R15

They came at midnight, just as old Baltazar said they would. Howling and flocking around the compound. Luckily, they could not breach the palisade we raised today.

I couldn't believe that desert will conain anything than sand, but the old man told us to dig and dig we did. Not everyone joined in, of course. Some just ate stale food and water, napping in the shade, while others were sneaking around tents, trying to steal one more bite. Then there were those who whined and fomented rebellion.

"Don't pay attention", said Baltazar, "We are all dead already, so let them have their way."
"If we are dead already, why do we dig the sand and haul the scraps?" I asked him, placing another two by four snapped in half into the cart.
"Don't know about you, but as long as I can work, I feel alive. Besides there are different kinds of death. Do you really want to give it all up? To surrender to the pain as they rip you apart and eat you alive?"

I shivered. Old man quite vividly predicted what's to come tonight. Only when the moaning stopped, my thoughts crawled back to me. I wondered if morning will bring another nightmare, but I did wake in the same lil tent I went to sleep in. Eeach of 40 of us got a different square in the sand, some planks and cloth to build a tent, some stale food and a box. Apparently the content was different for each box and mine contained matches.

"Why are we here? Who arranged all this? Who were those demons?" I asked the old man as soon as it dawned.
"oh, someone woke up as a philosopher... you better take that cart and head out in the desert. We will meet here when sun passes the zenith. Tonight more of them will come, we need to reinforce the gate.

I stepped through the opened gates of our compound, with squeak of the cart as my soundtrack...

R14

Sand. Sand everywhere as fas as your eye can see. Whisp of darkness hanging at the horizon. I was going to roam the desert till my heart stops, but then I saw the flailing arms of a windmill. Nevena told me, God bless her soul, of her brother Milan living in oasis at the south rim of the sands. Her description was so accurate; tower made of nailed tin, planks, panels, car bumpers with crown of short blades and glass made fantail in the shape of a rooster. She didn't want to let go till I promised her to seek him out. You will be safe there, she said, Milan has vineyard and hunts desert rabbits. I thought she was just rambling from her dying mind, but now I saw the estate of her brother was real. House was long and low, with flat top. Dark shades made house blend in with the surroundings. White rabbit skulls gleamed white in the scortching sun, perched on top of each stake that, evenly spaced and connected by wire, surrounded the compound. Every skull sported a bullet hole, so that it looked as if every rabbit was three-eyed.

I would never roam the desert looking for this place if Nevena didn't get shot in the gut...

R13

World was my home. I fell from the stars straight between the pages of a book. Men who put masks on their faces and snicker under the masks were looking for me. I showed them my feet. I got an ID card. Bee zipped by. I traced her flight and saw a fountain. Approaching the fountain I asked her if all these turtles were here just for me? Though my question was silly, there was no one around, not even a single turtle, so I laughed hard.

Instead of the fountain, the bee answered me.
"Sheep are flying by plane. The plane was hit by a missile, so sheep jumped ship."
"Sheep?" I asked, astonished.
"Yea, they even had little sheep-parachutes", bee confirmed her story.
"Didn't they land in the trees and became white treetops?" I made a joke.
"Now you are just talking nonsense", bee was not amused.
"Oh, if you are so snappy lil' bee, someone will squash you, mistaking you for a wasp."
"Why did I even bother", bee mumbled to hersef.

A bit away from the fountain, a flower swung. Bee turned around and left without a word. I turned around to inspect this world once more. I think I will need help. Books I read never spoke of talking bees and silent fountains. I need to learn much more if this world is to be my home.

I returned to the ship that carried me here. Bee doesn't know shit, I concluded. She was the one talking  nonsense, as if she was an alien to this world, instead of me. Truth be told, I also couldn't rely much on my own conclusions. Who knows, maybe my part of the conversation was indeed full of nonsense. I serached the skies for an airplane. Instead of the flying plane, I saw many interesting and magic colors. I said to myself, I like this world... it will be my home."

