Not a person in sight. Only crows picking scraps and cigarette butts out between the gravel. The old Ford turns left up the dark alley leading to the yard. It rumbles along the dirt road for several minutes before disappearing between the worn-out train cars and coming to a stop near the large open space between them. Two men step out of the van. The driver lights a cigarette while the other sends a text from a flip phone to a number that will soon be disconnected.

“Plaza is clear. Games are on!”

The man with the cigarette leans against the van while dragging hard on his smoke. His face is rough, and his beard is big and messy. The two fingers missing from his left hand were taken by a shark several years ago. The kind of shark that offers high interest loans to desperate people. The other man is walking around the area to check it out properly. He has already decided how to set up the area, when the flip phone in his pocket gives a short buzz.

“Players 1-4 confirmed. Set it up.”

The man nods to himself when he reads the text and then calls his friend to get the gear. The man with the cigarette opens the van and hauls out a large box. They start by setting up the corner polls for the arena. Then they tie a long rope between the corners to form a clearly marked square. Finally, one of them grabs a can of spray-paint and paints a second square on the ground around the first, marking off where the spectators can stand. They are only just finished with the ring when a brown Toyota rolls into the square and parks next to the van. A slim, bald man with small sunglasses exits the driver side of the vehicle and promptly walks to the rear passenger door. The driver opens the door and a short Asian man, wearing a suit, steps out. He has a large scar across his face, and his nose is crooked from having been broken several times. The driver walks to the man with the cigarette and announces that player one has arrived and is ready. The man with the flip-phone leads the driver and the Asian man, known as player one, to an open train car where they can sit and wait for the other players and the spectators to arrive.

Over the course of the next few minutes the area slowly fills up with people, arriving in cars, on bikes and on foot. They all gather quietly around the marked square, being careful not to cross the painted lines on the ground. Ten minutes later, a station wagon pulls into the yard. Two very buff young men exit the car. One has tattoos covering most of his body, from the tips of his fingers, up the arms, across the chest and back, and down the legs. The other has clean white skin. They are both wearing jeans and tight tank tops and generally look a lot alike, apart from the ink. The tattooed one announces the arrival of players three and four and the men are led to another train car where they can wait. Player two arrives a few minutes later, on a lime green motorcycle. She quickly parks it, walks to the man with the cigarette and demands the games start immediately. The man nods and grabs an old worn-out bowler hat from his box of stuff. He quickly throws four pieces of paper in there and shakes it. His partner pulls out two of the paper slips. Players three and four are up first. The players enter the square and for a few minutes they just stare at each other, while the crowd has a chance to place their bets. When all the bets are in the man with flip phone gives the players the signal to start.

The tattooed man throws the first punch that lands square in the chest of his brother who stumbles backwards, before launching his own punch. He passes a few perfect face shots before his tattooed brother manages to block him and fight back. They fight back and forth for several minutes, while the crowd yells and cheers. Both men are bleeding from the face, and the tattooed one clearly has a broken nose while the other has a swollen eye. They both refuse to back down, but they also seem to be equally good fighters.

Lots of low blows and dirty tricks later the tattooed man finally lands a punch that sends his opponent into the dirt. He lands on his back and doesn’t get back up. The crowd is yelling and screaming louder than ever when player four is declared the winner. A few volunteers drag the looser away from the arena.

During the short break between fights, all the bets are settled. Some won good money, while others lost even more. Less then five minutes later the next fight is prepared. The name-hat comes out again, now only containing three paper slips. The first one pulled is player two; the young woman. Next is player four. He has barely wiped the blood from his face, and now he has to fight again. The fighters join the square and another round of betting is started. When the fight starts the woman quickly sends a series of well-placed fist shots, but the tattooed man blocks them easily. He is significantly larger than her and the punches doesn’t seem to bother him at all. When the woman backs off, he returns the favour by punching her, first going for the face and then for the body. She blocks, but the hits push her backwards. This man is clearly hitting a lot harder than her and has about twice the weight. They dance around each other and trade punches, always with the same result. One punches, the other blocks. He always pushes her backwards several feet for each attack, while she barely makes him move an inch. The crowd is yelling and cheering every time one of the fighters makes a move. After a while the tattooed man decides to end the fight. He launches forward to strike the woman. He is putting his entire weight behind this one. As he extends his arm, with incredible force the woman ducks out of the way and pulls her knee up and forward with an equal amount of force. Her head only just gets out of the way of the fist, coming at her, but her knee is well placed and strikes the man square in the balls. He lets out a loud squeal and then the entire area goas quiet.

