by RD Hale
Mila tiptoes towards the now subdued table, drifting in and out of faint light beams. My trailing fingers scatter cards as she drags me into the stairwell, shifting her chin to the side to remove hair from her face.
'You're not gonna do that, are ya?' Mila touches my hand as she sucks her bottom lip and swings her leg back and forth.
'Dunno, why not?' I reply as my shoulders stiffen to disguise any sliver of apprehension.
'It's mad, yous are blatantly gonna get caught. Be careful,' Mila warns.
Flashing her bright teeth, Mila turns away with a half-hearted laugh and clanks up the winding staircase to the former offices which overlook our main living area. I gaze through swirling dust particles as the gang finally slow a little, reluctant to surrender to sleep. Most of their friends have left now, but one or two are trying to keep the party going and once again I settle into my wonderfully comfortable armchair.
Haunting Memory
Realising I had dozed off, I wake to see sluggish figures illuminated by a flickering bulb as they shuffle around our dancefloor and the guests and interlopers have at last departed our derelict building. Lasses are laughing at Oscar who appears to be arguing with a figment of his own intoxication as chill-out music hums and vermin squeaks in the neighbouring junk room.
'Good night lasses, Oscar… Oscar's imaginary rival! Make sure one of you locks up.' I head up to the landing, smiling at faces finger-drawn into grimy internal windows and I knock at the door with the name: Mila carved into it.
'Come in,' Mila says and with permission granted I enter her sanctuary of baffling femininity. The garish colouring of this stone-cold room is somehow restful but Mila sits upright, clutching her blanket as saddened eyes stare out a large window which almost touches brown floor tiles. 'Happy times, happy times…' she murmurs. 'Can't remember any. Explains the insomnia.'
I join Mila on the shabby mattress, surrounded by posters of demonically possessed rockstars pinned against flaking pink paint. This room is a celebration of strained joyfulness, a reflection of vibrant, but tattered emotion and the sense of completeness instilled by her cry for aspiration compels the unwanted to cure her loneliness. Mila shuffles sideways to rest her head against my shoulder as I glance at a bear called Patch who is sitting on a shelf. He is falling apart at the seams.
'How can someone smile so much and never remember why? ' I ask.
'Equating smiling with happiness? Strange, to me it's the easiest way to lie,' Mila replies.
Minutes pass. Mila sings her favourite song under her breath and I relate to the lyrics which permeate the overwrought atmosphere: 'I could really use a wish right now...' Placing my arm behind hers, I move into a comfortable position, thinking about how we have never even kissed and I instantly feeling a pang of guilt. She tenses just a little and I sense hints of the restrained anger which always leads to my rejection because I am part of the past I try to protect her from. Her right hand digs into the mattress and she pushes her side up a little harder against mine, then she pulls her blanket over my lap.
'At the end of the day you're always there, even when those other priorities have forgotten me. I love you... you know? You're like my brother.'
Those words kill the optimism which would instantly be resurrected by any intimation of a change in her perspective. Her intoxicating dark side occupies every lucid dream and at times I resent my own sense of integrity, because the patient consideration which contradicts an otherwise selfish individual is too often self-detrimental. The unravelling of this web of confusion to find answers, to better myself and to meet her approval is endless.
Mila and I stare through metal bars like prisoners dreaming of an escape, entranced by the holographic advertisements which hover above the cityscape. A buzzing guncopter shines a spotlight on a megalopolis which contains endless possibilities but we are restricted by the hostility of our environment: an insignificant corner amongst hundreds of buildings with broken windows, not too far from the cranes lining a river which shimmers under the glow of two moons as fishing boats rock to and fro and traffic blurs across magnetic bridges. An overgrown parkland once provided an oasis in the rusted jungle but is now a jungle itself and every eyesore in sight only adds to my awe of this dystopia.
Minutes tick by into an hour of near silence and my heart pounds due to Mila's prolonged proximity. I wish she would say something now because I become far too monosyllabic in her presence to ever articulate how I truly feel. Suddenly, Mila gazes so intimately that every fleck of azure is visible in her watery irises, every reflection in her pupils.
'Do you think the bombs will ever fall again?' Mila asks.
