So many godly variations.
Let me pull you by the elbow, guide your face into this whirring band saw, let me pour this lacquer into your eyes. Let me cut off pieces of you to add to my collection.
Listen lady, I know you got your own rage. I just don't care. I tried caring, but it made me too tired. I gave it up, just like I gave up drinking - it was hard, but worth it.
We can have this conversation anytime. You know where to find me. I'll be here, sharpening my knives until they can slice air. I'll be here with a hatchet and some kerosene. I'll be flexing my fingers and imagining how good it would feel, plucking out your eyeballs.
We can have this conversation anytime. You know where to find me. I'll be here, sharpening my knives until they can slice air. I'll be here with a hatchet and some kerosene. I'll be flexing my fingers and imagining how good it would feel, plucking out your eyeballs.
I'll be waiting for you.
Holy crap.
ReplyDeleteYulia watched Maksim dress in the dim light of her basement apartment in Kyiv, drawing him with her eyes as if to gather a last memory—the shape of his jawline, the bulk of his shoulders, the scar across his chest from the last war. She’d seen the news, heard the rumors, knew he would be called to fight soon. She was not supposed to ask questions like when they’d be together again. He pulled something out of his rucksack and sat on the side of the bed. “I will leave this with you,” he said. “Use it if you need it.”
ReplyDeleteHer eyes widened. There were rifles at her father’s farm, and out of necessity had learned to shoot them, but she’d never seen a handgun such as this up close. Never touched one. She stretched a hand out but pulled back, as if the metal would burn her.
“I don’t know, I’ve never—” It was hardly like she could take a few practice shots in her basement apartment; with dark coming and nightly air raid sirens it would scare the crap out of her neighbors to hear gunfire so close.
“It is not hard. Look, like this.” He removed the bullets, closed it back up, walked her through how to load it, the proper grip to use, how to aim, how to pull the trigger. “The hard thing is making the decision to use it. The trick is keeping in your mind the idea that you have protection should you need it.”
She’d been trying not to think about the situations in which she’d need protection. She’d heard enough stories about what Russian soldiers have done to women in wartime. But that was decades ago. Surely that didn’t happen now, in the age of the internet and Me Too and bodycams.
“Keep it away from the children,” he said. “Keep your phone off. Have a small bag with necessities packed and at the ready. Wear good shoes in case—” Then he stopped, cocked his head as if he’d heard something. He met her gaze, bent to give her a kiss. She closed her eyes, and the kiss lingered, and she felt him pull away. She could not watch him leave. She stayed under the covers until the night fell, and she knew the air raid sirens would follow and the neighbors would come to her door to take shelter in her basement apartment. There was just enough time to prepare a quick dinner big enough to share. And enough time to hide the gun.