The tattooed man tumbles over, as in slow motion and lands curled up on the ground. The silence is long as the crowd realizes what just happens. Then they all roar at once. The tattooed man is dragged away, and the woman is declared the winner. Once again, the bets are settled, and the two remaining fighters prepare for the last fight of the day.

Players one and two are called to the arena. For the last time, the crowd has a few minutes to place their bets. Most people are betting on the Asian who is no longer wearing his suit. He is now only wearing a pair of shorts and tight fist wrappings. His bare torso reveals several large scars from knife fights and at least two from bullets. The fight begins with the Asian leaping forward with unbelievable speed and hammering on the young woman like lightning. His hands move too fast for people to really understand what is happening, and the woman has only a poor chance to block. She can do nothing but take the massively violent abuse from her opponent, until he finally backs off to take a breather. He expected the woman to be too tired and sore from the previous fight and from his own pounding to offer any real threat or resistance. But as soon as he steps away from her, she takes the short opening as an invitation to teach him a few things about street fighting. She starts by landing a few perfectly measured body shots, forcing the Asian to lower his guard to protect his stomach. The woman takes advantage of this slight opening, to send a single right hook straight to his face. The sound of his nose breaking almost outshouts the roaring cheer of the crowd. The Asian stumbles backwards. He never thought this chick would have had such power in her. He quickly collects himself and steps forward to deal his own damage, but every swing he throws, hits only air, as the woman dodges him every time, with incredible precision. He keeps trying, but no matter how fast he tries to punch, she keeps ducking out of the way or blocking him off, almost like she knows where the next punch will fall before he does. Before he is able to land a solid punch, she starts hitting him back. They trade punches back and forth, but although they are pretty equal in skill the Asian man is taking the most direct blows while the woman is taking a lot less damage. After ten minutes the woman delivers the final blow. A perfect wrist shot hitting the Asian in the throat. He stumbles backwards a few steps, with panic in his eyes, before finally tumbling over with a vague rattling sound. The crowd is louder than ever before, as the woman is declared the winner.

As the Asian is dragged away from the arena and the bets are being settled, the woman walks back to her motorbike. She swiftly hops on and turns to the game host with the cigarette. She gives him a small wink before speeding away from the old train yard.

Written 15/03-2021

Sandra picks up the bag of onions. “How many do we need?”, Albert flips through the book. “Hold on. Uhm, just one onion. And we need four potatoes per person, so that makes sixteen. And all of the bell peppers. You get all that, and I’ll get started on the bacon and chicken.”

Sandra nods and goes to the toolbox to find a vegetable knife and a cutting board. It isn’t easy to find an even surface on the home build table, but they make do. She starts by cutting one end of the onion and proceeds to peel it carefully. She makes sure to get all the nasty onion skin off as well. Then she places the onion on the board with the cut end down, and slices it in half, before flipping it and cutting it in hundreds of tiny onion pieces.

Next, she grabs the bag of potatoes and counts out the sixteen they need, into a washing bowl. Jack joins her with the pale of water and pours over the potatoes, to ease the peeling process. Sandra sits down and starts peeling away while she hums the potato-peeling-song.

Albert has found his own chopping board, a sharp knife, and the box with all the meat products. He starts with the chicken breasts. Slices it carefully in long, slim strips. Then he cuts them into squares, the size of playing dice. When he is done with all the chicken, he dumps it in a plastic bowl and sets it aside. He then pulls out the bacon and cuts that in thin pieces as well. When it is all nice and sliced, he dumps it in the same bowl as the chicken.

After he finished the meats, he washes the cutting board and knife carefully, before starting on the bell peppers. He doesn’t know what else to do, and Sandra is still slaving away at the potatoes.

Sandra is making great progress, but potatoes are a long process. The peeling feels like it takes forever, but when that is done things pick up. It only takes a few minutes to cut the potatoes in small bits.

While the two are working on the food, Jack and Sam are trying to make a fire. At first, they are both chopping wood. They will need quite a lot for the fire to go for as long as it takes to cook proper food. After a while, Sam set aside his axe and takes out his knife. He collects a few of the firewood pieces and sits by the campfire pit. He starts to carefully cut small wood shavings of the firewood. They will need a good handful of these to get the fire going. While he cuts away, Jack keeps at it with the big axe. He cops more wood than he can carry, but he is sure they will get it all burned before they go to bed, even if they don’t need all of it for the cooking fire. When he has a good pile of wood, he starts bringing it to the fire pit, where he stacks it neatly in the corner. He then goes off into the forest to find some suitable kindling. Sam starts building the fire in a neat little pile, with a solid base and smaller sticks on top. After a short while Jack return with a handful of tiny sticks and some dried grass and moss. He carefully sets the grass and moss in the middle of the fire that Sam build. They then stack small sticks on top and builds around it with slightly larger pieces of wood.

