Page 45 of Sing For Us

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

“Step away from my dad!” I yell at the intruder. This asshole is fast and produces a hand grenade from his pocket. He throws the grenade towards me and a thick layer of smoke forms once it hits the floor. The prickling sensation from the gas is entering my nostrils, and I know what I have been hit with—a tranquilizing drug. And it smells like flowers. What the fuck?

I am going to lose consciousness in a couple of seconds and there is nothing to stop it. My knees hit the floor, and with all the strength I have left, I crawl to my baba. With every centimeter closer to my dad, the tall man steps back. He has a black face mask on, classic assassin. When I reach my baba, I see his shirt has been ripped open and an ‘M’ is carved right above his heart.

The tall man is a little bit familiar, but I am probably imagining things. Right before he leaves, he says something.

“M was here.”

Who the fuck is M?

The man is gone like the wind, and I am left dazed, with barely enough strength to talk to my dad.

“Baba, baba, baba…” My words are barely leaving me, and it feels like I am dragging them. My eyes are scanning his face, trying to remember every little detail: his nose, his eyes, his cheeks, his lips. My hands are holding his and I can feel life slipping away. I bring his hands up to my lips, and I kiss them.

My eyes are filled with tears, and I want to scream, but I can’t. I don’t want to admit that my father is dying. The only man who has ever loved me is going to be dead in a couple of minutes, and I want to go with him. I am letting the smoke get to me and praying that its poison will fill me up. He is blinking slowly, whilst trying to smile.

“Your mother… and you… were the best thing… to have ever…happened… to me.” There is a pause after almost every word, and I don’t want to close my eyes. Because then it will mean this is real. That means when I open my eyes, it’s not a dream. But a real-life nightmare.

“Baba, please, don’t leave me here.” Tears are falling down my cheeks and landing on my clothes. The cold wind from outside is doing nothing but graze my skin and make me shiver. But what leaves a lasting impression is the glow from the moon; it lands on my dad’s face, illuminating how little life he has left in him.

“Fall in love, sunce moje.”

“No, no, no! You can’t die! Please, don’t die. I am nothing without you.”

“You are more…than me…”

“Who did this to you?” I need to fucking know who did this to him because if I survive this, I am going to take revenge. I will burn down everything and everyone who had something to do with his death.

My dad’s eyes open in a single moment of clarity, and I latch onto it. “She was a friend. She was a friend. Think about Italy. Don’t kill him.”

“Who? Who shouldn’t I kill? Baba!”

“Volim…te...”1

No.

Those are not his last words.

Those are not his last words.

Those are not his last words.

Those are not his last words.

“I love you too! Baba?” I shake him as his eyes stay open, and I know. He’s gone. My father died.

He… really died.

I am imagining this, right? He can’t be gone, right? Lana, he is not dead.

Sunce moje.

Sunce moje.

I won’t ever hear those words again.

“Lana! Lana! Lana!”