The sun is setting. The campfire crackles. An ancient oak looms over us, as if shielding us from prying eyes.
The teacher pulls a potato out of the fire, tossing it between his hands until it cools.
"What are you waiting for?"
It’s not that I don’t want to eat. But there’s a half-decomposed corpse nearby, and that definitely kills my appetite.
"Can’t eat?"
"I can. But this..."
"Unesthetic? Uncultured? You’re right."
"But," he continues, "you may find yourself in all sorts of situations. Something so trivial shouldn’t knock you off balance."
"Trivial?"
"Of course. Life, death. It's just the natural order. You need to get used to it. Life isn’t just a pretty picture," he concludes, biting into the potato.
"But how..."
"Are you thinking about how no one cares?"
"Yeah, something like that."
"Look over there."
I turn to see the houses with their glowing windows.
"And?"
"Everything’s fine over there," he smirks. "There’s order. Or at least they convince themselves there is."
"What does that have to do with this?"
"And here? Chaos."
"What?" I ask, a bit sadly.
"They’re afraid. Of reality, of truth. They run from it, inventing orders and creating their illusionary world."
"Is that such a bad thing?"
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"Of course. Their rules, their orders replace emotions and feelings—they replace everything. They stop seeing reality, walking right past it. They only see their 'order.'"
"I see what you mean, but I can’t agree with all of it."
"That’s why you’re here. And not there." He smirks. "As you see, there’s no real order. It’s their illusion. And they’ll do anything, the most terrible things, to preserve it."
"Like zombies," I smirk.
"Not a bad analogy."
I pull a potato from the fire. It’s hot, and I toss it between my hands.
He’s right. I’ve seen it too often. Rules that blind people to everything else. Order that’s nothing more than a polished fa?ade. And the lengths they’ll go to, just to maintain their illusion.
But the real world is different. Behind the plastered walls are cracks. Order is just a mask for special occasions. Behind that fa?ade: cruelty, anger, envy. Chaos.
Push it slightly, remove the mask, and you’ll see the nightmare.
"But there has to be a way to make the world better."
"Maybe you’ll find it... How’s your girl?"
"What girl?"
"Oh, right, you’ve got plenty!" He laughs genuinely.
"Right! Such topics shouldn’t be discussed! How’s the potato?"
"As always." I finish the smoky potato slowly.
"I’d like to test something else. Come." He says this calmly.
He leads me to the rotting corpse. A knife appears in his hand—and in mine too.
"Let’s see what you’ve learned. But if you back off too far, you’re on your own." His voice turns icy, and for the first time, I feel chills.
He steps forward and slashes.
"Don’t step in! Cadaver poison means death!"
He circles around, and I’m forced to move. The corpse emits a sickly-sweet stench.
He strikes again. Instinctively, I step back.
"Too far!" A gun appears in his other hand, and a shot rings out.
A burst of sand rises near my foot.
"Closer!"
I step forward. A nightmare fight. A fight in hell. Hardly a "training session."
"Attack!"
I make a weak jab forward. My body feels like jelly. The corpse whispers: death... death...
"Weak!" he barks. I flinch at another shot.
Anger bubbles up. Is he mocking me? Another shot.
I make a sharp dash to the left, and then time slows.
I move the other way and see him shift the gun, trying to aim.
With my left hand, I block his hand with the gun and sweep his legs.
Time returns to normal. My knife is at his throat. Too firmly. Blood trickles down his neck.
He breathes heavily. Is it...? Fear?
Carefully, he releases the gun, and it falls to the ground. He looks at me. No, he’s regained his composure.
"Not bad," he says hoarsely and carefully pushes the blade away from his throat.
I stand and turn to leave.
"Wait!"
I turn back. He tosses me the gun.
"Take it."
"I don’t need it."
"I know. But you might."
Thinking it over, I tuck the gun into the back of my jeans.
"And one more thing," he says, now cheerfully. "Your blonde asked me to tell you she’s waiting for you..."
"What! Why didn’t you say so?"
"If she’s waiting, she’ll wait!" He laughs genuinely now.
My legs carry me forward on their own. Behind me, his genuine laughter echoes.