R12

We moved through the darkness of undergroud theatre. Somewhere below us there was a stage. Back wall in the bottom had colage of video clips and photos projected across the entire lenght. Scenes were showing usual sights of commoner's entertainment, blood, tears and semen. Threading the path strewn with sand, we stepped over torn pages of illustrated magazines. Mass of people murmured and rumored from both sides. Everyone was talking to everyone else, tossing banal trivialities back and forth. Chatter was enforced by law, punishment for silence or dialogue were appalling. Father and I carried our tankards of beer, moving through the dusky atmosphere. I saw subtitles of a conversation we had back at one of our family gatherings in the old country. That's how we gamed the system. Drunk uncle was holding a great cosmic speech. I spoke as well, though I was sure that father didn't listen at all. I wasn't even sure if it was really him, slithering like a shadow and murmuring something to keep the appearance of conversation.

He just returned from the wilderness, had hard time adjusting to local customs. I proudly went on to explain to him that one of the greatest achievements of our underground society is the freedom we enjoy. For example, yesterday government website featured application to register a space ship. Of course, no one actually owned one, but system did provide the freedom to legally register such a vehicle, even offering five or six thousand in subventions for  manufacturing a space ship. I kept explaining to my father that I'm a nuclear analyst, working for the company that analyzes the mistakes employees make from the standpoing of a nuclear installation. For example, someone makes an error and then I analyze it and write a report what would happen if that same error was made in a nuclear reactor, and then this is put together with some other reports as the main product of my company. So what do you do with those reports, father asked me. I didn't know what to answer, his question was so embarassing and offensive. But then again, till few days back he was just a simple hunter from the desert, what did he know. The report is important, I said, because the guy will get laid off the work and rightfully so. Uncle's voice from the recording asked for more beer, and someone started sobbing silently, but it didn't make it to the subtitles.

I tried to make a joke, saying that now he traded real blood for movie prop blood, but even I didn't find it that funny. Reaching the top rows, we finally took our seat. Instead of tables there were long sand dunes, with benches on both sides. To my left a chubby girl with long hair was seated. In front of her, a kid that resembled a monkey kept jumping on the sand table. Across the table, just opposite my father a wrinkled granma was sitting. She noticed that it's good sign when children are energetic, but complained about lost custom of feeding kids with dog food - just in case - till they reach seven year of age.

I sensed that the girl will scratch my wrist, as it was the customary sign that she wants to sell me sex. I felt sick of it, not of the act itself, but of myself for knowing that in advance. I remembered that woman and her worried face when I mentioned her about layoffs and space ship registrations. I fel so deep into my own thoughts that I barely registered when clawed fingers scratched my wrist. I smiled and she cowered. I waved my hand to let her know I don't want what she was offering. Still, I felt sorry for her so I ordered her a drink. I turned around. Seat on my right was empty. Tall lanky pale figure approached it. She was a warrior lady, dark shiny hair combed back in tight tail, shaved around her ears. I ordered a beer for her, but she didn't even notice. Father managed to walk over to the crowded bar. Subtitles were flying by very fast. Aunt was defending all the men. She said, it takes some balls to jump on the table and speak all the bullshit that uncle was spewing. I love all women, I want to fuck you all, girls! Uncle was yelling. Kids giggled, though the laughter didn't register on the subtitles, just like the crying didn't.

Now I undersand them. I shivered. I know why they write reports. Why they communicate with tyrants by email forms. Why they get fired and kill themselves when they do. I was perfectly aware of the grotesque that surrounds us.

And I woved that I will make that space ship...

R11

I woke up on the beach. Sea was caressing the pebbles. I didn't see the sun, as the curtain of clouds obscured the skies. It just dawned on me that humans usually ask 'what am I doing here' when they wake up at some strange place. Well, I don't know... I never woke up at strange place before. I guess I'm under the influence of movies and TV shows? You know, we see a main character waking up a bit dishiveled and like, wonders where the hell am I... Fuck, maybe I'm not even a hero, maybe I'm a heroine?

I touch my gear, it's seems that I'm equipped as a male. Unless I'm a tranny, I'm a boy. Oh wow, you don't even know what you are? Yea, been trying to explain it to you for passage and half now. I felt fucking disconnected, as if I was just copied and pasted to this background. Maybe this was just a weird dream and I will wake up into the next one. Fuck, for now I'm stuck at this beach, dressed in some sort of... pajamas. Maybe I escaped the asylum? Or maybe I'm some secret experiment...

