The Night The Arctic Circle Was Set On Fire

At last, they have arrived.

Michael was finally able to stop after a long time. It was a very strange feeling to stand and look ahead. For a long time, he wasn’t granted the luxury of rest.

It seemed to him that he had been running without stopping for three years now. He couldn’t remember when was the last time he had a few seconds for himself just to stand still and look around. And he had something to look at.

His troops have arrived in the northern part of the Arctic Circle, the town of Rovaniemi.

It was autumn, and the town was covered in snow. He looked ahead into the all-devouring darkness. His body trembled with cold. Once he thought he would never know the winter.

It was three years since he had been forced to go to war. He chuckled. He wasn’t forced, he begged for it.

He wanted to go to war. He wished to leave his homeland, for there was no future for him.

He wished to leave his past behind. For good.

Monumental mountains that overshadowed the rising sun. Deep canyons, mountain forests followed by pastures and farms. Decaying houses, the smell of cattle...

On the front porch of his ever-drunk father. An embarrassment. In the house, his never-seen mother. A whore. Along with the enemy troops, his childhood friends. Traitors.

There was nothing left for him home.

The anger growing in his veins warmed his body. The same way, the sun had warmed him thirteen years ago when he was lying on hay with his eyes closed back in his "homeland".

The darkness ahead of him was laid like a curtain of black velvet. He remembered the smell of fresh hay, flowers, fruits. It was in autumn. There, in the past, behind the velvet curtain, as well as here, where he stood motionless in the snow, remembering.

He could hear the sound of birds singing, the roaring of the father’s horses, still soothing on the green grass. The warm wind carried the scent of pine trees, the leaves whispered softly in his mother language:

"Welcome home..."

Autumn was a season of the most beautiful colours and the air was filled with them. The sounds of wind reminded him of a harp, from which the most beautiful notes were drawn. The speckled streams and mountain lakes.

Michael saw the beach, a small, rocky, artificial bay. It was a warm autumn night.

At home, the nights were never as dark as here in Rovaniemi.

The silver moonlight illuminated the surface of the water. The water in the bay, beautiful and calm, pulled him enough to make him try to move. He couldn’t go a step further, he was still stuck in his memories. A breeze blew gently from the surrounding hills, bringing with it the smell of peaches mixed with gunpowder.

He felt a sticky juice on his fingers. He looked at his hands and saw the flesh of the yellow-orange peach peel, melting, disappearing between his fingers, leaving the adhesive fluid that covered the dark-brown peck. He grasped the peck’s with his sticky fingers and raised it. The moonlight lit the peck in his hand.

Michael saw that he was holding a rusty bullet, and the sticky liquid that looked like peach juice was blood instead.

A wrinkled, drawn face appeared before his eyes, a thin and worn old man. He recognised his father, who was clutching a little black book in his trembling hands. He slowly retreated until disappeared fully. The water in the artificial bay remained calm.

Fear engulfed Michael.

He wanted to move, but he couldn’t. He held the bullet in his hand and searched the waters with his eyes. There was no sign of the old man, instead, a woman’s face appeared in the moonlight. It was his sister.

Suddenly, the water moved. Michael roared out of fear and despair, but his cry was unheard. He wished to see them again, just once. His body was paralyzed. Frightening silence lingered in the air.

All he could do was wait, for whatever the waters wished to show him.

Someone's voice made his ears whistle after a period of absolute silence. It was the voice of his former best friend, Thomas. He stood by the cliff, blood-streaked. Deep gunshot wounds were apparent on his body.

He was smiling as he had been in the summer of 1930 when Michael saw him last. Back then, when they were inseparable. Back then, when they were brothers. Michael will never forget that year, the most fertile year in the history of Montenegro.

“Did you finally find what you were looking for?” Thomas asked, and disappeared, together with Michael’s family.

The water in the bay flushed with the blood of memories.

Michael didn’t try to go forward as he knew that the next step would only take him deeper into the past.

One of the soldiers collided with Michael and brought him back from his memories.

Snow and ice were under his feet again. The darkness ahead, as well as behind him. Michael has let the past slow him down. How weak of him, how silly. He breathed in and settled his thoughts.

War was his home.

He stepped forward into the darkness. His ears were still buzzing.

It began to snow. He moved quickly, but carefully. The snow was cracking under heavy military boots. He felt as if he was walking on glass. The air was as dry as snow. He was wearing a protective mask, and a long coat. The heavy snow would not let the coat leave long tracks. The clicking of the teeth of the soldiers who were circling him was disturbing. There was nothing to suggest to the poor inhabitants of the town that they were coming.

The death was coming.

Michael clutched the rifle with his bare hands. He didn’t wear gloves, he wanted to feel a massive wooden tip of the rifle and lay a finger on the trigger when the time came to attack. His heart was pounding fast, as always, when he approached the target. He could sense a traitor miles away.

Michael was finally there where he was supposed to be.

A woman’s shriek broke the silence.

Another wildfire began, there were countless of those in his memory by now. He clutched his rifle tightly and waited. He had not seen daylight for four days. At last, there was brightness.

The fire spread like a wave of fear among the town's residents. The fiery avalanche was destroying everything and everyone in front of it. The heat was unstoppable. Snowflakes turned into ashes and ice melted. The bright light of the gunfire that spread between the town reminded him of a glowing sun.

He removed his protective mask and inhaled the cold Arctic air, the snowflakes merged with sweat on his forehead. Michael held the rifle in one hand and wiped the sweat with the other. His palm was dirty with ash.

The smell of burning wood struck him in the nose. He straightened up and looked at the unceasing fire. The dark-yellow flame turned red; aggressive, capable of destroying anything that obstructed its path. One odour was still missing...but not for long.

A woman in flames appeared before Michael. She was screaming, jerking, hurling herself to the ground, trying to extinguish the fire.

She continued to burn while the ice melted beneath her. Michael approached the woman slowly, unable to catch her gaze. Her twitching body was indulged in an uncontrollable dance. Her last dance.

Finally, she reconciled herself to her fate. She lay still, but still alive. He looked into her scarred face, which the heat had not yet caught. Slowly, but surely, he put the rifle on his shoulder; his finger, like a slimy snake stumbling its victim, he pulled the trigger.

Before her face could disappear in the fire, Michael fired. The bullet hit her in the forehead. He stood and watched her body vanish into the fire. Beneath her motionless body, the blood flowed into a pool of melting ice.

Michael finally breathed out.

It was October 13th, 1944 and Michael witnessed the melting of an Article Circle.

He beheld the destruction of the entire Finnish town of Rovaniemi. He was proud of himself, he complied with his orders. He set the ice town on fire.

He walked forward towards his destiny.

Thank you for reading and your support.