Guest post by Mr. X

Едно мое другарче одамна се кани да ми напише guest post на блогов. Ради финта, не дека он не може самиот да си отвори блог. Ама се нешто му фали време, инспирација, место... Во муабетот: Абе кога ќе ми пишеш guest post ми прати еден текст. Текстот е пишуван во времето кога тој бил студент и нема ама баш никаква врска со Германија. Ама затоа е многу добар. Со негова дозвола и благослов ви го објавувам текстот на Мистер Икс под наслов "Drugs on War". Во овој текст, како и во целиот мој блог нишчо немат мамено. Е сега ако су лагали мене, онда и ја лажем вас...

Drugs on war

The wipers were dieing on us. On the windshield, the rain popped like pop corn. The car was behaving strangely, since there was a lot of water on the tarmac. Isaac sat calmly on the co-driver seat; I guess the trip was fading away.

On that dark day, we were headed to the nearest ski center. While we were driving, the rain turned into snow. Suddenly, it was cold. We began to climb the mountain.

My friend Isaac and I arrived at noon at ski center. Finally we’ve made it. Our relatives advised us not to go at all at the mountain, because the war was still going on. The past month, terrorists would show up in the area where we were now. But after seeing the snow, the adrenalin kicked in and soon, Isaac and I found ourselves surfing the white slopes.

On the mountain, we stayed for four hours. We enjoyed it very much. People were beginning to leave the mountain, since it was getting dark. The main reason was that at night usually the fights between the police and the terrorists occurred. With a subconscious thought for the journey home to go smoothly, we went to our car 2 kilometers down the ski center.

As we declined very slowly towards the parking lot, we saw that the only car was our car. My heart stopped for a second, knowing that if something went wrong, we would be left by ourselves. Isaac told me to open the trunk so as to put the snowboards. Everything was set to go. I put my key to the ignition position. The car couldn’t start.

The weather was below zero degrees. I guess something froze in the engine. Isaac, using his engineering degree, tried to fix the engine but with the limited conditions provided, he couldn’t. We didn’t know what to do. After a while we saw two people leaving from a house, near the parking lot. They were big; wearing dark clothes (it was difficult to notice them in the dark), with shining jewelry on their wrists and necks. We smelled trouble, but we had nothing else to do, so we approached them.

Isaac, with a calm voice, asked them if they could help us with our car. For our big surprise, they were nice and offered to help us. They told us, ”we will drag your car 10 kilometers from here, and then do whatever you want”. At least will get to the nearest village, I thought.

After 20 minutes of snail driving, we arrived at the village. The two guys, unhook the cable connecting both cars, and went away using a narrow snowy road. I wondered where they were going.

Isaac and I went out of the car, and we started to look for people that could help us. After 30 gruesome minutes of searching, we concluded that no one could fix the car. The explanation was simple. It was to cold to start the engine, because the fuel froze in the gas tank. Calling a service truck was not an option, because everyday life was dieing here because of the war. We were in big trouble.

After a while, Isaac told me, “lets spend the night here, and in the morning when it will be warmer, we will go”. I agreed, since there was nothing else to do. No one was going out of the mountain village, since it was 20.00 hours and the police forbid for everyone to be outside at that time. Except for the terrorists, we laughed. A man offered to spend the night at his house, and for a moment we felt relieved.

The house was cold. The fire place was far away from our beds, so the owner of the house gave us many blankets. After we finished with the dinner (quite delicious, I must say), we went to bed. I was so cold, I couldn’t move my legs. After two hours of cold sleep, gun fire shook me up. The owner rushed in the room and with a dimmed voice told us to go down in the basement.

In the underground room, there were old things lying on the ground. The man grabbed the automatic rifle standing next to him. He said “the enemy is surrounding the village, we need more man to join the police resistance.” After seeing us tired and exhausted, he spared us of enduring that gruesome experience of being a soldier. He left the room. Isaac and I hid behind an old closet.

The quietness of the mountain was pierced by the shots single and automatic gun fire. Occasionally, a big bang was to be heard. We said goodbye to each other, like it was the judgment day. Isaac told me “life is beautiful”. It was so ironic; we were scared to death. Soon we fell asleep along the gunfire, like babies listening fairytales before saying sweet dreams to them.

In the morning, the owner woke us up. We were glad that he was the first thing we saw. He told us that the terrorists retreated during the night, and we were clear to head home. We thanked the man, and entered the car.

The moment came to find out whether we were going home or not. In a few seconds the engine rumbled and a great load of worries perished. I was very excited about telling all the people what we’ve endured; or maybe it was the fact that in few hours we would be home. The funny thing was that Isaac and I didn’t think about getting high in those dreadful hours. I guess war is a drug itself.