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Bruno sat on top of an old desk, holding a rifle against his chest. Dawn was nearing, and Marko wasn’t back. The feeling of worry slowly flooded his mind. Marko had never been this late before. The war itself was already brutal, but if he lost his best friend? That may send him over the edge. Bruno clutched the rifle he didn’t even know how to properly use.
Marko was the only normality in this war, the only constant. The two were like brothers, constant banter flowing between them. Pavle, the former footballer they picked up along the way, enjoyed their sarcastic bickering too.
Bruno would brag about his past endeavours; the celebrity chefs he had met, cuisines he had tried. Marko would enlighten him on how nothing could beat the ecstasy and adrenaline of running into a swarm of flames, all in the name of saving a life.
The pair were like chalk and cheese, sweet and salty. Yet, they got along like a house on fire.
Bruno’s thoughts were interrupted by the yawn of Pavle,
“Good morning.” His voice was croaky, clearly Pavle had barely began functioning.
“Morning.” Bruno grumbled.
“Marko isn’t back yet?” Pavle asked, leaning on the desk so his arm lay next to Bruno.
“Take a fucking guess.” He scoffed. The tone of upset was apparent in his voice.
“Woah, I was just asking.” Pavle lifted his hands in surrender. Bruno’s harsh response came as a slight shock.
Bruno could only let out a sigh in response, leaning backwards against the wall. Sounds of gunfire, mortar shells, and the occasional wretched screams - the modern version of silence - filled the air. Pavle, thankfully, could read the room and backed off, leaving Bruno alone to ponder.
It was an hour or so - Bruno wasn’t exactly counting - before Marko got back. The sound of the door creaking open pulled him out of his daze.
“Sorry I’m later than usual, I found the jackpot.” Marko flashed Bruno a smile as he softly dropped his worn, dull rucksack to the floor, two tins of mystery meat spilling out.
“Scared the shit out of me.” He muttered, placing the rifle to his side and standing up, approaching Marko.
“Wasn’t exactly my intention.” Marko chuckled as he high fived Bruno and brought him into a short hug - a light embrace with a pat on the back.
Bruno took a moment to process; Marko was alive and came bearing a bag filled to the brim with supplies. He never did stop being a hero, did he?
“Fuck, that’s heavy…” Bruno commented through grunts as he attempted to lift the rucksack.
“Well, you haven’t lifted a lot of weight in a while, of course it’ll be heavy.” Marko snickered, taking the bag out of Bruno’s hands.
“Don’t know how you do it.” Bruno remarked; a vague compliment.
Pavle had heard a muffled version of the conversation through the walls and neared the two.
“Still kicking, Marko?” He joked, smiling at both of the men.
“Unfortunately.” Marko chimed with a sarcastic tone.
“Well, c’mon, show us what you got.” Bruno insisted.
Marko dug through the bag, unloading its contents onto the desk.
“Canned food… Some bullets… Sugar… Bottled water… Some wood…” He named every item he wrung out of the rucksack.
The other two watched intently, their eyes following Marko’s hand each time he reached into the bag, lifted something out, and placed it on the desk.
“And, most importantly… Moonshine.” Marko grinned proudly, he was extremely happy with his find.
Pavle and Bruno marvelled at the sight. It was an old, scratched, glass bottle, filled to its neck with a clear liquid. A brown stained piece of paper wrapped around the bottle, with the word ‘MOONSHINE’ messily scrawled over it in large letters.
“Are you sure that’s moonshine?” Pavle inquired with a suspicious tone.
“I gave it a little sip… It’s some strong stuff.” Marko smirked.
“Incredibly stupid move, sipping some random liquid you found… But, I can’t argue with you. This is a gem of a find.” Bruno grinned, taking the bottle in his hands and admiring it.
“Right?” Pavle added, his own chuckles adding to the joy that flowed through the room.
“I thought we could all share it around tonight. I mean, this haul is enough to keep us going for a few days. Nothing dangerous about letting loose for once.” Marko shrugged.
“Works for me.” Pavle nodded.
“Same here.” The third man agreed.
