painted white, sarajevo

XX

"It can't end there." Elias ran a hand through his hair. "It can't, it can't, it can't. He probably...lost the notebook."

"Shush up," Kane said. "If yer just gonna mope 'bout it, I've got no problem with hitting ya. Tell me a bit more."

"I know you've read pretty much nothing about Safet's story, but, basically, it's a story from the Great Recreational Age. Before that, I mean. It's in this place called Sarajevo, and...and I just read the last entry."

Kane's brow furrowed as he sat down on the bed next to Elias, looking over at his friend. The bed creaked uncomfortably under him.

"He was supposed to tell about the end of the siege. He was supposed to tell about the happiness of people when it ended. He was supposed to talk about his wedding. But...he was writing. He was writing about the war, how he wanted it to end, and he suddenly cut off..."

Pulling himself of the bed, Kane walked to the desk, taking hold of the diary and bringing it closer to his face. "It cut off?" he mused, flipping through the notebook.

Elias nodded.

Stopping on the last page, the shorter man ran his finger down the page, just hovering over the bloodstain. "Well, guess it can't be helped. Prolly dead."

Keeping his eyes down, Elias pulled himself up, moving to stand next to Kane. "I want to believe that Safet didn't die in the siege. I want to believe that Vita and him got married, had children, and lived a happy life. I want to believe that his life didn't end in such a horrid way. I just want to believe."

"Mhmm, I know, I know. You've got a warm heart."

A soft noise came from the notebook as Kane tossed it down to the desk, a puff of dust billowing from the cover.

"I'll do some research. I gotcha."

With that, Kane's comforting although stern presence left Elias' side, sweeping out of the room and leaving him to himself.

Just like that.

Elias glanced at the notebook once again, taking the leather-bound object into his hand. Turning it over in his palms, he allowed his eyes to skim over the slightest details of the diary.

The russet mark over the pages. The slight bend to its spine. The smear marks of the pen or pencil Safet had used to write, smudging the paper and some of the words.

The little details, the evidence of someone using it. The evidence of life.

Elias eased himself onto the bed again, cradling the diary carefully. Flipping to the last page, he let his gaze linger on the final word.

H.

That's as far as Safet got.

The bed shifted under his weight as Elias flopped backwards, letting the notebook smack against his chest. He stared up at the ceiling. The ceiling swirled with intricate designs, patterns of gold and green scattered across the surface. One of the designs, located near the top corner...

Elias could see a face.

He could see a face- the jawline, the curve of the nose. Eyebrows. Eyes. Mouth. The beginning of the neck.

Elias fell asleep with patterns of green and gold on his mind.

⛊

"Elias! Elias!"

The sharp knock on the door snapped the archaeologist awake, hand fumbling and scrambling to pull himself up by hooking onto the end of the bed. Safet's diary slipped from where it had fallen on his chest, bouncing off the bed and hitting the floor.