'I dunno, probably... I guess,' I reply.
'It's easy for us to forget what we've been through, why we're numb to everything. Do you ever think about your father, do you miss him?'
'Why dwell on fairy tales? Even if he was alive, I'd probably be in the same position as I am now.' A mild pain makes my cheek twitch.
'But are you angry with him for leaving you?'
'Why should I be angry? I know nothing about him. All I know is if there was another war, I wouldn't make his mistake. I'd refuse to fight.'
'But you must think about him sometimes. Do you even know what he looked like? Do you know anything about him?'
'Well, I can imagine him standing with gun in hand in the middle of a jungle, suddenly engulfed in flame. I suppose I'd ask him if it was worth it, but I already know what the answer would be. Far too many died. Anatolian children coughed up blood and died in pools of their own vomit, thanks to our bio-weapons. And it could happen again tomorrow. And you know what? The next time we might not win. What do you think would happen then?'
'What would happen if what, if we went to war again?' The pitch of Mila's voice rises in confusion.
'What if we got separated? What would we do?' I clarify.
'In that case they may as well drop their bombs, they may as well finish us off.'
'But what about the rest of the world? Do you even care? I'm not sure if I do anymore. The enemy's rebuilding and it's people like us who'll suffer, it's unavoidable and it makes no difference - it's just another natural cause. The billions alive now and the billions who haven't been born yet will all die. The only people I care about are the ones who are close to me, the rest are statistics. Without you guys, I'm just another number,' I say.
'But maybe if there's another war, we can finish this once and for all and we'll have a chance to start again. To rebuild a new world, a fairer world,' Mila suggests, her eyes brightening.
'I'm not sure if this world is even worth rebuilding. I have nightmares where I'm vaporised in an antimatter blast. And the ruling elite believe if we wipe ourselves out we're fulfilling their scripture, some bullshit idea of judgement day. How can they believe this? We live in a damn multiverse.'
'Yeah, I sometimes wonder why we were born into this world, just to struggle.' Mila yawns, clutching my hand as my chin nestles in her hair. Electricity pulses between our fingers and her eyes close as I watch our reflections in the window.
Settling into the corner, I fixate on the photograph which encapsulates a star-crossed dream and the naturalness of Mila's smile is a far cry from our reality. The scene is blemished by a fuzzy and unintentional photo-bomber in the background - Scoop. I reminisce upon the night it was taken.
Twenty eighth of May this year, but the memory seems part of another lifetime. Our riverside anti-festival was held at the foot of a bank where grass blades danced to the sound of thunderous speakers and water lanterns were reflected by river polluting chemicals.
Fireblowers performed on pedestals as music kindled crowds of slum-dwellers and happy pills were dispersed to alleviate our pained scowls. Impulses raced as sexuality was advertised by the dyed hair and smeared makeup of pouting girls embarking on a thrill-seeking cycle of sexually transmitted disease and unwanted pregnancy. Serpentine lanterns swam overhead and a sign flapped in the breeze: Fuck Victory Day.
; Mila was at my side and I was naive to deem the sensation unique as unforeseen sanguinity filled the air. Scantily clad femme fatales blurred to near-invisibility as she surpassed them with pink streaks in her ghost white hair, wearing an illogical combination of checked short-shorts and fingerless sock gloves. I hated every admiring glance, but she drew herself closer to me whenever an audacious, vest-wearing buffoon approached her, like a moth to a flame...
'Do you choose to be single?' Mila asked as if she did not know the answer. We sat on the bank overlooking the spirited but weary crowds, reluctant to return to the fray as we huddled in our own bubble of possibility.
'Tomorrow, yesterday, they're not real, no-one else matters... With you I'm safe,' Mila whispered.
She leant against my side, laughed and resisted the urge to ridicule my tongue-tied insecurity. Pyrotechnics exploded below constellations, inscribing words of fire in the sky: Love. Peace. Harmony. A rocket streaked through wispy clouds and formed a heart, pierced by a pink arrow.
We headed downhill and Mila squeezed my hand tightly whilst stumbling over a tuft of grass. The momentum transformed our descent into a gallop and we burst into the assemblage of frivolous hearts, struggling to laugh as we gasped for breath.