Eventually Jack looks at Sam. “I think we are ready, don’t you?”. Sam nods. “Yeah, you do the honours”. Jack pulls out his fire steel and strikes a few sparks down on the bonfire. They land in the dry moss in the middle. Jack gently squeezes the moss to close a bit around the tiny fragile ember and blows on it ever so gently. After a second a small line of smoke rises from the embers, and shortly after a flame jumps up from the moss. It quickly catches the grass and the smallest of the sticks. Jack gently manipulates the kindling, to make sure it all catches fire, and after just a few minutes they have a big, nice fire going. They both make sure to feed it regularly with increasingly large sticks and logs, to get it to a good cooking state.

While the fire grows steadily, they all pitch in on getting the last of the food ready. They then gather at the firepit to look at the fire eating away at the wood, while they wait for it to die down to a manageable size. They spend the time talking about their day and share stories. After fifteen minutes the fire is about the right size for cooking and Jack places the Dutch oven directly in the fire.

They fetch the food from the table and start throwing it in the big cast iron pot, starting with the bacon and chicken. When that is browned, they add the onions and then about a liter of cooking cream and just as much water. When the stew is nearing a boil, they add the potatoes and the peppers, along with plenty of seasoning. Sam stirs the whole thing for about a minute. Then he places the lid on top, and they leave it sitting there.

While the stew is stewing, Sandra mixes up a batch of simple bread dough. It is mostly water, flower, and oil. When the stew has been simmering for about half an hour, Jack fetches the frying pan and put it over the fire next to the iron pot. Sandra starts frying the dough in small flat portions on the pan to make a stack of small bread loafs. Albert is grabbing the plates and cutlery from the toolbox and setting the table neatly. Or at least as neatly as he can, on the uneven tabletop. Sandra puts all the fresh bread loafs in a bowl and sets it on the table.

When the food is ready, they each grab a plate and fills it with stew from the pot, still sitting in the fire. It is too heavy to move, and the food stays hot longer on the fire anyways. When they all have a full plate, they sit at the table and pass the bread bowl around. Sandra looks around at them all. “Good work team. Dig in!”.

Written 24/02-2021

When I was a young boy, I had a most unusual friend. She wasn’t my only friend, but she was the only friend I truly trusted. We would play around for hours every day, and I would ride her back over the rooftops and above the city. We would travel to faraway lands and meet all sorts of characters. And wherever we came, everyone would bow to my friend and I. Pirates and kings and elves and wizards alike would fall to one knee when Serelarh and I flew by. We were the most respected pair in the whole world. And we were the best of friends from even before I learned to walk, and all the way through my childhood.

Unfortunately, there is this thing with dragons. The older you get, the weaker they become. Until one day they are no more at all. And then there is me. As I grew older, I started to doubt myself. I was never too confident, and as I grew older, and my time with Serelarh became less and less every day, I started to see dark creatures around me. It started one summer evening, when Serelarh and I had flown off to a beach in Honah Lee, to see the sea turtles burry their eggs. As the sun was coming down and we turned towards home, I spotted a shadow on the beach below us. Serelarh didn’t seem to notice at all, so I thought nothing more of it then.

It took almost a week before I saw another shadow. It seemed to be following me home, as I was leaving school. It scared me, so I started running, and as soon as I came home, I called Serelarh, and we flew off. It wasn’t long before we reached Honah Lee, and I almost forgot about the shadows, as we soared over the city. Then we heard the sound of canons firing not too far from the harbour. Serelarh quickly turned towards the sound, and when we reached the water, we saw that several of the king’s ships were firing at a large, black-sailed schooner. It wasn’t pirates, and I couldn’t see any flags, indicating where the ship was from. Even the ship itself was hard to make out. Every feature of it was black as the night, and that made it impossible to see if there were any crew on board, and if so, how many men. The black schooner was heading straight for the harbour at full sail. They didn’t seem to care that the king and his fleet were firing at them. They just kept sailing. Serelarh and I kept our distance to the schooner, but we circled around it to see if we could make out where it was from, or why it was here, but we couldn’t see anything but blackness on the deck of the ship. Then out of nowhere there was a loud rumbling as the schooner opened fire from two large bow canons. How could I have missed them? We looked on in terror as the first of the king’s ships was blown to a million pieces. Nothing was left of the ship when the smoke cleared. It was time Serelarh and I joined the fight. Serelarh turned sharply, and we soared towards the stern of the schooner. When we were close enough Serelarh opened her mouth and covered the backmost half of the ship in flames. As soon as she was done, I jumped to the deck and drew my sword. Serelarh went straight for the sails. The second I landed on the deck, I realized why we hadn’t seen the crew. They were as black as the ship. They didn’t have black skin. Truly I wasn’t sure if they even had skin. They looked more like shadows, than people. Standing, walking shadows. We fought them, Serelarh and I. It felt like hours, we were on the ship, fighting for our lives and for Honah Lee.

