Dancing at the edge of oblivion

The lightbulb hanging by a single cable over my desk flickers, and dies, as if telling me to leave. That my job here is done, last precautions taken and all traces burnt. Love letters, photographs, any mentions of our identities had to be destroyed, oblivion as reward for success. Everything else is in God’s hands. Even if I can’t remember the last time my feet crossed the threshold of a church, if there ever was a time to pray, it was tonight. If not for success, but that we are doing what’s right. Through the wooden door, gentle plucking of stings drew me out of my room, a familiar melody disturbing the solemn peace of my night.

One foot out the doorstep, still blinded by the warm light of what served as our common room these few months, I was ambushed by my brother, glass of wine in his hand, and broad smile across his lips.

- Look who finally showed up! Man of the night!

The other hurried to follow his example, welcoming me to the table. The girls must have emptied out the remainders of my provisions, so every surface was covered with dishes, wine, and flowers picked off the field outside. Chatter quickly filled the room, conquests of our youths, tales of foreign lands and dear ones left at home. No second of silence to be filled by the dread of tomorrow, no space for doubt to enter our minds. Next to me, a girl 20 years of age, whose real name I didn’t know until a few a months back and who I will be trusting my life to tomorrow. Opposite to me, drunkenly singing along to the guitarist, a man I knew since high school, giving up his peaceful life for my crazy gamble. Futures thrown away to saw an invisible thread into history, hoping it will fix the broken tapestry of this system.

Let tomorrow be as it may, but tonight, we raise our glasses, tonight we dance.