Why do you smile like you’ve got a secret?
I know you’re telling lies ‘cause you want to keep it
But I don’t seek it. I won’t seek it
Your darkest deeds might have been hell
They burn your brains, like blazing flames
But who’s to blame? Who’s to blame?

Unfortunately, my slumber lasted just a couple of hours. Courtesy of a dry tongue and a hundred needles actively bedazzling the inside of my throat. Moaning, I tried, poorly, not to swallow because you know: Pain. And unsurprisingly, I failed.

A ball of fire rasping the dried membrane of my trachea is what I earned, subsequently starting an obligatory wave of coughing I had to hide in my elbow. No better way to wake up than removing your pleura through your mouth. Truly, waking up while sick is a delight. It is like the disease seizes upon you being out in the cold, to multiply your symptoms by ten. Just so you feel like a charm after managing to get some rest.

As I wriggled around, trying my best to contain the volume of my agony, I felt a familiar grip around my hips. Oracio was reacting to my agitation. I immediately stopped my ruckus and waited. No change. He remained undisturbed, his head glued to my shoulder.

Grazed by the glimmer of our bracero, his age seemed to vary with the flickering shadows. Buried in the bed, with all our clothes on top of him, I forgot for a moment reality and saw a teenager carelessly snoring. A picture I had no desire to break. Minutes passed. He sniffed, then pouted. His hair was bothering him. I cleared them off his eyes. His eyebrows relaxed a bit, but not enough to remove his frown. Tempted, I put my finger on his glabella. He creased it. Cute. I chuckled.

Then I jumped off the bed to rush over our water stock. Priorities. I knocked a whole bottle back, though swallowing was still a nightmare. The infection had declared war on my tonsils. I could feel them. Pulsing, swollen and hot. They weren’t the only one. My whole body was burning up again.

I removed my sweaters, giving my skin a bit of breathing and sat on the bed, next to the closet, to take my temperature. The tool tucked under my tongue, I got rid of my pants and socks with a purging satisfaction, leaving only my boxers on. Much better. Then I waited. Mooning, I observed the room, gathering my thoughts on the last passing days that I didn’t have the chance to process properly. Partly due to how fast this chain of crazy events had occurred, mostly because I had been sick throughout the majority of it.

In the span of a week, it had gone from A to Z then back to B before visiting Q. Yet, it felt like the bombing had only happened a few hours ago. Behind me, Oracio stretched his arm, placing his hand next to my leg. The same hand that pulled me away from a battlefield. The same hand that rinsed my face of the tear gas. The puffy red face and the nosebleed Oracio had was still imprinted in my mind. He had recovered. We both had, but I could still feel the effect in my lungs. I wondered if Oracio was hurting too, if the dark rings under his eyes were really only due to his exhaustion. How many times did his body go through such an ordeal? He seemed so unfazed. More frustrated than surprised by the Blues’ sudden change of actions. True, there was an evident escalation of violence here. I truly believed their goal was to get control of the town through chaos. Still, there was a subtitle oddity to this new pace. And Oracio rolled with it. He took the lead the way I put on a coat. And for the first time since I had met him, I wondered: How did he become such a pillar? I didn’t think I had the right to ask. And I still don’t think I do. However for an ephemeral instant, I found myself eager to know more.

Suddenly, as I was observing the details of his wrist, a memory flashed back. On the evening of the black out, when I was still in the bathroom… He was gearing up with extra ammo he didn’t have initially. Like if he had pulled it out of the floor. He was kneeling around here. I looked at my feet. To the bedside rug. Right there.

With the tip of my foot, I lifted the rug a bit and found the usual wooden floor I would clean every Saturday. I sat down to pass my hand on each plank. Then I felt it. A barely noticeable wobble on the middle one. That must be it. I tried to lift it. No luck. I thought of a push-up system. Non-sense. People could walk it open. So only one option left. I slowly shifted the plank on its base then pushed on it. With a certain satisfaction, it tipped over. Then everything went down like a lead balloon. Because Oracio’s stash was nothing glamorous.

In between the foundation, two handguns, a sniper rifle with a silencer and what seemed to be their chargers were stored. There was also a holster, a knife, maybe a tactical vest and under it, in the shadow, I guessed as well a sealed metal box and a thick folder which both caught my attention.