'Do you realise this is the longest we've ever held hands?' Mila asked as a pretty girl walked past. She nudged my ribs, then tugged the bottom of my t-shirt. 'Would you rather be with her than me?' Mila frowned and her eyes had lost the insincerity which was always so obvious but so impossible to resist. Things were changing after years of wishful thinking which savaged my heart, like a ship battered against rocks by waves of emotion.
I heard the outlandish shrieks of Bex, who was clutching Oscar's arm and their drunken entourage contaminated our moment of intimacy, bringing trepidation which would inevitably cause Mila to revert to her shell.
'There they are - beauty and the gargoyle!' Bex yelled.
Mila released her grip on my hand which I placed on her hip expecting hostility, but she did not so much as flinch in the presence of our loose-tongued comrades. My protective arm was nestled where it belonged at last and a novel sense of pride caused facial muscles to twitch joyfully as Lel pulled out a camera.
'I'll take a picture of the half-pretty couple.' Lel lined up the primitive digital device and clicked the button to capture the image I am looking at now.
'Let's take a walk.' Mila tugged my wrist as the others skipped off to purchase locust burgers from a van.
The noise level lessened as we wandered along a path of dried mud and flowering weeds and Mila pulled me into the shadow of a closed stall, yards from docked fishing boats. The stench of the river and coolness of the smog faded into insignificance, yet I sensed every moment with crystal clarity. Her face displayed an open, tranquil blueness - suddenly vulnerable and reliant on my every breath, my every motion to be truthful and considerate, but it was time for answers.
'We never talk, not properly. I mean we talk about stupid stuff, but never about this. We're living in an alternative reality and you... you know…' I whispered, unsure of how to finish my sentence.
With chin resting on clavicle, Mila placed one foot against the stone wall and her eyes glowed with a pleading innocence. Hesitant lips opened the tiniest bit as her battle with reluctance conversely demonstrated a desire to discuss the feelings she was so afraid of.
'We can talk about this reality, if you want to,' Mila said, her eyelashes fluttering and I accepted the initiative, prepared to decimate our sham of a friendship if need be:
'Okay, but I want some honest answers for the sake of my… my sanity! One minute we're best friends, but then you walk all over me and the next minute you shun me. You've acted like I don't exist since you started hanging around with that weird-looking girl, what's-er-name? And you say you can't trust me, but I tell you everything. I even told you I haven't been near anyone else, because... You know why...'
Struggling to maintain eye contact, Mila breathed sharply through her nose, toying with the idea of lashing out because attack is the only form of defence she knows.
'I… I never know what you mean, you say something, then you pull a face like you're way more special than you actually are! You're cocky one minute, then you're too soppy the next. I never know whether you're joking and I've seen you flirting with other girls.'
Raising an eyebrow, I tilted my head and smirked upon the affirmation I was not always perceived as a sap. The illusion of esteem had at least partially succeeded.
'There, that's it. That look. You're too arrogant, are you ever sincere?' Mila asked with such bare-faced audacity.
'But I never lie to you. You manipulate me all the time, persuade me to lend you money and generally run around after you and then you've got the nerve to say you can't trust me!' I shrieked.
Mila hesitated, biting her thumbnail whilst staring at the mud and in a moment of never before encountered susceptibility, she reverted to the little girl I met all those years ago.
'I do trust you, it's just-'
'We're best friends! What happened to you? You said something happened, so why are you afraid to open up? I thought nothing scared you.'
'You never think about how this makes me feel.'
'Stop the bullshit. This is not a game, not to me. Every time one of the guys find someone they always ask what's wrong with me. I sometimes wonder who you are waiting for, but I never see you show interest in anyone else. You're too secretive. It doesn't make sense!' I growled.
Mila's tone lowered to a whimper: 'I know... I'm sorry.' Stepping away from the wall, she swayed with hands behind hips, biting her lower lip.
A tear wanted to roll down my cheek, but it was more of a relief than a victory. She gave me a glimmer but I did not know a glimmer was all it was. Anger dissipated and my voicebox weakened as though recovering from a great exertion:
'I won't be strung along forever... you know?'