Slowly, I get up. Okay, I'm good. Feel springy on my feet. I stretch too. Gosh I needed that. Look at that... I'm hungry. They never reveal that in TV show. Hero is never hungry, except when we need to see him spill ketchup on his new shirt. I look around. Hm... no restarant, no grill, no fast food, nothing in sight... fucking desert. No one around.

Just me and my hunch that someone is messing with my mind...

R10

"I think that's the guy" legionaire whispered in Latin.

German unterfeldwebel nodded and switched his MP40 Schmeisser in his left hand.

"This one, the runner" German pointed at the lonesome jogger.

Commisar Davidovich shook his head, suspicious, but still he put his rifle on the ground and started to walk toward the young man.

"Comrade... comrade, over here!"

Shocked and disappointed, commisar observed the runner passing through im as if commisar was a ghost. Not a single sign of recognition or idea that there was someone in his way, runner just went past as if Davidovich was just thin air.

"Left foot", legionaire cursed.

He gave the German a concerned look.

"What do we do next, comaradah" he asked the unterfeldwebel.

"It's pronounced kamarad, buddy..."

R9

She stepped into the cold water. Goosebumps turned her skin almost prickly and her nipples hardend painfully. Stones were slippery, so she threw herself into the lake just after a few steps. Icy bite of the water felt good, she already felt cleaner. After one or two splashes on her face, she dipped her head under the surface. Cold grip of the lake reflected aptly horrible and incomprehensible sights they were exposed to, recently.

Reminiscing about how her party reacted when faced with nothingness grandmother and girl first came to mind. She expected them to be the first to break, but actually both observed steaming whirlpool of chaos without even blinking, and finally managed to tear the gaze away from it. Archer girl snapped first. Her mind was probably already well corroded with insanity. She was aware that after what she've been trough her mind wasn't in much better condition either. That made her roar with almost manical laughter. Yea, but does insanity affects those already insane?

R8

Andrash stepped into the corridor. It smelled of bathroom. Passage was lit by glaring light from the ceiling. Faint hum of the engines permeated the space. He knew that he shouldn't be here, but stay in bed sleeping, or pretending to sleep, but the call was too strong.

As every other eight year old, Andrash was inquisitive, too. Something boosted this trait manyfold. Very idea that he will sneak out of the cabin and into the corridor blosomed inside him with peculiar ardour. Stepping on his tiny toes, he slipped from the darkness into the light.

Tunnel-like passages forked, seemingly at random, as if constructors of the space ship "Butterfly" searched for the best way to fit a cabin here or some other useful room there. Andrash had no idea where he was going, but heat inside him was burning stronger when he took the right direction. After trial and error, he learned how to follow this internal compass.

Suddenly he was aware of the voices and boot steps against the soft carpeting of the ship's corridor floors. He surged backwards and sadness welled inside him. Still, it was not too strong to stop him or give him a warning like it would to an adult. Unhappy, he was returning to his room, but he was not broken and that's what made him wonder. He was wondering even more about the fact that he was wondering. Flow of his thougths was too analytical. Really strange, he wondered... I'm not like that usually...

R7

She felt scraping against her neck. Swift, almost instinctive move adjusted the collar, but the discomfort was still there. Aproaching the hull of the subreality craft, she gave it a testing knock.

Indeed, she thought, if the submarine sails under the sea, how else to call the craft that travels under the horizon of physical reality. Do they even move? In the ship engine induced singularity, space didn't even exist. Maybe the better term would be a time machine? Well, no, that would be confusing. Time machine is a machine that travels in time, somehow pertaining to traveling to distant past or far future. This craft indeed sailed through time - just as each of us is sailing forward in time at steady pace of 24 hours a day - but physics involved behind the fact that they will at one point step out of the singularity was, maybe, too mindbending to have a proper name. Maybe time-ship was the more appropriate term... or timejumper... or jumpship?

Comparison to a submarine was, after all, the most apt one. They did dive into the unexplored depths of time-space and will emerge at completely different shores once they've sailed deep under the impassable continent.