Not yet aware of Oracio’s illiteracy, my initial reaction was to put the file in the “Seagulls feathers” bucket. Thus: none of my business. Which was an evident blunder, because among these little ducks, written documents belonging to Oracio were the obvious goose. Unfortunately, I was into the box. But to get it, I had to first take the firearms out. Which was... a touch of a problem.

One of the two handguns was a model I had seen before. Pointed at my face by an unhinged bald girl painted in blue. Needless to say, it took me aback. No, it was worse than that, in fact. Out of nowhere, I started hearing gunshots and screams. A mist of red intruded my vision just before a vivid migraine awakened my head wound. And I hated every second of it. So still not over it, uh? How disappointing. With shivering hands, I angrily grabbed the damn weapon. And the thermometer loudly beeped.

I blanched. But what made me scream was Oracio seizing my shoulder. “You should be sleeping.” I heard him mutter with his morning voice. A strong pull dragged me back on the bed, just under my roommate’s suspended face. He looked dour. Realizing I was still holding on the gun, I put it down the floor. He raised an eyebrow. Then, softly, his hand made its way to my mouth and retrieved the thermometer before it fell. Silence persisted while he checked on it. “No fever,” he declared, smiling, yet with a tone underlying a warning.

His arm still locking me, he put away the thermometer and waited. For an explanation that never landed on time. Weary, he scooted to the edge of the bed and picked up his gun. “Curiosity kills, did you know?”

“I didn’t mean to snoop!” I panicked. He stared at me, obviously unconvinced. “I mean…”

There wasn’t any good explanation to this, was it?

“Don’t sweat it,” he sat down. “I don’t care.” He looked into the sight of the gun then dismounted it. “I just don’t want you near any of those.” He shook the unloaded gun in the air.

“I’m not interested in them.” I interjected in a knee jerk reaction. It wasn’t technically a lie then again, I added: “Unlike you are.” Which was uncalled for.

I couldn’t help it. He agitating that weapon under my nose was irking me.

Oracio frowned. “I don’t like guns.” His stern voice startled me. I ground my teeth. Which he spotted. He sighed, backing off: “I just work with them, that’s all.” He gazed out as if he was remembering something. “I have to know about them. If not, it’s dangerous.... And innocent people get killed.”

His sentence died with a darker and vague voice. He thought some more, hesitating, sometimes glancing at me as if he was weighing pros and cons in his head, then he got up and pulled the other hand gun out of his stash. He sat back crossed-legs in front of me and lined up both of the weapons carefully on the duvet. “Tell me. Do guns scare you?”

Such a strange question. Of course, they did. Automatically, I lower my eyes and gazed lengthy at the model Adla had introduced me to. How to forget it? The sound of my teacher’s body falling on the floor, the glimmer of the sun shining on the weapon edge. Adla’s mute rage and her brief moment of triumph when she believed she was about to kill me. I became short of breath. “Yes.” My throat hurt more than when I swallowed.

“Good!” Replied stoically Oracio. “Means you’re not dumb.” He took my hand, which I didn’t realize was shaking and proceeded to place the source of my discomfort in it. I briskly objected. After all, he said just an instant ago to stay away from it. “Hold it.” He ordered. “Feel it.” He adjusted my grip, but my fingers were too wet. When finally, I had a proper posture, he told me to point it at him.

“Are you insane?!” I broke the position, but he didn’t let me escape. “There is no charger in it and the security is on.” With both of his hands, he grabbed the barrel and planted the muzzle into his chest. This guy has lost it! He kept me in this position, his right hand maintaining the weapon against him, the other making sure I didn’t let go. Then he released them both and for what seemed to be an eternity to me, I aimed at him. His hand lifted in the air, like a martyr in rapture, he waited for my shudder to fade, for my breathing to calm. Glaring at me with the most composed face, he was in complete control while I was wondering what the heck was going on. But eventually, the position felt a little less awkward, my shock vanished and I started to see the picture from a different angle. He was my target, I was the one holding the power. A new view point.

How strange it is to have a person’s life hanging in the balance with just the content of your hand. It was such a small object. Light on the wrists, barely a burden. Just a push of the finger and you rewrite the fate of an entire being or more. So simple. Almost insignificant. It was bluntly taking all your responsibilities away so much so that the killing act was becoming as trivial as scratching a pimple.