When the fight was over, and the last of the shadows had been run through, the ship seemed different. It was still dark, but it had colour now. Not just black. We were greeted as heroes when we returned to Honah Lee, but when I asked who it was we had fought off, Serelarh picked me up, and flew off, before anyone could answer. I didn’t understand, and it would take a few years before I would finally get it. During those years my trips and adventures with Serelarh became fewer and fewer, and more and more often we ran into the shadow people again. Every time we encountered them, it was a little harder to fight them. But the worst part was that I started seeing them at home as well. After the first encounter at home, on my way from school, I thought we had made sure the shadows would only exist in Honah Lee. But after a few months, I saw them again in my world. They weren’t as aggressive here at home, but they seemed to become more and more daring. At first, I would only just get a glance of a shadow on the street on one day and a feeling of being watched the next. But as time passed, they came closer and closer. I started seeing them more often and more clearly, and at one point I saw one in my back yard, staring straight at my window. I also started to understand better what they were.

By the time I was seventeen I almost never saw Serelarh anymore. The last few times we travelled together she seemed tired, and she couldn’t help much when the shadow people attacked the kingdom in Honah Lee again and again.

It was a few days before my eighteenth birthday. The shadow people had been coming closer every day for years now, and I hadn’t seen Serelarh in months. Then on this, seemingly regular Wednesday evening, Serelarh showed up in my yard, urging me to come with her. I was keen to get going, but before I could climb on her back, the shadow people were all over her. This was the first time they ever attacked here. Maybe because a dragon showed up, they realized that the border between the reality of Honah Lee, and the reality at home, was nothing but an idea. We quickly fought off the shadows in the yard. They were weak here, still. I mounted Serelarh and she took off faster than I had seen in a long time. We flew as fast as she could, her huge, painted wings pushing us forward aggressively. Only when we arrived in Honah Lee, I realized why she was in a hurry. The shadows were all over the city, and even inside the castle. I had never seen this many of them before, and the city itself seemed darker than ever, and its features were starting to blur. We didn’t even have time to assess the situation, we just dove right into the fight. It was the hardest and longest fight I had ever been in. We fought for what felt like days, but the shadow people just kept coming. I was up on the castle walls when I first spotted the old mill. It was completely black now, and so was the bakery next to it. I realized we were losing the city. But we kept fighting. The king’s men and I on the ground with every able man in the kingdom, and Serelarh in the sky, breathing fire from above.

I was so tired at that point. Somehow, I had found my way to the tower above the castle. Even here the shadows were outnumbering us. They were everywhere. As I looked out over the land, beyond the city walls, I saw darkness, so many places. It was not just the city that was being attacked. The whole of Honah Lee was infested and loosing. It was only a matter of time before the whole kingdom would be blackened. Serelarh had realized this too and swept by the tower. I jumped on, ready to go home. We didn’t stand a chance here. Serelarh turned towards home, but before we crossed the city wall, a black chain caught her around the neck, and she crashed into the ground, with a painful roar. I was thrown off her back and tumbled across the ground. As I got up Serelarh had gotten on her feet as well and dragged a large chain on the ground after her. I grabbed her neck and pulled myself up, as she went by. She tried to fly, but the chain was too heavy. She couldn’t take off, so she ran. As fast as any dragon can run, towards the city wall, to bring me home safe. We reached the city wall, but we were too late. It had been knocked down and shadow people were blocking our way. I didn’t have a chance to figure out what to do before Serelarh threw me over the shadow people and into the forest outside the city. The shadow people didn’t seem to care about me. They wanted the dragon. As soon as I was on my feet once again, I saw Serelarh being dragged off by the black chain, and before long, she was pinned to the side of the castle tower. I couldn’t do anything, but stare in horror as Serelarh, my friend through so many years, was hung as an ornament. And worst of all, was her wings. They were no longer painted and beautiful. They were turning black. Serelarh was turning black. She was gone.

