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Worm-infested cherries part 4.

Worm-infested cherries part 4.

By Biljana Malesevic

I tried to pretend nothing has changed. All I can see now was always there, I was just not paying attention to it, like with those worms in cherries. So, one evening I prepared a beautiful velvet, short dress, in rich red wine color, and toyed with the idea to pair it with suede boots in the same color. Hold these clothes for some time in hands as if I intended to wear it, then put them back in the closet. Icy wind was beating against the blinds and I was absolutely and totally sober. Several times I reached for a bottle of whiskey, but every time I'd spilled it back into the bottle. Cherries syndrome. As a punishment, I was sober. Finally, I decided for tight but warm, black trousers, knee high white boots and body hugging, soft, shaggy white sweater. That was actually my ski outfit from previous winter. Refusing to look in a mirror, I frenetically put some lipstick thinking all the time what it could contain. With trembling hands I made my hair and dressed like that decided to go to disco. I did not want to see "Moonlight" disco not even on a postcard anymore, so I decided for "Jupiter". I regretted my choice of clothes as soon as I entered the main hall. It was like in a sauna in there. Sweat was pouring down my back and thighs, creating unsightly dark patches under the armpits. It looked like I have mistakenly landed in Cairo instead of Rekjavik. Around me almost naked girls were dancing swinging hips and bare breasts, and though like few weeks ago I was one of them, I could not help but wonder what this fertility dance actually means but to lure lustful glances from males who were in obvious minority, sitting in booths, each with a bottle of some alcohol in hand. Nausea and weakness from several days of fasting made me to withdraw into a corner and back slid down the wall to a crouching position. Noise was unbearable and I hated disco strobe-lights. I tried to get up in order to get to exit and escape from this hell but bumped into obstacle in the form of short but bulky creature with smoothly shaved head. He smelled of stale sweat, with stained black T-shirt, several gold chains around his neck and starred at me.

- "You’ll right?" – he mumbled looking at me like I am some kind of artifact.

- "No" –I panted barely- "I have to go."

- "Well you’re stuffed as if you’re going to North Pole. Wanna some drink to put you in mood? "

- "No, thank you" -I said, although experience taught me that simple refusal is never enough with guys like him. I tried to get away and get lost in the crowd. Mistake.

- '' Where are you goin’? I asked nicely to have a drink. You should be nice to me when I am offering to pay you drink. You look sick anyway. "

- "Let me go!" - I said almost desperately. I was very tired. Without alcohol-crutch in that terrible smoky and overheated atmosphere of a pressure cooker, all I wanted was to get out. All around me were shiny buttocks in tiny, delicate panties and little skirts. Absurd as it is, but these clothes revealed more than complete nudity. I started to get seriously dizzy.

- You don’t talk to me like that, bitch! "- creature armed with gold chains and big hands slammed me against the wall. I could feel his greasy hands penetrating under my shirt. I could scream and kick and no one would hear me in deafening noise and darkness. He could have killed me and no one would notice anything until everyone left and cleaning team in the morning would find my body lying in a pool of my own blood. I looked him in the eyes, but they revealed nothing, just emptiness. He reached with his  hand into my pants.

- "You women are all the same, just want money," –he snarled in my face- "If I was loaded, you would not play hard to get. You can dress up like a nun, but you still want one thing do you? "

He tried to look strong and powerful, poor bastard, but to me he looked like a miserable, sweaty and drunk bunch of meat with quite modest intellectual abilities, heated hormones that were blocking his remaining brain function. His empty-minded view of this situation almost caused me to burst out laughing, but then he probably would have thrust knife in my stomach. And he surely had a knife, they all did. I was limp and silent until he relaxed a little and his hormones rendered him helpless, then hit him in the testicles with my knee as strong as I could. He screamed in high pitch, like a girl, and immediately fell to his knees. I laughed nervously, pushed him away and hurried toward the exit. As I struggled through the crowd, a few of his clones tried to stop me, using virtually the same approach. One girl hugged me and tried to kiss me with her intoxicating alcoholic lips, female flesh rippled around me like a jelly, bare and smelling of pheromones. Hands were pulling me back, slippery with sweat. At one point, someone kicked me in the back, and almost knocked me down. One man whose advances I refused even slapped so hard that blood poured from my nose and leaked on white sweater. I was thinking how I'm going to wash it off while I worked my way toward the exit. It was hard to believe that not so long ago, going out like this was truly enjoyable.