Crush the mosquito…

I knew the feeling. Even the joy of hearing someone’s pain. Once given the opportunity, blood is a reward you welcome with thrill. And I am not even ashamed of it. But this? This way was absurd. Yet, I felt a fire spreading within me, an unknown energy awakening a more primal need. Invigorated, I teased Oracio’s chest with the barrel. He slowly put down his arms and closed his eyes. So I pushed harder, and the more I did, the stronger and inexplicably angrier I felt. Many thoughts were coming to me. Many memories. Of a running shower. Of a damaged school desk. Of an empty bottle of alcohol. Before I knew it, I was suspended above Oracio, all teeth out, dominating him completely, while he was supporting our weight with his arm.

“Do you feel in power?” His calm voice called me back. He had been observing my each and every reaction, to see which conclusion I was going to have. And it came in a single word. “No.”

I didn’t. Not really. I knew I was in power, would I have a loaded gun. I understood the feeling of superiority one can harvest from it. My problem wasn’t with the sentiment. My issue was with its falsity. It was cheap, vicious and ultimately what humanity had the most ugly to offer. An effortless means to destroy just for two seconds of ephemeral entitlement. If anything, the experience just made me loathe the Blues even more.

Gently, Oracio straightened up and caught me by the nape. No force, no harshness. Dramatic maybe, assertive, for sure, and at the same time, tender. “Remember that feeling.” He released his grip practically immediately after I nodded. But the tension left on my skin still remains to this day.

Nevertheless, Oracio decided to move the simulation to an actual initiation, with a short walk-through of firearms science. Like the difference between the traditional guns, which use bullets, and the blasters, like the kind I just handled, which use sound waves.

“Blasters have several pros. They don’t need ammunition and their batteries are auto-regenerative,” explained Oracio while sliding the energy magazine in. The blaster back in my hands, he pointed a switch then a button on the rear part. “Safety catch. Volume.” And proceeded in pulling one on and turning the other all the way down before leading my hands in direction of the bracero. “Shoot at it.” Obvious complaint from me that he shushed. “Trust me.” He sat behind me and guided my arms. Reluctantly yet comforted by his hand against my elbow, I pulled the trigger.

I heard a snap, barely louder than a slap, and the bracero quake a bit on its base, undamaged. Wait… what? I was confused. “Why would anyone need a weapon that just pings objects?”

“Power varies with your volume,” muttered Oracio putting the safety catch back on. “The lowest stun people. Higher ones kill. This gun can even blow things up.”

“Like doors?” Say a school door, with a desk in front of it?

“Like doors.”

I nodded slowly, rubbing my tired face. “What about medium volumes?”

Oracio paused. “They hurt.”

And with no further explanation, he took the gun back. But I got the picture. It inflicted non-lethal wounds. To torture probably. Lovely. So blasters could offer a wide range of options from stealth to heavy assault mode. In a place like Magdad, such weapons were a blessing, apparently, but they weren’t that common. Unlike traditional firearms, blasters were hard to produce with our limited raw stock. Yet Oracio had two. His mamba model and the one I was baptized with. I could have asked why, but I preferred coughing instead. I was not feeling that well since I had shot at the bracero. An adrenaline drop, certainly.

Carefully, Oracio checked on my temperature. My fever was back. Class dismissed. Painfully, I returned under the balm duvet of our bed while my teacher put everything back under the floor.

“Just now…Why?” I asked drowsy, barely managing to keep my eyes open. Why the lesson?

Oracio mulled for a second then closed the stash. “Cause you were scared.”

“But you don’t want me near weapons.”

He leaned on the bed to look at me, his head resting on his arms. “Correct.”

I rubbed my eyes, mumbling: “Not logic.”

He silent-smiled and lifted the duvet closer to my chin. “Knowing why is smart. But knowing how is safer.”

“And what’s knowing you?”

The question stunned him. Then a shadow eclipsed his eyes. “A mistake?”

The glacial reply punched me in the guts. For a second, I was facing a stranger. Someone closer to Adla than Dorothy. Yet, Oracio’s aura returned instantly to his shining self and he laughed a “Probably” in jest, but through the fatigue, it seemed fake. Flustered, I choose to not carry on the conversation.

The curiosity I had expressed earlier that night had run off. When we first met, Oracio was like a sun, but for the first time, I saw a hint of darkness that I felt to be best not digging into. It wasn’t fun. It was just dragging us somewhere I didn’t wish to go. I didn’t care to be smart or safe. As long as I was free. So I closed my eyes as I closed my mind on the idea of knowing more. Sealing away my curiosity and my chance to understand him, like the content of that metal box I never get to open.