ville

Ville belonged somewhere.

Extraordinarily enough, however, he didn't seem to mind that nobody could quite make out where it was.

It used to be a subject of late-night wranglings, over drinks, under dying lightbulbs-- where did Ville belong, and would he ever get back there? Some of us were of the opinion that he would never find it, that he should just pour himself neatly off some dramatic beautiful building and end it all. Ville used to smile at that, but he disagreed, and so did I. The not-belonging, it was something that molded and ensconced and breathed out from Ville. His very eyes opened, black and beautiful, around that sense of displacement.

In March that year, before he went back to school in Berlin, he took me to the theatre and down some alleys and after that, to a bar. We stayed there for some late-night wranglings, and after a while, we went outside for cigarettes. Ville lit things on fire, bits of paper, even a little money, and then, very surprisingly, a firecracker from his bag. We ran away and watched it's fiery retort among the listing buildings. Standing in the alley, Ville took me by both shoulders and kissed me like a firecracker, and then fled with one final delightful, used-to smile. I would have had no trouble believing that he had sprouted viscous black wings and fluttered all the way to Germany, pouring beautifully and dramatically off the world, but he sent me a note a few days later about the train he had to catch and wouldn't I rather things went off that way? We corresponded for four years after that, seeing each other a few times in between, and we never did solve the mystery of where Ville belonged, and I never did quite get over that kiss.

annette

"It's like the forests in England," Annette said as the evening air caressed her bare shoulders.

Orpheus stopped playing his munniharppu for a moment. "What is? The breeze?"

Annette nodded, smiling, drifting into memory. A pleasant rush of wind tickled her ears. If she quieted her breath and strained her ears, she could almost make out the humming of the trees. They were calling to her, inviting her to sink deep into the rich loam and rekindle her kinship with the organic and untamed. The aroma of gardenias filled her with yearning—wild and innocent, unmarred by human hands.

A long, slow breath escaped her lips; she would diminish, relinquish the dreams of becoming a woodland nymph. The streets, too, pulsed with life.

Annette laughed, linked arms with Orpheus, and strolled toward the night club, nestled close to his warm cardigan. "Play a song for me, Orpheus. You promised to teach me how."

He lifted the harp to his lips, playing along with the synthesized melody spilling from the club. "Sometime maybe. Tonight, just listen to the sounds of the city. It's a good night to be alive."

henrik

At night, I think too hard. I look at things-- I mean really look, and it scares people half to death, but it doesn't scare them as much as me. My head goes so fast sometimes I almost get sick and I have to throw away my cigarette and go back inside until I can breathe again.

In the nineties, there used to be this girl, Anni, and sometimes we'd go walking at night, and she made me laugh so I didn't even think. She's the only girl who ever made me laugh; I'm usually the one who's funny. She would hold my arm and we'd walk past shops and cars and people and scenes and she'd say just these mad things: "Someday, I'm going to break into a jeweler's like that, steal all the diamonds I can, and throw them into a salt truck. Winter needs something like that." "Let's find out if someone nice lives here." "You should go kiss that girl; no one else is going to." We talked too much, about what we would do after high-school, about what we believed, about rules and divisions and reclaiming things-- and the whole time, neither of us thought once. Who knows if we even meant a word we said? We were just moving, just moving. That was why it was good; crazy good. That was why it didn't matter when we stopped hanging out. It was the indecent spontaneousness of it that made us so mad and happy.

A couple days ago I ran into Anni at a show; she had these square black glasses and her mad red curls were cut short. I told her she looked beautiful but I didn't really mean it.

mirjami

It took me twenty minutes to get out of bed this morning; the alarm was ringing the whole time and I threw it on the floor when I was finally mad enough to get up. It broke; the minute hand is bent and the right-hand bell clicks instead of ringing. I was repentant, but repentance is usually too late for me, so I will get a new clock if I get some money. Maija was gone before I got to the kitchen.

I am not in a hurry to find you, because it isn't cold out. If it were cold, I would be craning my neck to look through all the people. Julius and Valtteri went down by the stage and Maija will probably meet them there, and start weaving, but I wanted to wait for you.

The scarf you got me for my last birthday-- I like to pretend it still smells a little bit like you, your apartment, your hands. I wonder if you'll notice I wore it. I wonder if you'll even come. (Julius came by a little while ago; he said, "Maybe something happened." I told him, "It's Anders. Nothing happens to Anders.")

Which was bitter of me. Maybe your clock broke as well?