Neck stil tingled and itched. As if it was vibrating with minute frequency, as if her entire skin was shivering. Once more she gave the hull a knock and then gently planted her palm against it. Felt odd. As soon as her skin touched the bulkhead, she heared voices. Percieved them, would be the more accurate expression, as they seemed to well from somewhere inside her. She tried to listen, but they were too melded together, too interlaced for her to discern.

Just as reality of existence that was flocking around the spacecraft time machine "Gerald Tonklin".

R6

He let the whirlpool suck him in. As soon as his feet touched sand, he pushed hard against the riverbed propelling his body upwards, and he emerged.

"There it is!" his people cheered him from the beach.

Turning around to follow their pointing, he noticed bubbles on the surface. River was slowly taking the bubbles and foam away, but it was clear now where the beast was hiding. He gripped his stone cudgel tighter and tried to aproach the current, jumping off the riverbed. Water was too murky and cloudy so he didn't see blood, though he was sure the monster was injured. Before diving again, he tried to estimate where the position of the net was. Sucking air thirstily he filled his lungs and disappeared into the depths.

Something kicked against his rib, he lost air, but still could keep diving. Tried to catch the foot or fin of that slippery creature trying to whack him across the chest. Fighting defensively, his hands finally gripped slimey skin of the riversnake as he pulled fiercely upwards. He started swimming hard using mostly his legs, trying to stay above the surface. As soon as his arm was free of the river, he slashed downwards with his heavy stone club. Judging by splashing and vigourous wiggling of his other arm, it seems he didn't hit the beast. Continued to flail and whack across the water, almost hitting himself, he was now almost in the shallows. Feet burying deep into mud, he felt his strength regenerating as it was more and more easy to drag the snakelike fish towards the coast. Here and there, other braves started emerging from the water and joining the fray.

"Hold it, grip it!" they cheered him on, looking forward to this catch...

R5

He turned and observed flicker of street lights, wishing he was again in the comfort of the circle of light. Few more steps till the next bench, he cheered himself and strode forward. Suddenly it felt as if he fell in a plum pudding, wold turned into hazy blur of dark shades. Surprised, he noticed his foot shooting up as if someone tripped him. Moment later, with his arms instinctively pressed forward, he did hit the ground, because he was tripped. Again, instinctively, he kicked away the wire or cord that he imagined was to blame for his fall, but then sharp pain in his back announced that someone was there behind him, assailant's knee on his spine.

"What the..." he hissed.

Punch at his kidneys took all the wind from him, rough hand covering his mouth. Attacker smelled of strong chemical, not unlike industrial grade detergent, of motor oil and something acrid. With skilled moves, assailant serached him, taking the cell phone out of his pocket.

"Can you understand me..." voice asked quietly in German.

R4

He couldn't take it any more. Slightly unhitching the stopgap of his gas-mask, he rolled into the sticky broad leaf grass. Gasping and greedily sucking fresh air. Twitching started and he wasn't sure if it was part of his act or part of real crisis. Platoon jumped at his side to help. He saw gratitude in their eyes.

"Sir, s'rg'nt, Rankovic fell down, he can't..." soldier nicknamed Leskovac squeaked as he gobbled vowels.

Sargeant Jovanovic, barely older from greenhorns under his command didn't even flinch. He was enjoying the conversation with fellow NCOs and smoking.

Soldiers really went overboard to help Rankovic. They put him on his feet, then relieved him of the combat kit, assault rifle and the mask. Then they gently put him down to sit while fellow chubby Bunjevac sprinkled water from the canteen on Rankovic's face.

"I'm allright, I'm allright" he gasped repeating feeling only slight tingle of guilt for being a faker. Mostly because he knew that his skill at pretending he is on the brink of dying from exhaustion was impeccable. He did look like modern day Phillipides, though the truth was that he was just too bored to bother wearing mask and running around in full kit. He had a very good accomplice at this shennanigan, and that accomplice was his own body. The power of his lazyness transcended mind and will, bending Rankovic's own bodily reactions entirely to his intentions.

Platoon knew very well that Rankovic's skill will come to their rescue many more times before the basic training in the Guards is over. Thats why they were very eager to help their malingering friend. Someone fished a piece of chocolate from their pocket. Rankovic sucked on it eagerly, but since the chocolate didn't find the straight way to his mouth, due to his wobbly dizzyness, he looked less like a soldier hit by a heatstroke and more like fat slobbering pig who simply decided to fall like a log and interrupt the afternoon exercize.

