Now and Then

You’re sitting in the dry cleaners, newspaper in hand, reading the weekly column by the Prime Minister Enver Hoxha with the title “Gati per Luftë”. You’re halfway through the most important message of the piece when you hear the bellowing, ear deafening clatter of the church bell. You drop the newspaper in an instant, despite the ping of the finished wash, and look at the time.

It’s time.

You sprint round the corner and rush inside. It’s time. You head off with your M1919 in your right hand, 15 kilos of food, water and medical aid in the bag on your back and head to the bunker. There’s little time left, hearing the bell again means you’re too late. The adrenaline kicks in as you’re sprinting alongside many other to get ready in time. The smell of fresh tomatoes and pears in the fields takes over your breathing as you reach the bunker.

Inside, the rotten smell of the dense mud makes you sick, but you have no choice. Cleaning the bunker for even the slightest of seconds means you are dead. You drop your bag at your 3 o’clock and place down the gun. Rushing to put your helmet on, you notice that the enemy is within reach. The taste of dust overpowers your other senses, but nothing is going to overpower the focus for the next 30 minutes. You start to ruffle, you hurry through your bag but something doesn’t seem quite right to you. The sinking feeling of your knee in the thick but viscous mud fills you with dissatisfaction as you still struggle to find what your looking for. You take a look outside just in case you might have dropped it. You stop and pause as you look at the wonderful landscape that has engulfed you. Just of in the distance is the tallest point for miles on end. All year round the snow is there and in the sun, it glistens. In the valley, the meadows blossom with an array of different colors blossoming in that moment. You’re in your own paradox, drifting off slightly, back into childhood when something knocks you out of it. The sound of screams surround you and hit you in sequences. The vile, beet red takes over as the sun is no more, darkness arrives and the torrential hail begins to fall as you take cover.

The title of the article: Ready For War.

14th of March, “Diten e Verës”, a bank holiday as such when everyone gets to relax after a couple of weeks of constant work. Not for kids however, they go to where they always love to go. The bunker is the place where all the kids generally tend to go during spare time. When 1 o’clock comes