- And thus it all ends – Oblak wipes his nose with a bloody handkerchief - in a line to be sent home to the father, like a package.

They stand in a short line of seven people in the consulate to arrange their return at the expense of their country.

- We tried – Nasha holds tight to his arm – at least, we finished a story, we can always start another.

- Yes, we can – neither of them dares to question such an obvious lack of enthusiasm.

- At least back home the air is clean and nature unspoiled – and they both know, that’s not true anymore. The banks are all owned by foreigners, the islands are sold to corporations and people are getting addicted to expensive and illegal substances originating from distant and exotic places. And it all has to do with this country they are trying to leave now.

- We are getting out of America for political reasons. Who would want to stay in such a cruel place – she makes an effort to smile.

- I wouldn’t – he feels really bad now – You know, I was thinking. If someone was in a hurry to finish a 


story, a storywith someone like the two of us as main characters, although, I don’t have a clue why would someone make up such a story in the first place, who has interest in a straight hetero white couple, but… you know, they would push us into doing things. Make us make a wrong decision, make us bleed, make us emigrate, make us die. Just to have a more interesting story.

- We are not going to die, not here, not now – Nasha whispers persuading herself.

- Sure, we have to get home first, to a clean bed, and maybe then, with bells mourning the tragedy of our young age – the line moves by one.

- Maybe we survive, find a job, start a career in, let’s say, scuba diving.

- Maybe we are street actors, perform for rowdy Italians and sun burnt Germans during the tourist season.

- In the winter we sleep with the bears. Never wake up.

- Maybe, we’ll find the wrecked body of the Deliverance and a book penned by Sibelius, the scribe. The last entry written in the innocent blood of the twins.


- Even – whispers Odd, bleeding heavily...