Mila's wicked mask had slipped and as I observed her delicate state my nerves began to settle. She turned away coyly, before taking my hands with her eyes shut and she leant in with an unmistakable intention. Blood surged, causing my limbs to tremble again and I lost any sense of what I was or was not supposed to do as eyelids closed in response. Then a voice jarred my spine in the most excruciating manner, like gravel grating against my vertebrae.
'Thatssth-wherr-yooo-tooarrr-cummon-yerrr-missin-al-thufun....'
Scoop blundered around the corner with dregs swilling in the beer bottle he was holding; his ill-at-ease frame poised like he was balancing on ice. But no matter what role inebriation may have played, there was an atmosphere of envy and I fought to conceal my frustration. I wanted to destroy him.
'Time to stop being boring and socialise.' Mila's voice dropped to a whisper, 'I know that's difficult for you!'
Mila dragged me into the crowd to mingle as the lads squawked about intended conquests which were never going to happen and the girls swatted away grunting admirers they are never short of.
'Hey you, funny looking guy!' Bex beckoned a nearby reveller to reel him in like a string puppet and snatch his drink which she downed in one go. Beer sprayed from her cackling mouth as she tossed the bottle which landed between dancing feet and she stood, wobbly kneed with a beard of froth.
'It's been an eventful night. Oscar and Scoop are gonna require liver transplants. Me and Bex have met a few lads, keeping our options open. And Mila has finally found herself a man, about time!' Lel grinned, kinking her head.
'I alwayss thought she wassth afraid, tooo frigid. She actss all confident, but she's just a lil girl really. Needs a man to take care of her, eh Arturo?' Scoop unhelpfully interrupted.
'I'll always take care of her, she knows th... Where's she gone?'
With my protective arm suddenly unfilled, I glimpsed streaks of pink hair through gaps between bobbing heads as she who was momentarily mine fled.
'What's wrong?' I yelled, following Mila with a growing sense of anxiety. And I should have known
to leave this headstrong girl alone because any pressure imposed on her inevitably backfires, but I could not bear to give up.
'Leave me alone!' Mila yelled, marching with chin thrust upwards and arms swinging stiffly but I ran after the object of my adoration. When I caught up she flung my hand away and hope drained from my heart as she rushed up a flight of steps into the slums. She glanced back through overhanging branches to utter the words: 'Don't cry, Arturo, it can never happen.'
We have not spoken about that antithalian night since and I am afraid to question my tormentor but I often dwell upon that sequence of emotions. One time I raised the subject in the naive assumption she had just needed a little time. 'We were off our nuts!' she said, laughing off my intimate intentions. It is strange this picture is the one she would choose to have on display.
Chapter Two
Breakfast Time
Sensitized arms stretch across sweetly fragranced bed sheets to meet with lonely emptiness. Yawning deeply upon the discovery of waking alone, I sweep self-pity aside to embrace another magnificent day. I am raring to conjure bare essentials from nothingness, but hesitance stems from the question of whether the recreant soldier will be foolish enough to recruit a pair of liabilities.
My over-eager body bumps from wall to window on the landing and I steady my legs with the assistance of the handrail during my stumble downstairs. Somehow reaching the ground floor in one piece, I wobble my head in an attempt to free myself from a sudden brain pain.
Some of the gang are sitting on stools at the compuscreen, eating our last slices of bread and I scour the cupboards which are completely empty bar a few crumbs. 'I need a drink of water,' I mutter, filling a filtration flask and taking rapid gulps to help a mouth desiccated by substance abuse to feel humanly tolerable again.
My attention turns towards a live broadcast as the news reader says: 'We have breaking news about the mission to the red planet Eos. Three months into its journey the spacecraft Infinity has suffered an explosion on board. The auto-repair systems have failed and a large section of the ship has had to be sectioned off. The gravitational system has malfunctioned and the astronauts are operating in zero gravity which could cause physiological problems on their long journey. Their only hope is to continue to Eos and slingshot around the planet, utilising gravity to propel them back home. The astronauts are missing vital components and supplies. Their mission has been aborted and we can only hope they make it home safely. Our prayers are with them.'
