Slobodan Seleni, Timor mortis

-Timor mortis = the fear of death disturbs me

-Illustrissimus oslovnjavanje: presvetli, preuzvieni
Translation:

The book I am starting to write in this moment, will contain all the
knowledge that I have gathered in the last three and a half years
about the old Serb, Stojan Blagojevi. I am not quite sure what I
want to achieve by retelling the events which have fulfilled our
long, occupational days and nights. I know, however, since an
hour ago I know for sure, that I have to write a book.
Therefore I am writing.
It is ten minutes until midnight, on Friday, the 13 th of October
according to the new, the 30th according to the old calendar. The
year of 1944. We are alone. Illustrissimus (His Excellency)
Blagojevi and me. The windows, covered with blue paper and
cloths, do not leak to us at all the moonful nights, and the candle
flame which is simultaneously trembling above his pale forehead

and my notebook, makes the room remind me of a cell of a

monarch, of course, a sinful, just deceased patriarch...
Somewhere from Avala, behing my back, from the direction of
ukarica and Banjica, a gunfire is heard. Belgrade is, hidden in
basements and unsafe shelters, without electricity, without water,
without food and latest news, shaking and hoping. An hour ago,
when single shootings started growing into a monotonous, truly
dangerous sound of a cannonade, Illustrissimus opened his eyes,
for a last time, and looked right through me, in the direction of
Avala.