Shooting Sofia

The sun was shining on Sofia for the first time in months. The never ending rain and snow filled pavements made it sometimes difficult for Bistra to walk, which had these days, just become a good excuse for her to stay at home. The icy paving slabs were her first line of defence when asked to venture out, since the slaying of her only son, Georgi, some six years ago. At the time of the hit Georgi was driving a black mercedes in rush hour traffic. Not acknowledging this vital piece of evidence, Bistra had convinced herself it was a hit which had "gone wrong", and that 19-year-old Georgi was an innocent bystander in the crime. In reality, everyone knows that mafia hits rarely "go wrong" in Bulgaria. And innocently wounded bystanders were not common in this town.

Just last week a guy had been hit clean in the head while tucking into a medium-rare Beef Rosini at his favourite restaurant. They say that the killer hit the target from a range of up to about 50 metres. A sniper, so they say. Guess it doesn't pay to have a favourite restaurant in this city. There had been some 150 killings within the last three years with zero prosecutions, Georgi knew what he was doing, either that or he had just got himself in too deep.


The 48-year-old Slav, had peered out of her window often, but just couldn't bring herself to venture out, constantly living in fear that she would have to revisit the site of the killing. It was easier to stay inside and remember the happy days of walking arm in arm along Vitoshe Street with her son. But today, looking at the sunshine, she ached to go out, to feel the warm rays on her pale skin.

"Let's go sell some gravy in the market, " Radistina said – Bistra's best friend. The best friend who had for the past six years been her lifeline to the outside world. Radistina would sit and read the newspaper everyday at 2pm to Bistra, and then discussions would follow. However, she was always careful to censor the weekly "mafia hits", which occurred in the Bulgarian capital.

"OK, let's go out," said Bistra in a somewhat unfamilar tone.
Radistina quickly got the coats from the hallway, not wanting to make a big deal out if it, for fear that Bistra would change her mind.
"Let's go to the market and sell gravy like we used to," Bistra said.
Radistina quickly went to the pantry and gathered a few jars from the overstocked and collapsing shelves, that were also laden with cartons upon cartons of cigarettes.


Standing in the market like they used to, Bistra placed herself in the sunshine, it felt good.
"When will I stop thinking about it," she asked her best friend, "it just seems like yesterday that we were walking through these streets together, me and my Georgi."
"It's always going to feel like yesterday, I'm afraid to tell you. You loved him. Love doesn't just disappear, not real love."
"Let's talk about the people we see, I want to think of something different today."
Radistina smiled and thought maybe her best friend was finally starting to free herself from missing Georgi. While she knew it would never leave her, it was good to see her oldest and dearest friend bathing in the Sofia mid-afternoon sunshine.

Things are going to be better she thought, better, better, better. The sun was at least shining again.