Sargeant waved over corporal Perazic and ordered him to gather the troops. Sargeant Bojan Jovanovic had nasty habbit to mumble incoherently under his chin, as way of speaking. Only person able to decipher sarge's muttering was Rankovic. Soldier Mitrovic could understand some, so finally they understood that sarge wanted them to spread the combat webbing and toss all of their empty canteens in there. Bicskai Gabor and Ahmed Jashari got the orders to fetch the water for the platoon.

While they limped and shuffled uphill, Rankovic thoght how Gabor has really firm ass and wondered if Hungarian fellow would wear cammo undies. Image of lieutanant Djurisic came to his mind, as the officer really wore cammo undies. Ranovic remembered sway of the officer's chest hair, and the picture of stocky blonde guy from Montenegro was replaced by another newbie officer, lieutanant Matic who indeed went to roll call dressed in cammo pj's. Matic had sunken chest and elongated neck, so the image of him was not so appealing, though he did walk with gayish gait, as if his ass was just moments ago destroyed by team of big black cocks.

Breakfast mixed with cheap ham and half liter of yoghurt of the Guardian supplement ration burst out of Rankovic's mouth in a perfect arc. He tried desperately to tame the rumbling storm in his stommach. Soldiers were awed. To be a procrastinating lazy bum and faker in a special forces elite unit was not an easy task. They viewed vomitng as special efect, an irrefutable proof that either Rankovic was really fucked up, or that he was the biggest fag of a faker that ever enlisted the Guards.

R3

He turned rather pliantly, enabling him to make a poweful springing motion, using the flailig of arms to change the impulse of momentum and twist on his way down to the floor. Landing was a bit unsteady, as it always were when he was trying to perform an acrobatics with too much confidence.

He didn't wait for his body to entirely regain balance. In it's inert nature, his body desired to fall on the floor like a potato sack and roll away as far as the gravity would pull. Willpower overriding the organic, he threw himself again, generating new impulse. Opted for cartwheel with arm switch. In fact, he wasn't all that sure who or what inside him decided to perform that move. He was threading close to the other side, touching the membrane of the space where time was running slower. It gave him false impression that he can foresee the future, able to think ahead and smoothly pick the next figure to perform while he was on the very cusp where previous one ends and the new one didn't yet begin. To onlookers it would seem as if it was a very delicate and intricate, complex coreography, practiced for ages and very fluent. Truth was completely on the opposide end of the spectrum. This was little more than a controlled frenzy.

Mind started flowing down into each limb. Made him aware of every muscle. Though speed of the acrobatics was neck breaking, decisions didn't have even that split of second to be made, entire process was dipped halfway into his uncoscious self - each of the figures was formed to perferction: fingers straight, gaze pointing forward, volume of the moves unresticted. Only thin film of thoughts covered his actions, leaving it to the body to perform the tasks.

As soon as the first bullets of sweat started forming, he was over the first limit break. Tired, his mind retreated to skull and body started complaning. Sequence of acrobatics slowed down, but they were ramped up in difficulty. One handed cartwheel with hip thrust, forward flip that ends in a bridge posture. He desperately needed more will to keep his pace and even perform at all.

Willpower. He felt it as thick goo, flowing to engulf his body. His own body was not enough, he needed more will if he was to make the leap across the next limit wall. But the will was not flowing that easily any more, it solidified and each time he would pull on it, the layer of will would tear on the other end. He sacrificed some of the speed to increase the controll over his will, making it more runny and flowing. That's how it was supposed to be. While he was busy wrestling with his will, the body lost will to complain and mind started spinning thousands of revs. He was able to taste the kick of endorphine and adrenalline that flushed through his body. Lurching forward with more speed than ever, his moves became flurry that only educated observer could track, someone posessing this skill and experience themself. Despite the burst of energy and speed his moves were not reduced, quite the contrary. His limbs moved in wide mitions, yet fluttered silent like wings of a hummingbird.

