Forest is close, trees are far

4. Vibeke

In a pleasantly sun lit room, the rest of Delta's company was waiting for her. The afternoon sun spilled through the windows overlooking the garden and over the hills of Harold's estate. Not yet his, his father's legally speaking. But he was never there, so Harold, at least in the eyes of his peers, was the chief landowner.

The young man stood at the window, leaning on a bench, absent-minded. With their entry, Vibeke disrupts the silence, which is due to the remaining childish fear of Harold, the biggest bully in this provincial gang. He used to like the awe that others showed him, but over time, what once made us happy turns into a noose that has tightened and we can no longer find a way to take it off our necks.

"Look at me, Vibeke. Take a good look at me and tell me what you see. " He cast a shadow with his back to the window, growing larger as he grew closer to her. But Vibeke didn't grow up with this lot, and they didn't hang out enough for germ of fear to develop into anything. How can she see when she doesn't know what to watch? 

His hair was disheveled as usual, the first button of his shirt unbuttoned as well as the next and the one after it. He bears no cuts or bruises; his skin was smooth and marbled with the extract of  blush coloring his high cheeksbones. A common sight in a normal afternoon. Vibeke almost forgets that there are more Units than there would be if it were usual afternoon; she almost forgets that the world is an ugly place where even the slightest mistake affects performance. Almost, but not completely.

"I do not understand. You'll have to be a little more precise. And faster. I have work to do. "

Her voice bounces in anticipation. He smiles at her with that smile given to young children and their naivety.

"I'm alive, Vibeke. It's nothing to me. I'm alive. "

Well of course he's alive. He didn't get so drunk that he buried himself, that's impossible because they never drink at parties, it's the rule, and that would mean-

There is a transparent bottle on the table. Ingredients visible to everyone. Recognizable only to those who know a little more than those to whom it is just a bottle of pills. "Ah so that's it."T

he headache pushed to the forefront, propping itself with its sharp legs against the inner wall of her skull. Pain broke through her forehead. We have to go. It's late and by the time I get there it will already be dark and the mind that has started to squirm in pain, reminds her that it's too late anyway. "Maybe it's not the smartest thing to go there." Harold remarked gently.

Sorgnen leaned against the shelf in the corner, keeping his eyes on the floor. How could she even think the visit would remain a secret?

We are not here because we are friends. We are just foreigners who are oppressed by the same government and who have the same enemy. Only people who have the same goal. But still strangers.

"He was in my house, not yours."

Perhaps if the world were a little fairer to the individual, there might not even be a need for associations of any kind. Loybas bursts into a silent laugh, Kristnan shows a half-smile on his face, Sorgnen can't even look at her, and Harold remains the heart and soul of the gang, as if to tell her 'That was the only way.'