Noć Slomljenih Strela:
"Prsten, Puška"
Kupio sam prsten, odmah zatim kupio sam pušku.
Night of the Broken Arrows:
"The Ring, The Rifle"
I bought a ring, then immediately bought a rifle.
Zoran stared at me blankly, Nebojša wistfully.
"Guys… this is the 21st century, after all… Respect for everything, but our paths split here… Goodbye!"
I said it slowly, convincingly enough that they understood I wasn’t joking.
I slipped the ring onto my pinky finger. It gleamed ominously, whispering its secrets.
I cocked the rifle and rested it against my right leg, my finger on the trigger.
I walked slowly down the middle of the main street. The neon lights flickered, striking a contrast against the dark sky and forming an interesting composition.
I knew exactly what needed to be done. The weight on my heart had been burning for centuries.
The moment of doubt was over; the scorpion in my pocket finally spoke, making it clear that hesitation had no place anymore.
She had to disappear from the face of the earth. Reducing her to ashes wouldn’t be enough. Her betrayal was far worse—she must wander forever, never arriving anywhere, her suffering equal to utter chaos, where hair is torn out, and heads smash against walls.
That’s where I would send her.
In their wisdom, the ravens understood that something resembling blood would soon flow beneath them. They settled in the treetops, unwilling to witness what was to come.
Sweat plastered my hair to my forehead as I waited for her to appear.
A strong wind blew, carrying street trash and sticking it to me. Soon, I could barely move—the garbage piled up, weighing me down. I raised the rifle. I only needed to see my target.
Once more, a shadow of romance stirred within me—I cast a curse upon her.
Then, I saw her. Standing motionless, with a soft and genuine smile.
"So, this is it," she said calmly.
"Yes," I answered, and fired, aiming for her head.
She fell. I didn’t even look—I knew it wasn’t over.
She emerged again from the underpass, her eyes gleaming. The reflection of that light clinked against my ring.
I fired again, hitting her square in the forehead. The force of the bullet sent her tumbling back into the underpass.
I trudged forward, now nothing more than a heap of trash. Walking and aiming became harder.
Suddenly, I turned my head.
In the depths of the passageway, a dark red lipstick shimmered.
The gunshot echoed like a bomb. Storefront windows shattered.
She fell and never rose again.
Sad, considering she once loved me so much more than I ever loved her.
P.S.
I am grateful for the inspiration for this story:
Nebojša Antonijević – Anton
Zoran Kostić – Cane
Band: Partibrejkers
Song: "Prsten"
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