And then his mind started leaking, like oil sputters from the banged up old engine. He tried to shake it off, but with it, some of his will started falling off. Sneaked away cheekily, without warning. Mind spouted out of his head, flowed down his body and evaporated. He saw himself as burning man, set on fire by that trecherous fuel leak. What's for lunch. How long we gonna keep doing this. How will you spend your holidays. Did you notice that mole on her neck... His mind was dripping all over the floor. He stepped into one of the puddles and slipped. Impulse left him mid-air. Something cracked in his spine and sharp stab of pain on his tendons told him it's all over...

R2

As alwas at dusk, he donned his running shoes and tracksuit, then went to run along the riverbank. His work finished late, so morning jog was out of the question. During the day it was too hot, and besides, he hated dodging the kids, their balloons and frisbees. He waited for the heat to subside, for all the senior citizens to have their full day of walking, for all the youth in love to do their making out in the groves and get their share of mosquito bites. Only when the last of dog lovers were about to give up, when street lights flickered on, that was his time for recreation.

No one actually knew how he looked like. He was enjoying living in the times when in order to exist, email, chat nickname and credit card were all you need. Since he was working from home, he didn't have any immediate co-workers, nor bosses. Didn't have a girlfriend or lover. Didn't share his appartment with other living being if you tick off spiders, moths and similar stowaways. Little cousins he had lived far away in places where you panic if reception on your phone drops to 'single bar'. Even his friends faded away turning to emails and chat messages.

If he would have died, only his Facebook profile would carry on, recieving vain reports about virtual exhibitions of his digital neighbourhood. So, nothing was really making him stand out from his fellow cybernauts, other than habit to run at dusk.

Only then he would gain shape. Tracksuit clung tight to his body, as if it was the only thing that defined him. Without the binding force of the jersey, he would still be a bunch of data stored on someone's cloud. Running shoes threaded the paved concrete, proving with every step that he does exist, that he is alive and kicking.

His run finished at the last patch of paved path. He turned around. Checked his watch. Paused to ponder what to do next. River bank was devoid of people, and insects started their suicide dance around the streetlights. Shadows swallowed the world, turning it into evenly spaced globs of sickly yellow dull light. Then again, it was too early to call it a night and move towards the bus station. He will head back, he decided. Ritual is a ritual. His was to run two lenghts of the track along the river, and never more and never less...

(fragment from novel about heaven for communists)

R1

I was born in a car.

My first memories are of big red balloon that approaches the window and tries to get inside. That, and the moment when I fell on the floor of the car when father made a sudden break. I was not afraid. The floor was soft and warm from the running engine.

Brother plopped on the back seat. I saw him fly overhead, umblimical cord and all, only to land next to me. He was screaming horribly and couldn't stop. I was very annoyed, but accepted it as soon as I realized that no one will going to attend to us.

Standing on my toes I pressed my nose against the glass. World rushed by very fast, colors blending in a blur. I tried to pierce the veil of mottled shapes. Only thing I managed to recognize was a haystack. "Horsie eats that!" I said it, of course, in baby-talk.

The car started careening more and more, so I hadn't the chance to learn much about the oustide world. Strong bump got me flying. I saw brother flail his lil hands and disappear in the trunk. Another bump opened the trunk door and he fell out of the car.

"Jump!" Father yelled. Mother was already gone, the door on her side screeched and bumped as the car veered off to edge. I don't know who jumped out first, mom or dad, but I was suddenly all alone in the car. I remember the crash and that I have landed on the ceiling, soft from upholstery. I didn't feel like leaving the car, but when brother rushed past, I ran after him.

"Towards the river!" Father yelled, waving his hands as he ran. I thought he looks like a windmill. Mother was clutching the picnick basket, gasping as she pumped her legs. Brother was zig-zagging, trying, I guess, to find his own way.

"Jump!' Father yelled his last command and threw himself into the abyss. Mother was already rolling down the steep ravine, still clutching the basket. Brother suddenly stopped. That was when I, too, realized that ground was no longer beneath our feet and that we are on the edge of a cliff. Down, at the end of long fall I could see riverbank and rickety shacks along the paved quay.

I looked at my brother quizically. Wanted to ask him what to do next, but I couldn't talk. He went off the cliff, trying to controll the fall. I waited to see where will my family go next, and then - I also jumped.