on it. A blinded soldier before a blinded general. I stand, the same way that I stood the last time. But I do not look at him. Because of the ruined eyes. I do not cross myself. Because of the ruined hand. I do not pray. Because of the ruined soul.

EPILOGUE

I'm walking down the streets of the city. The city where I studied. I'm passing by the building where her faculty was. The day is hot, it's July. I don't remember if I took my pills today, nor if I took too much of them. My chest is somehow tightening and I'm finding it hard to breathe. Must be this damn heat. Oh, is this whistling unbearable! The city is alive, only a dead man walks in its tumult. I'm walking, step by step, and but one sound disturbs the whistling in my ears, the howling of the engines, and the shouts coming from everywhere – the clatter of my white cane, which I'm striking left and right with: "Tick tock tick tock"... "Nikola?", I hear an enchanting voice - somewhat curious, as it struggles on its way to my ears, through the squealing and the heavy, hot-as-hell air. I get weak in the knees, they totter, and I collapse straight down into the concrete... Together with the sound of my cane, a muted sound that silently, yet inexorably echoed inside my chest disappeared as well. While I was falling, she tried to catch me, and my hand fell over hers by chance. I felt a piece of metal on one of her fingers before she pulled her hand back, grabbing me by the the arm. It felt as if that metal pushed against my chest with all its supernatural weight. As soon as I hit the ground, I fell asleep. I'm dreaming... But that dream that brought restlessness into my heart is there no more. There's no clock ticking. Have you ever dreamed of flying? Oh, what a feeling that is! I'm dreaming: I'm flying above myself; I'm raising higher and higher above; around this lower me, down there, a crowd has gathered; she's there, above the lower me, as well; I'm happy beyond means to see her, but I'm sad at the same time, 'cause she looks very upset. And I'm feeling sleepy. Oh, how sleepy I'm feeling...

Now I know what is the color of her eyes.



For eventual shout:
DEAD MAN WALKING
http://skr.rs/adeadmanwalking



For You: If You ever stumble upon this text, know this: I'm a milliner of love. All my zeroes are taken away, not just one... You'll remember and understand...

Yours truly,

Casper