Gardens of Bucharest

Chapter II

Two thousand kilometers away, Esma Peker conducted her interviews with one of the many dead that dot the European continent.

She sat with her legs crossed over each other while leaning on her arms. Beside her was her phone leaning on an empty water bottle, recording the ramblings of Cristina Lăcustă, the only child of her family. That was the only aspect they had in common, however. Her discursive answers provided mostly nothing of value and wasted her time, but she did not want to interrupt the ghost.

Time was of the essence; time was always of the essence.

Esma felt disgusting. Dirt invaded every niche of her body and she could feel it grinding against her skin every time she shifted. It was her fault she didn't bother to enchant her clothing with a sanitation spell. After this ceremony was over, she knew she wouldn't have enough energy to cast it. God damn her. Why did she have to be stupid during one of the most important things of the year?

"Miss Lăcustă," she nearly growled, not caring anymore if Cristina would think she was rude. Then again, she hadn't noticed any of the other rude gestures she had made during this ceremony. "I think I have enough information for the question."

"Is that so?" Cristina curtsied and smiled brightly. "You ought to visit Czechoslovakia one day and the Charles Bridge! I'm sure you'll have a fantastical experience there just like me."

"I'm sure." She sat up straight asked the next question with complete apathy. She had to restrain herself to tell Cristina that Czechoslovakia no longer existed. "What about your worst moment?"

Cristina pensively rubbed her chin. "My worst? I'm not entirely sure. Does dying count...? Wait! I suppose it had to be the time when I witnessed an old friend of mine return from those trenches." She still maintained a smile, albeit now it was noticeably strained. "We worked together in translating enemy responses... But she had some nursing experience so they sent her off. Bůh... I've never seen such hounded eyes..."

Her eyes flickered towards Cristina, who became uncharacteristically silent. "And who was your friend?"

"Elena Vasilescu." She said the name "Elena" as if seeing it from an observatory. "She was a good friend. Shame that she had to die ungracefully."

Esma decided that it was best to dismiss Cristina, before anything else happened. "Thank you for your time, Miss Lăcustă. Eliberare."

The ghost disappeared and Esma promptly collapsed onto the ground. Her wavy black hair fanned out, now slightly damp because of the dew. She plastered her stray bangs on her scalp and watched the pale, full moon shine above. How she wanted to be there, up there, among the stars! Free from any mortal worry and tribulations.

Though, she knew that it would take a winding road there, it was going to be worth it; her name and portrait would be hung in the grandest halls of the magical world. Men, women, children would sing praises about her achievements and name their daughters after her. Esma wanted her future to be as bright as the stars, and she knew that she was willing to burn for it.

Slowly, she picked herself up, and dusted stray grass strands off her clothing. Her legs wobbled and she had to support herself with one of the graves to fully stand up, making for a somewhat humiliating picture on Esma's perspective. One by one, she extinguished the burning incense. She garnered all of her supplies in one pile, said "mai mic," and dropped the miniaturized items in a plastic bag.

Esma cracked her back and took another water bottle from her bag, gulping its contents in one gulp and wiping her wet mouth with her sleeve. Not exactly elegant sight, but no one was around to see her anyway. She placed the now-empty bottle in her bag and gave herself room between her, and the Lăcustă graves.