I took off. I ran and ran for hours through the forest, towards the sunset. I could hear the battle still in Honah Lee, but I had to get out. Then, out of nowhere, there was my garden. I was home, finally. I went to my room and locked the door. I cried myself to sleep. Honah Lee was lost to the shadows and the darkness, and Serelarh was dead. And the shadow people were here, too. I could feel them staring at me as I went to sleep.

It has been a few years now and I have moved to my own place. I thought that would save me, but now I am sitting on the floor of my apartment, all alone, and the lights turned off. I am hiding my face in my hands, and trying to concentrate, as I fight the shadow people. They have grown much stronger over the years. Some days they win the battle, and some days I do. The only thing that is for sure, is that every day is a new battle. And every day, I consider surrendering to the shadows, before they attack. Going to sleep and never waking up. Letting the shadows drag me off to wherever they go at night, when they are not torturing me. But every day so far, I have kept fighting. Fighting for me. Fighting for Honah Lee. And fighting for Serelarh.

Written 27/05-2016

Screams were heard from the tallest tower of the castle as he flew around the long dark halls and bolted the large, heavy doors and windows shut. The storm was raging, and the violent rain was hammering aggressively on the doors and windows of their ancient residence. After all these years of fighting in wars, hiding from the public and trying to maintain a proper life, even with the villagers frightened of him and his powers, this was the first time in several centuries, that he, himself felt fear.

He reached the last window and stared for a second, out into the darkness, in admiration that even the full moon, in all her glory, could not overpower the blackness of this storm. Never had he seen the night sky so angry. He slammed the window shutters, and in that same moment a bolt of lightning tore across the sky. For a split second, that felt like a hundred years (Trust me, he would know) everything was lit up as if the sun had suddenly burst out of hiding and bathed the castle in light. The thunder that followed, made every window in the castle shake and every plate and glass in the cupboards rattle. The sound of a thousand canons fired at once, roaring over the land.

Another scream, followed by loud crying was heard from the tower.

No doubt the weak-minded villagers would blame him for this extreme and frightening weather. And he couldn’t help but think they might be right. Maybe he was to blame for the weather. Maybe this was a punishment for what he had done. Or maybe it was a warning of what was to come.

He had sworn so many years ago that he would never love another. He had sworn to himself and to the gods, to never again court a mortal woman. But then he had met her. She was perfect in every way. And not at all afraid of him.

He was the lord of darkness. A monster. A murderer. A creature of the night.

She was the incarnation of light. A flower in the wind. The first flake of snow in the winter. The sun breaking through a rainy cloud. Her smile could warm the heart of even the coldest of the cold and lighten the soul of even the darkest of men. Even his.

He ran to the staircase of the tower. He had to get to her before it was too late. He had to see her again. Of all the power and riches, he possessed, he cherished her the most, even though she was a free spirit and he had no rule over her. He would trade all his gold, all his powers and even his immortality, just to see her one more time. Little did he know that he did exactly that.

He had promised this woman his life. He had gone out of his way to protect her from his less than fortunate life. He had been honest with her and showed her everything, so she would never feel fooled or lied to. And she had accepted him. All of him.

He was running up the stairs to the very top of the tallest tower of the castle. The tallest tower in all of Transylvania, in fact. The sound of crying had faded away now. Had it not been for the rain lashing against the walls and windows, the castle would have been completely silent.

As he reached the top of the stairs, he was just about to open the doors to their bedroom. He froze solid, when the bells of the castle clock chimed loudly. The bells drowned out the sound of the weather. Midnight. This day should have been the 29th of February. This day should have been the day for the miracle. But the 29th never came. It was quiet from the room, which could mean only two things. Either the miracle had come early, or, what scared him more, it never would.

He slowly pushed open the heavy doors, not knowing what he should expect to find in the chamber. Then he saw her, sitting on the bed.

She was crying quetly. Cradling the tiny creature in her arms. She slowly turned her eyes to him. Through the gentle tears, she looked happy, though tired. She smiled at him, and then spoke, with her silk soft voice:

“Vino să-ți vezi fiica. Ea este frumoasa”.*

To this day, she still is.

Written 28/02-2019

*”Come see your daughter. She is beautiful”