WHEN IS NOW? IT'S WARTIME.

Wartime is broken up in the basement.

It's crazy how time flies here. You sleep in the basement, work in the basement, and then—'it's nice to go out to the promenade'—the garage. Of course, there are other promenades—to the front, to the positions.

At first, I was surprised that they often ask what day it is. I'm not surprised anymore. I'm no longer surprised that time has disappeared—inside me, all around me.

My head is messed up. Faces, names, functions, and ranks blur together.

"How did you sleep?" they ask.

“Чудого”, I say. Wonderful, I mean.

Sometimes I’m surprised to realize that I was even sleeping—at least that’s what the clock shows. The feeling, the sensation, however, says something else. If I were to answer honestly, I wouldn’t know what to say because I can’t quite say that I was sleeping, nor can I say, I was not. Not sleeping.

PSYCH (POZYVNOI, call sign) said the other day to me: “You… You go into the basement on Wednesday, and the moment you step outside, it’s November.” ironically, of course. Life passes by, unfathomably. Everybody, but everybody needs a witness in their life. For their life, just passing by. They. I. I’m going to witness someone. And someone’s going to witness me.

Amidst the strange and melted time of war in this basement.

#24HOURSATWAR

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-Image and Post by Milda Matulaityte-Feldhausen