Worm-infested cherries part 3.

Worm-infested cherries part 3.

By Biljana Malesevic

I woke up to the light of day, which came through the tall windows of the foyer, and waited for someone to open a disco and let me escape, which happened later that afternoon. I managed to escape unnoticed, stumbling through the snow, cold and starving, walking in my little black dress a few miles to my apartment, while passersby looked at me and talked about today's awful youth.

Of course I loved my life as it was and did not want anything to change. I chose and organised my life as I was privileged enough to be able to do that. The problem was that since that night in the disco I could not unsee some things that I haven’t noticed before. Like in those riddle pictures where you need to find the hidden dolphin, but once you find it, you can no longer unsee it. I slept the whole day, then whole week, trying not to think too much, not to look out the window and not to analyse things I knew. I was convincing myself that I wasn’t hungry when I was messing with food on the plate. The less I know, I reasoned, I'll be happier. On Monday, about half past eight o'clock in the morning, I was going to work with poor confidence, dressed as always, ready to continue life where it left off.

I noticed them immediately, two of them in familiar, expensive, silvery-grey suits coming out of the still unopened shopping centre "m" in the city centre. In a hurry and armed with briefcases, they passed right in front of me and marched into a parked black "Lexus". I covered my nose and mouth with a handkerchief, as if I'm going to sneeze, almost unconsciously trying to hide, so they don’t notice me. I've never before noticed the men in silvery-grey suits, but from that night in the disco I began to see them everywhere. Coming out of hypermarkets in early mornings, before the opening, entering markets after the the centre is closed, marching in hurry into bars and restaurants outside of working hours… it seemed they are everywhere. It’s disturbing to think how these people are messing with our food and drinks. My job wasn’t difficult, so I was just spending hours avoiding conflicts or serious work, as usual. Weekends were the worst. I would spent hours getting ready to go out to finally give up and go to sleep.

A few weeks passed in that manner, I was sitting in front of the mirror, starring at my face and trying to convince myself that I'm not dead, and that these creatures in grey suits were not some fallen angels who will escort me to purgatory and prepare me for hell. I started laughing at reflection of my suffering stare, my face which without makeup looked haggard and older than it really was, and I reached for a bottle of whiskey. Almost without thinking, I poured two fingers in a glass and brought it to my lips. Whiskey for promiscuity? Vodka for promiscuity? What is beer for? Brandy? Food? Cosmetics? Anything? I could not drink that stuff anymore. I felt nauseous, my stomach knotted and I vomited on the bathroom floor before I managed to get to the toilet bowl. The men in grey suits weren’t only dolphins in the image. Ordinary people on the streets that I normally didn’t even notice, now had noticeably tired faces, which look of obvious apathy, lethargy and defeat. Young people looked aggressive, their fists clenched, faces scrunched, like they are going to attack. It felt like I was in a movie about paranoia.

Author of this blog - tired AF - Question for readers

Should I write more or should I stop?

Worm-infested cherries part 2.

Worm-infested cherries part 2.

By Biljana Malesevic

A long time ago, I was young woman who smoked a pack of expensive cigarettes a day, drank whiskey and best foreign beer. I wore silk thongs and short skirts, and I could put on make up so skillfully, that I looked like movie star. I used to sneak out of some stranger’s apartment early in the morning, wanting only a hot shower to rinse a strange smell from my body and to forget that night. And soon, I would did it all again, with some other person. Each night, other body smell, other skin, hair, some other body movements, different habits. There is something strangely comforting in habits, as you always know what to expect and surprises are rarely encountered. Just because of that, I never let myself relax and indulge in routine and predictable schedule. Once the chain of habits is broken, for whatever reason, and that always happens, it’s terribly painful. I've learned that at young age and therefore I’ve never allowed myself to get used to anyone or anything. Our habits control us and each change causes frustration. I used to change my lovers as soon as I began remembering the smell of them, as soon as I began expecting the meeting with them, as soon as I knew when it will happen and how it will look like. As soon as I realised that I knew unique map of his or hers body. I used to change apartments as soon as I would get tired of the walls, and when the look out the window would remain same for too long. I tried not to have any habits, never to make plans, never to expect anything from people and situations. It was almost a sure way to be protected from pain.

