The Haunting Melody

There is a lot of blood.

Is it all mine? 

We learned that we were 70% water, not blood. Did the school teach us all wrong? It can’t be all my blood.

I see his face. He is frightened. Freaked out.

I know. He wanted to tell me that he was sorry, but he couldn't spill a word.

"It’s okay. I know you haven't done it on purpose," I wanted to calm him down, but the words never came out of my mouth.

I love him. Or I loved him. I don’t know if I'm already dead.

I hear the sirens. Is it the police or an ambulance?

I never knew the difference. They were all equally disturbing.

The only more disturbing siren was one that echoed through our city every day for 78 long and harrowing nights, beginning on March 24th, 1999.

I remember it started just a day after my ninth birthday.

The familiar sound of shuffling cards filled the basement as we sought refuge from the chaos above. Tablanet was the only game we knew how to play, but it didn't matter. All that mattered was that we were together, huddled in the safety of the concrete bunker, waiting for the terror to pass.

The bombing had ended years ago, but the two of us kept hiding. 

We weren't cowering from bombs anymore. It was our love that we feared would detonate and shatter our world apart.

Our parents and society were the minefield, waiting to explode at any moment, and we were too young and too fragile to brave the aftermath.

His eyes look like the most beautiful waterfall. He tried to stop the bleeding with his fingers frantically pressed against the wounds.

"I can’t lose you, baby. Nikola! Please, stay alive," he willed me to stay with him, to not let go. Even though his lips remained, his eyes spoke.

The light.

Why is everything suddenly so bright? Where is everyone? I can't see a thing. 

Am I hearing a song?

I cautiously opened my eyes, not knowing if I was ready for whatever I was going to see.

As the melody filled the air, a strange feeling washed over me. Although the tune was foreign to my ears, it stirred something deep within me.

Where am I?

"Honey?"

Honey??? Who is that? Who is calling me like that? Is she calling ME at all?

"Honey, you up? Wanna have breakfast or coffee first?"

I saw a beautiful girl peeping through the door of a room I didn't remember ever being in before. 

Next to that door was a shelf holding a precious memory within a frame. The photo captured a moment frozen in time, a snapshot of myself and the girl. Happiness was painted on my face, yet it felt as if it belonged to someone else. Entirely.

What the hell is going on? Where is he? How am I not bleeding to death anymore?

"Babe? We have to hurry up. You know we are supposed to meet with one of my old friends. You will love him, I promise!"

Trying to sum up all the thoughts and feelings, I just slid to the kitchen, where both breakfast and coffee were waiting for me.

"What's the song? I have never heard it before," I asked her.

"It has been released today. Hozier is my discovery of the year. I love his music, but he killed it with this one. You have to watch the video, too. Just type "Take me to church." It'll be the first thing that comes up.”

I took my phone to find the song.

"Wait... It’s 2013???" I was screaming in my head. I pressed my trembling hand against my belly as if searching for at least a scar from the knife that had sliced its way through my body seven years ago!

How could I skip seven years of my life? Who is this girl? Where am I? How come I don't remember anything?

"You okay, babe? You turned pale," she said and then started touching my face.

My lungs felt like they were collapsing in on themselves. Panic crept up my throat like a viper, but I swallowed it down, afraid that she would hear the tremble in my voice.

"Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Let’s go. We don't want him to wait for us."

"Okay, but I’m driving."

"Of course, you’re driving. I can't drive. I never had a chance to learn," I wanted to say that before I bit my tongue and just kept walking toward the door.

I don't know her. I don't recognize the apartment we obviously live in together. Even my identity was a mystery to me as the last seven years had been wiped clean from my memory, leaving me feeling like a ghost haunting my own life.

I was just sixteen years old when I believed it was my final year on Earth. My last year with the love of my life.

I don't even know if he is still alive.

I jumped into the car when I heard someone’s phone ringing. It was hers.

"Hey, Marko. We were just leaving," he said, letting me know that this was the guy we were going to meet, "Yeah, yeah, we're there in 15 minutes. See ya!"

His name was also Marko. But it's not that it is an unusual name. Guys our age are all called Marko or Nikola, or Stefan. 

I suddenly realized I didn't know the name of the girl I was obviously dating. 

"Marko was calling me "Kati" when we were at high school, so please don’t laugh if he does that again."

That means her name is Katarina. Got it.

I started gaining some confidence. Even though I still couldn't understand how this all happened, I think she hadn't noticed anything weird.

"What did you say? How exactly you two met? I asked her curiously.

"Oh, I never told you that story. He moved to Novi Sad when we were in 7th grade, I think. We went to primary school together and then finished high school together, too," she started talking, “After that, he went to Italy to study art, and I came here. We stayed in touch for the first year of studies, but you know... Life... And now he’s here again, and I’m so happy that I’m going to see him.”

I just nodded and thought: “I would be very happy if I could see my Marko again."

---

Katarina and I arrived at the cafe where we were supposed to meet with Marko. He was late.

Imagine if her Marko was my Marko. But that wouldn't make any sense. He never moved from Belgrade. We were together like all the time. 

He wanted to become a policeman.

"I will join the police so we can walk safely."

That's what he said once. The worst thing was that he genuinely believed that him becoming a policeman would make a change in our lives.

"I was born sick, but I love it..."

Hozier’s new song was playing in the cafe, too.

"I'll tell you my sins, and you can sharpen your knife...”

Something pierced my chest. I wanted to tear my skin and jump out of it.

I didn't hear the song before. I lived it.

—

"Sorry, I’m late. I’m still getting used to the traffic in Belgrade."

It was him! It was my Marko!

He looked... different. 

Did he recognize me? He must have recognized me. Seven years is not a lot, is it?

We shook hands, and he looked at me as if he knows me, but it seemed like he couldn't remember from where. Like I was someone he saw once or twice, not someone he planned to run away to the end of the world with.

It hurt like hell. 

"Have we met before?" he asked, "I feel like I know you."

"N…no," I answered, stuttering, trying to avoid eye contact. I wanted to disappear. This doesn't make any sense.

"He moved to Novi Sad when we were in 7th grade."

7th grade. We were 13 years old then. I was desperately trying to remember what happened when we were 13.

Was it the event with the guys from the football team? When we kissed for the first time, and one of them saw us...

I barely even remember that period, but I am damn sure he stayed here.

It was just a moment when I closed my eyes to pull myself together and when I heard someone calling my name.

"Nikola! Nikola, wake up! You have to stay with us! Do you hear me?"

It was a girl’s voice, but not Katarina's. I hardly opened my eyes and saw a batch of people in uniforms around me walking and pushing the gurney through the sterile white corridors.

"We’re losing him! Nikola, please, stay with us! Please!"

"They stabbed him because his boyfriend came out to his parents...” I heard a young doctor talking. Or was it a nurse?

"Offer me my deathless death

Good God, let me give you my life."