I am old enough to remember the disparate nations and recall them conjoining like polarised magnets.
I’ve felt the fractal patterns of icy winters recede and melt into the new Yugoslavian spring.
My brothers whispered the exile of the royals when then Nazi swastika smothered the cities and the countryside.
I saw Serbs and Croats and Slovenes. I saw Macedonians, Bosnians and Albanians, they all came they all laughed, loved and flourished.
I heard the birds sing of the impossible, tourists, could such a thing be possible? Until, until…
Yugoslavian slaughtered Yugoslavian. Gunfire flashed in the villages. Chemical warfare in the hills. Tanks in the towns. The men and woman in white hats with UN written on them. The trials for crimes against humanity.
The birth of independent nations.
The chainsaw? The chainsaw!
And now, this indignity. I’ve been stripped naked and turned into a boat. And hairy-arsed politicians use me for fishing trips.
I was working on the first FlashDog Challenge so had to submit two stories to qualify. And having been the person that came up with the idea, designed the award and set the challenge, I could hardly not take part. So, a post midnight story came about.
Looking for unique angles at that time is a struggle.
Certainly could have improved the ending transition.
Awaiting judgement. Hopes are not high.