Dark

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.