Oddly enough, even though I was the epitome of unreliable and selfish person, people liked me. Maybe  that attitude which shows that you don’t care about anyone or anyone's opinion except your own gives to other people a deceptive sense that you must have valid reason for superior, selfish, royal behaviour. If you are self-conscious, quiet and take care of other people's emotions and needs, people think that you are inferior to them, they think of you as their doormat because you are presenting yourself as inferior to them. And that also I learned very early on, in hard way.

One February night, 12 years ago, I was coming out of “Moonlight” disco around three o'clock in the morning in the company of three young, good-looking men who were competing which one will take me to his apartment. It was below zero Celsius outside (32 F), heavily snowing and icy wind was cutting flesh to the bones. I wore a little black dress, soft black suede boots, and pretty much nothing else. My three cavaliers wore ski jackets filled with feathers and ankle high snow boots. My mind was blurred with vodka and whiskey, and through a drunken haze I saw only bright smiles, heard only compliments and promises, felt only heated hormones and expectations. I felt a warm hands in gloves on my frozen body, warm kisses on my neck and shoulders.

A moment later, as it seemed, I woke up in a dark, smelly room. Have I passed out from drinking, cold, or from the fact that I haven’t been eating for at least two days, or it was all that together, I didn’t know. Anyway, some "good soul", perhaps one of my three cavaliers, apparently decided that it wasn’t right for me to freeze to death in the February snow, in my little black dress, heels and a set of makeup, so he dragged me, judging by the smell, in a public toilet. To be honest, in this moment, death by being frozen and at least temporarily preserved in ice, did not seem like a bad idea. Long life is overrated. I tried to get up on my feet, but as soon as I straightened my head, nausea got me and before I had time to react, disgusting, sour mash of vomit started to come up my esophagus. I quickly turned my head down so it would end up on the floor instead of on my dress. Still a bit groggy but now somewhat more sober, I got up and stumbled around in the dark to find the switch or at least a sink. In the darkness, I managed to find a sink and refresh with some cold water. After some tumbling in the dark, I found the exit door and entered a corridor. The corridor was quiet and in total darkness, but conveniently narrow so that you can touch both walls with hands. Not long after, I was in some semi-lighted room that I recognised as “Moonlight” foyer. The room was eerily empty, and I've already noticed a comfortable couch as a possible place to sleep if it turns out that exit is locked. Without people, decoration and lighting, the foyer looked really pathetic, just cheap plastic and scratched glass, much like most human individuals who came into this disco. Weak foyer light was coming from the disco main dance hall and I could hear some people talking in there. Still unsteady, I was strongly tempted to just lie down and sleep on the couch in the lobby, but I managed to stagger to the big dance hall, hoping that there is still a chance to suffer hangover in my own apartment instead of here. Four men in strange and obviously very expensive silvery-gray suits stood in the dance hall not far from where I was hiding. Two of them were tall and slim, one rather short and heavy built and there was also a chubby older guy obviously much older than the other three. The hall was in semi-darkness, and I could not see their faces well, but I could hear them.

- "I don’t fucking care what your reasons are, John" - said older, chubby man - "what statistics tell me is that we did not achieve adequate results, which means heads are going to fly. Yours first, if this trend continues."

- "The dosage is difficult to assess, Daniel" – said one of two tall men - "You know how it is with people, unlike pigs or primates. Everyone reacts differently. "

- "Your job is to determine dosages" - said Daniel- "you know who you're dealing with, you got 'Moonlight', with certain, specific type of people to control. You did not get subway or shopping center, for God’s sake!"

- "Whiskey for promiscuity," - said short bulky man - "I think vodka also could do. If you ask me, I would set hormone level at twenty percent instead of fifteen. "

- "Twenty percent would create chaos," – John protested - "if you get contraceptives, plus sex toys, it would be good for profits, but I wouldn’t be hasty with high dosages. Don’t forget the incident on January 2011. And you should keep an eye on level of apathy of the working class. "

- "You can take medications and drugs for sexually transmitted diseases, and add it to the profit. As for my dosages for the working class, I never received any complaints. When I get them, I will revise the dose. Product range of contamination this year is much wider than ever. "

- "We have worst results in the area," - Daniel said, his voice was dead-serious, and scary - "I'm not interested in collateral damage, that's not our problem. Human sacrifice can always be justified and covered, there are Cleaners to worry about it, but the numbers remain to be seen. Your goal is known, how will you reach it, it's a matter of your strategy. "

I shook my head, convinced I was dreaming, or hallucinating in delirium tremens. If they see me, I'm a dead person, and what's worse, no one will be surprised if they find my corpse in the snow in front of the disco "Moonlight". Maybe they won’t even consider the autopsy to be necessary.

