𝐁𝐄𝐋𝐋 𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑𝐒

Scene 1

/jʊərəˈpiːən ˈpeɪɡ(ə)nɪz(ə)m/ { european paganism }

I imagined this story being set in the 1997.

you can imagine whoever you want as a main character, though she is croatian and therefore probably of slavic or dinaric race.

_____

It was beginning to happen again.

I would wake up covered in bruises, scratches still open and bloody, sheets sweaty and all of that from my constant and direful night terrors.

It was beginning to be unbearable.

I could hardly focus during the day, dreading the night time and having to fall asleep. Restless nights repeatedly continued, every bad dream seeming worse than the previous one.

Was this what I could expect to go through for the rest of my life? I could not cope with something like that.

If it were a constant dream, perhaps one that does not change every night, I could have gotten used to it, but with terrors becoming worse with every time my eyes closed and I drifted into sleep, I realised I had to do something.

I sat up in my bed, crying and trying to breathe seeming the only option, the only two tasks my body approved of. I tried to calm myself, thinking of those who matter the most.

From both sides, my moms and my dads, my grandparents were of Croatian descent, therefore I was complitely Croatian myself, even though our hectic and hard life continued on in another country. Country far away from our own. I yearned for my home, wishing since I was a kid that we would just move or hoping we could at least go back to Croatia over the hollidays.. I just wanted to go back for at least a day.

"When I grow older I will find my Prince and we can go back together and then he can protect me!" is what I used to say, when my parents would tell me that it was 'scary down there now'.

And it was hard to go now, war knocking on the door of Yugoslavian countries.

So I promised myself that that childhood dream would be fulfilled, and maybe I could return by myself.

With that thought I started to calm down, breathing rapidly descreasing, tears running dry. I have had enough. It had to be stopped, but I did not know how to do it alone again. Where do I start from, again?

My religion was still very dear to me, though those doors were closed.

I had tried going to church, praying my purple rosary, confessing my sins, coming to church an hour earlier to feel the comfort of others, but to no avail.

So I tried talking to the priests, but all they would do is point to another church and another one and then another one, and then all of a sudden, in a radius of two hour drive by car, I ran out of churches to go to and priests to confess to.

I was dwindling away.

Usually I would ask my parents for help, them being very religious, but if the priests could not figure this one out and this was not my parents expertise, I had to call my definitely last hope.

Realization of that hit me quickly and harshly, bringing me on the verge of tears once again. Last hope.

Last hope to end this one year long suffering.

Grabbing my phone from the bedside table, I checked the time.

07:06 AM

Mama was awake.

My fingers found their way over to the conversation with my Mom and I, abruptly stopping before I could type anything, our last conversation still lingering in my head.

'It's still worth a shot, even if she doesn't answer' I thought. Before I started to dwell even more on my thoughts, my thumbs typed up the message:

Good morning, could you please give me grandmas phone number? This is a new phone, so I don't have her in my contacts anymore.

She replied rather quickly:

Good morning and ok.
+************

And just like that, I was back in, sucked into this world I was trying to escape for years. To no avail. Hopelessness hit hard and I was clutching to that last bit that remained as much as I could for this remaining year, but I felt something I haven't felt prior.

Suddenly I wasn't lacking hope.

It was time for me to try some white magic.

_____

photo of an old, croatian woman in bosnia, tattoos covering her hands and chest in order to change the mind of the ottomans. they would kidnap and rape croatian catholic women and would take their children, so mostly women and sometimes male children were tattooed circles (representing kolo, a traditional dance of unity), klasje/žito (wheat) and crosses (catholic faith) in order to push the ottomans away or if they were still taken as slaves, to give them something to remember their heritage by.

never forget who you are, where you come from or what your religion is.