It was decided; tonight, they drink. The three had spent months being uptight, constantly on guard, it couldn’t hurt to forget everything for a moment.
So, when the night came, stars and mortar shells speckled around the sky, the trio sat outside in the garden. All three of the men were leaning against the wall of the house.
“So… Who wants to do the honours?” Marko spoke up, gesturing to the bottle in his calloused hand.
“You already did, back when you found it.” Bruno quipped, a smug smile of pride plastering over his face from his sarcastic comment.
“Aren’t you a comedian?” Marko retorted.
“Damn right I am.” Bruno snickered.
“If you two don’t mind, I’ll take the first sip.” Pavle chimed in. Both of the other men nodded, Marko handed Pavle the bottle.
The lid was a screw top, a flimsy metal cap. His hand spun it off, placing it to his side. It wasn’t as if they’d need it later, Pavle was certain the three of them would finish the bottle no bother. He took a whiff of the moonshine, the pungent smell, one that reminded him of rubbing alcohol, hit his nostrils. Pavle let out a whistle,
“This is some strong stuff, Marko. Really strong.”
“Has to be 85%, at least. Shit’s sharper than a blade.” Marko remarked.
And with that, Pavle lifted the glass bottle to his lips and let the bitter, potent nectar hit his tongue. Marko wasn’t joking, it was sharp. The burn hit Pavle like a train as the moonshine slithered down his throat.
“Wow…” Was the only thing Pavle could muster. He eagerly handed the bottle to Bruno, who took a slug.
“Fuck… Yeah, that’s strong.” He chuckled, coughing as the liquid finished burning the back of his throat.
The bottle made its rounds with Pavle and Marko taking small sips, and Bruno guzzling it down as if it were water. Their chatter turned into small talk for a short while, until Bruno spoke up.
“When all… This.” Bruno’s hands flail around mindlessly, referring to the war, “Is over, we should go out for a few beers.” He slurred a little, the alcohol clearly beginning to get to him. Pavle finished taking his sip of moonshine, savouring the way it blazed as it slipped down his throat, before stating,
“I’m not one for beer.” He handed the bottle to Marko.
“Oh? What’s your poison?” Marko questioned, swigging a mouthful of the liquor.
“Honestly, I don’t really drink, but when I do… I tend to go for a good whiskey.” Pavle sighed somewhere between contentment and exhaustion.
“Like a good old boy.” Bruno added, taking the moonshine from Marko’s hands.
“Mm.” Pavle hummed, chuckling. “Could go for one right about now.” He could almost taste the bitter liquid hitting his tongue.
And, if Pavle focused, he could imagine he was sat in that dingy bar in downtown Porogen, sipping the best glass of whiskey he ever had, with his wife, then girlfriend, sitting by his side. If he focused, Pavle would remember that she smelt like vanilla and lavender, and that her lipstick was dark red, his favourite shade on her. If he focused, Pavle would remember how she softly laughed as he told her how he saw a future with her; a nice house on the outskirts of the city, a dog, one kid? Maybe two if he was lucky? His train of thought was interrupted.
“Couldn’t we all.” Marko mumbled. “Hell, I’d take a cocktail at this point.” The three men burst out in laughter they attempted to muffle, only to laugh at each other’s antics.
Pavle’s instinct was right, they wouldn’t need a cap for the moonshine.
When it was closer to dawn than dusk, all three men laid in their scrappy beds, held together by a few rusty nails, with a drunken buzz hanging over them. The entire room was filled with giggles as they tried to sleep. Yet, when one man stopped snickering, another began. They were like teenage boys who got wasted for the first time. No one guarded the shelter that night.
When Pavle woke up in the morning, groggily dragging himself upstairs, he thanked God. He was alive, and, for the first time in a good while, he was happy. Even with his head pulsing like a beating heart, he was full of joy. Outside of these crumbling walls and the sketchy fence that lines the perimeter of the garden, war tore through the country aggressively like a nile crocodile with its prey. Yet, this morning, where the sun is high in the sky and is not shaded by clouds, all Pavle could feel was peace and contentment.
The awareness of the horrors outside loomed over Pavle, but, for once, he could forget about them. Just for today.