au bord d'un source

"If there is a hard, high wall and an egg that breaks against it, no matter how right the wall or how wrong the egg, I will stand on the side of the egg."

—Haruki Murakami

It was beautiful outside—too fucking beautiful; call it inappropriately beautiful. It was a bar that continued that shitty cheerful pop after your friend collapses face down on the floor and pukes out everything previously in stomach. Today they captured the capital; a psychedelic drug trip that rivaled anything I previously had. We, the people, were all high against our will and asking ourselves, what is going to happen and what are we going to do? Both questions unanswerable. All those secondary school history classes I attended with eyes half shut about civil unrest that only concluded some 30ish years ago came flashing back: it was all happening again.

But what made the day so surreal was the lack of theatrics: no battle, nor fight—not even a single bullet was shot. It was also gorgeous outside: a sunny Saturday morning with this crisp autumn breeze and the audible crackle of leafs being blown around or stepped on. The birds kept chirping as they usually did. Why wouldn’t they? The humans made no difference for them. Had it been any other day, I would have grabbed one of those overpriced mochas instead of a bottom tier black coffee to drink with my joint and then eat one of those regretful horseburgers afterwards. It was all so formal too: we declared Open City, the army marched in, the PM signed the papers, with tears and shame in his eyes—further humiliated with a handshake. That it was all routine, something that was so normal—to them—was disgusting.

I stood right outside the city hall amongst others as we watched our flag lowered down and another rise. There was some sort of speech going on, with a translator parroting everything back into something more understandable. All my ears heard was background noise; for all I cared, the general—with his fist constantly swinging up in the air as if he needed to compensate for the world’s tiniest penis might as well been reading from Finnegans Wake. Either way, who could possibly pay attention to anything with the non-stop clicking and flashing of cameras? The press keeps running, serving different masters.

I felt sick to the stomach watching that foreign thing there, with soldiers—chugging beers and drunk on victory—sitting on the sidelines; this invasion of my intimate self, my culture, my identity, and my home. It was as if my bathroom mirror became a two-way, with a horrifyingly ugly and obese basement virgin aggressively masturbating, my room now a peep show. I cried in public—destroying all the makeup as my tears fell—not just because I lost my country, but also because just a mere two hours ago, I dumped the woman who I previously thought to be the love of my life.

I exited the streets and hiked up the hill. Listening was pointless, but strangely enticing like all disgusting things. But why did you do it? Why, on the eve when I needed you the most? And why did you it have to be a man? That was the worst part yet. It was something I was literally incapable of doing. That me being a lesbian was nothing more than an experiment in “the other side.” What the fuck did that make me? Invalid, unwanted, a stranger amongst everyone else while she could “experiment” to her hearts desire. Me, I was a crossed out To-Do list entry. Useless, pathetic, unwanted. But despite all that, I also wanted to forgive her and be with her. But I couldn’t—I shouldn’t. I still loved her, and I hated myself for it.

“Hey, babe? Are you…ok?”

My only friend who sat on my favourite—our favourite—spot to overlook the city and smoke. I loved her, with a stupid deeply felt jealousy of her hourglass-ish figure and this perfect hair to compliment her tattoos and piercings. Either way, a listener in a world full of loudmouths.

“No.”

“I don’t think you should have listened to their speech.”

“Can we even call this our home anymore?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think anyone can.”

I broke down and cried.

“She cheated on me.”

She stroked my hair, waiting for me to tell my short tale.

“I caught her banging a dude two hours ago, just before the sirens. The most hairiest dude ever; his dick sticking out and everything, like a goddamn alien. Just fuck him, fuck her, fuck me, fuck everything”

She took out a joint and lit it up, passing it to me.

“I loved her. I even thought about marrying her. It would have been awesome; having two princesses rule this kingdom.”

“You’ll have to go back to being a … .”

“Yeah, fuck that.”

I forced out a small laugh.

“Her lady, the … , and …, …, …, princess and … of The … Kingdom. Nope.”

“Like, could they possibly make the title any longer?”

“You should see The Emperor’s.”

“Ugh, I used to love watching over this skyline; the mountains in the far end, the red rooftops, the white walls, the spine of the cathedral, and on one the other end, her apartment. Because I couldn’t see her, I’d imagine what she was up to: cooking, cleaning, sleeping, painting, listening to records, just everyday life before or after a hard day’s work—a life I was never able to live myself. But now, the only thing that comes to my mind is that man; the alien out of space.”

“I’d say that not having to work for a living ain’t so bad girl.”

“But I want to. I want to be able to earn my own living instead of relying and being dependent on others. And also do whatever the fuck I want with it and my life. I want my own damn house without security guards gawking at me 24 / 7. I want to cook my own food damn it and make it as spicy as possible instead of this bland polenta and pasta.”

“Someone here is a little out of touch.”

“Liberty above all.”

“You say that now, but when they take over your castle and wealth, you might have second thoughts.”

“I’m getting the fuck out anyway.”

“Good call but to where?”

“Anywhere but here.”

“You know you could move in with me.”

“Really?”

“Of course, just make sure to clean up and help me with rent. I'm lonely and could use company.”

I agreed and gave her a hug.

“Soon our mother tongue won’t even be taught in schools anymore, we’re literally talking in ancient history, they’ll strip out our rights, and people will be arrested just because they’re different. We fucking lost. Not even a fight or anything. They just walked in and grabbed it. I’m kinda pissed that we didn’t even have any fight.”

“We should fight.”

“Isn’t that suicidal.”

“Didn’t you say liberty above all? I have nothing to lose. Screw it, I might as well make my life meaningful.”

“What the fuck can we do?”

“Do you still have that shotgun at home?”

“Yeah?”

“Revolution starts with one shotgun.”

I quickly went home to pack my bags and moved in with her; a one-bedroom apartment where I lived by myself. Soon, we’d have a whole group of people with shotguns of their own.

So it goes.

— Laurens Spangenberg