Short Stories

… This day is one of those days when people are killing each other. Alone or with someone else’s help. Alone themselves or someone; alone or with someone else’s help. It is sunny. The people are tightened in some /few/ walls and in themselves.
I thought in a flash of this day when people are killing each other or themselves and me to… why not… Myself? Someone? Alone? With someone’s help?
Too many questions for a single day, and actually I don’t even know whether there is a day which is not one of those days when people… were waging a war among themselves. With some people against some other people. A real small war. I was shooting. They were shooting. I was killing. They were killing. A single bullet didn’t shoot me. And there were fairly that were directed towards me. I wasn’t wearing a protective costume, but not a single one shot me. Just when I thought that it is possible one of them to shoot me when I was at least expecting to, after few days, maybe, all of a sudden – I don’t know – how – it came: a pause.
In the pause: I took M’s gun who in the meantime had become a pacifist, and I went outside to kill birds – jackdaws, precisely. I was aiming at and firing at pigeons, by some unusual coincidence. I haven’t realized that my pupils are moving left-right-left-right. In a flight and on earth. I shot none of them, if necessary, for some preciseness to emphasize. I returned and I returned the gun to M. that immediately became my red umbrella. That is, usually, impossible, but I didn’t realize I was dreaming and that’s why I started to prepare lunch. Strange, but even then I didn’t realize that I was dreaming and that’s why I carried on. I didn’t realize that I was dreaming even when I baked bread and that’s why I stabbed it with knife several times. When I thought how much aggression there is in me – a swan flew over the sheet metal of the window – it became obvious to me that I was dreaming, or that’s what I wanted to believe in and – I woke up. M. remained in the kitchen making a salad. He sometimes did that and there was nothing unusual in that.
… This day is still one of those days, so I decided to open a beer and to watch how some new flies in this-almost-summer are flying, when I will drink or while drinking it. I decided for the first alternative. When I drank the beer the flies were already flown out. Unknowably where. I no longer knew why – all– this and anyway – any sense – it has – it doesn’t have – any, so I lit a cigarette and I blew it in the last full stop of the last sentence. And then I realized that this not in the least resembles neither my style nor me and it has to quickly and effectively finish it. ● I put a full stop that surely was supposed to signify an end, I lit another cigarette and directed myself towards the other walls and between the other walls to see what is now M. doing.
The thing that M. was doing wouldn’t be effective for any ending, but, he, still, can be said was pensively looking at my red umbrella. Then he directed himself towards the kitchen and opened a real Skopsko light beer.
This fucking weather makes me, he said before I put the walkman on my ears. When I put it he said: depressed. Which weather he thinks of, I didn’t ask. I looked through the window and I knew it: the walls in which the people were tightened were sweating. /And/ Because: indescribably burdensome and creepy, I wanted, finally to finish this DREAM/this DREAM to finish too: then a swan flew down the sheet metal of the window; his light steps on the mentioned sheet metal could upset any asleep man and that’s why he will open his eyes.