- "During last year there were too many cover-ups”-  John said - "I can’t take more chances."

Daniel turned to him and from where I was standing, I could see one sinister eye, yellow as in reptiles that flashed angrily towards John. His skin looked scarred with some unusual texture, like in a lizard. I retreated a bit in darkness of foyer afraid that this yellow eye will see me. His voice froze me even though the threat was clearly directed to John.

- "You're getting too soft, Johnny boy, and your results suffer. We're losing control over the sector, and it is your responsibility. Remember that you are only human, like those you are poisoning, you are not one of us. Your motive is money and easy life. We can train other humans like you without any problem to replace you in short term, you're not irreplaceable. "

There was silence. I squeezed into a dark corner of the foyer pushing my own fist in my mouth.

- "I'll get it." - said John, defeated.

I heard footsteps moving away from me, thank God! Shortly afterwards, the light from the hall went out, leaving me in complete darkness. I sighed and curled up behind one of the couches to wait for dawn.

Worm-infested cherries part 1.

Worm-infested cherries part 1.

By Biljana Malesevic

Once when I was a child, I got a bag of ripe, sweet cherries. I immediately started to eat them, without so much of bothering to wash them. I devoured each one and leisurely spat pits as I ate. I ate almost half a kilo until I opened one by hands, just out of boredom, because I was already somewhat satisfied. Then I discovered that each single sweet fruit had a small whitish worm inside. Although I have previously eaten dozens of cherries, I suddenly lost a desire to eat even one more.

I live in Slatina, distant and lone village, for more than twelve years, but I am still not fully accustomed to the rural way of life. Switching from the city child used to late nights out, supermarkets and shopping malls, constant screaming of city noise and office work, to a peaceful life in a modest farmhouse can take years, probably decades. I haven’t still managed to curb urban child in me. Still, sometimes I get the urge to spruce up for the evening, splash my face with make-up like I am going to act in the Japanese theatre, and wear my sluttiest pieces of clothing. Masked like that, I would go looking for some good piece of meat, which was usually standing half naked in some smoke-filled disco. Sometimes I feel nostalgic for  safe, comfortable, office work in State companies, where very little work is done, but money is good. At night silence bothers me. It amazes me that even after twelve years, I have not been able to get used to the lack of human-made noise, absence of people around me, people everywhere closely around me. I miss a feeling of not being alone even if you feel lonely, even if you do not see anyone nearby. Growling engines on the roads, chairs scraping the floors somewhere and slamming steps from the apartment above mine, shouts from the street and from the hallway of the building… All those sounds telling me "you're not really alone." It tells me that people around me, humanity is around me. You know, it was a nice feeling, a feeling that you're not really alone, even if you are.

Did you notice how many horror films begin in some deserted area, somewhere behind God’s back, somewhere where there are no other people except the main characters and possibly a killer? Notice how many horror movies begin with a group of young people who went on a trip to a place where they hope that nobody would disturb them, and not a soul around? Abandoned, quiet town is a place where terrible things happen. I can confirm that it isn’t so. Terrible things happen also in the middle of a large city,  in suburbs, or urban areas. The horrors are happening in front of people who do not want to notice it, as it is easier not to see what was next to them and around them if that is something horrible. When you are screaming in someone’s face and that someone is checking the messages on cell phone, it’s more horrifying than screaming when no one is around.

I got up from bed at five o'clock in the morning, went to feed chickens and water the garden, then to hoe some plants. I like to work with vegetables and fruits. Not so much with chickens, because their naive trust in people depresses me. All scruffy and in sweats, still groggy from sleep, I was wandering around rows of onion and lettuce. They look nice arranged in straight rows. During the first months of my arrival in this village, I used to have vivid fantasies about good-looking village boys and their abs, their smell and wild sex with them. Such fantasies are long gone. I don’t even think about how I look, use the mirror only to brush my teeth and comb my hair. I laugh at myself imagining how it would be if city-me would meet this horrifying, neglected, rural, older version of me and how city-me would hate what I see. I stick my hands in the soil, grabbing between earthworms and roaches. The sun has not risen yet.