The archive of the forgotten

The better one ~ How does one see you?

The early day is still presenting morning fog as I walk onto the veranda for a cigarette. Birds are singing with sleep still stuck in their voices as the sun tries to penetrate the dampness of the air. My shirt is too warm for a day like this, the cuffs are too long and too tight, it means that the sleeves look beautiful, but it does trap the sweat. Not to mention that these kind of trousers are basically a small sauna built into clothing, but I don't have much else to look presentable in when the painter comes. And I do want to look presentable, it seems like half a miracle that I am even allowed on this portrait, so I won't waste it trying to be myself. The tranquillity of the sunrise only makes my nerves worse just like the lack of visible animals, I breathe out the smoke I want to curse the weather, I can't remember if it always was like this, these smothering summers, but if my memory serves me well they have gradually gotten worse. It feels like the world is slowly killing itself, like the meadows of my heart have been doing all this time. I used to believe we would be able to fix this country once we can coexist with nature again, but perhaps it is too late, and perhaps I am nothing more than a dreamer.

Without wind to distract me the screams and streams of thoughts overflow my head like the trembling air of the heat. The silence no longer sounds like peace, it sounds like the foreboding drums of something terrible to come. Why does it remind me of some kind of war? There are no threats where I can see them, but that is even worse than seeing them. I need to swallow my fear and wonder what happened to me to make me such a coward in these few months, I thought my soul had produced enough callouses but perhaps it is simply callous, not calloused. I am running out of time, this oasis of a period in my life will soon be over and I will no longer be ready for the real harm that the world has designed for me. I have lost my voice, not by screaming about injustice but by shutting up, willingly even, and now I have forgotten how to scream.

I put out the cigarette as I regurgitate the smoke through my nose with a strangely peaceful huff. I walk into the field, waiting for the plants to fight me but they don't seem to be interested in me at all. I touch the tall grass as I find a comforting temperature in them, the hunting knife I am too afraid not to carry with me chafes against my leg as I wonder why I still do it, and so I just take it out. The gleam of the polished edge under the sun makes me miserable beyond repair. I position my legs in a fighting stance as I remember the theory taught about how to use a knife properly, I chuckle, eventually you'd never use it. Knife fights on the streets are hardly tactical, it is simple, everyone will get stabbed but the one that falls to the ground first has lost.
No, all the kids preferred their fist, knives were for weaklings, and guns were only for the real enemy (And roulette of course.) Fighting dirty is one thing, but fighting brutally is another, most disputes weren't as serious as we would pretend. Like petty disputes about which children had the right to steal from certain markets, I scoff, even the streets had manners, I never realized that as such.
The knife makes a satisfying noise as it moves the air that almost wants to be an obstacle. The fluent movements come naturally as I quickly switch my knife from one hand to the other, reminding myself that once you have been conditioned to do one thing you will not forget, it is instinct, it is not what you learned anymore, it is who you are. The dangerous movements are an extension of my body and my mind drowns out all noise by simply being violent again.

"What kind of invisible ghosts are you fighting?" A bright voice asks from the Veranda.
I turn to Eliana and smile, not certain if I want to but I don't see why not. "You shouldn't lose skills because we have nowhere to use them." I say as she steps off the deck and then I notice something. The black dress she is wearing, made of flowy black material reminds me of the days we would hesitantly celebrate when I was young. The linen blouse has the same shape, and the black corset-like structure embedded in the dress has the same embroidery, not to mention the silver chain crossing over itself again and again till it is interrupted by the sheer dark green apron tied around her waist. I tilt my head and start to laugh, her eyes open in a surprised way, she stares at me as I try not to fall into the grass with my bitter laughs.
"What's wrong?" She asks, her voice sounds adorably innocent as I cough trying to get enough oxygen for my laugh.
"Where do you want me to start?" I ask, shaking my head in amusement.
"I mean it Xad, don't be mean."
"Well, firstly it is so beautifully ironic that you are wearing something that would be illegal if someone like me would wear it."
"Because you're a boy?" She asks, looking me up and down.
I choke in my own spit, shaking my head at the same time. "Well, technically correct I suppose but no, because your people have forbidden us to wear traditional clothing. You are wearing our Mraddoha."
"I just wear it because it is better suited for weather like this than my normal clothes" she says.
I tilt my head. "That's a good reason, but you'd have to wear it correctly to impress me." I say with a dark chuckle. "But I am certain you don't even know anyone who could help you with understanding this garment."
"Please Xad, do me a favour and say what is wrong about it." She says, walking towards me.
I smile and shake my head. "It's too funny to help you."
"Oh come on don't be mean" She complains.
"You really want to know?" I ask, polishing the blade with my sleeve.
"I do."
"The way you have tied the apron means you are far too old to marry." I say with a smirk, her face immediately turns red. I comb my hand through my hair and notice how the humidity has changed the texture of it, the ridiculous curls feel too heavy in this weather but I know I can't change it. She shakes her head and looks at the ground.
"Tie it behind your back, it means you're young and not ready for anything." I say softly.
"What do tying it on the left mean then?"
I smile mischievously, "You really do not want to know."
"Oh come on Xad."
"It means open for everything, business or pleasure." I say with a crooked smile, staring at her, waiting for her amusing reaction. She hits my arm and I chuckle as she crosses her arms.
"What kind of culture would have something to signify that!!!" She yells, tying it on her left side. I stare at her, perplexed as she playfully bats her eyelashes before finally tying it on her back.
"Says the culture that doesn't even have traditional clothes." I say with a chuckle
"We have fashion to make up for it." She shoots back.
"Touché"