“It makes sense that people believe God wants blood sacrifices,” Johannes says. “He likes that kind of thing, doesn’t he? Even his own son had to die on the cross for our sins.”
“Well, look at you, all knowledgeable,” Amanda says, glancing up at him.
“Simon’s mom confirmed me.” Johannes smirks at me. “But seriously, I bet some cults get up to things we never even get to hear about.”
“Did you hear about the Bride of the True Church in Karlshamn?” Hampus says. “The Bible says you can’t have tattoos, so she cut them off with a box cutter.”
“Stop!” Amanda moans.
“She peeled off half her arm,” Hampus goes on.
Amanda looks like she’s about to throw up.
Elin says, “That was a hoax.”
“Remember the Old Norse worshippers in Dalarna?” Ali starts. “On Midsummer’s Eve, they sacrificed all those animals that—”
“Can we talk about something else?” Amanda says, cutting him off.
“I read about a Japanese cult.” Hampus drags himself into a sitting position. “They sacrificed their children. They used knives this size. They ripped them up from here to—”
“Please!” Amanda screams.
Hampus laughs so hard bits of chips spray across his shirt. “I’m just saying, people do crazy shit, and no one’s as crazy as religious people. No offense, Simon.”
I shrug.
“Christians are still the worst,” Elin says. “Just look at all the people in the U.S. Congress who are just like the Truthers and claim that this is the punishment for abortions and gay sex.”
“It’d be a bit of an overreaction if God wiped us all out just because some guys want to suck dick,” Hampus says.
“Or think about the movie we just saw,” Elin continues. “Talk about honor-based violence, with that dad and everyone he worked with . . .”
Hampus sighs loudly. Amanda throws a sofa cushion at him.
Elin ignores them, leaning closer to Ali. “What does Islam say about what’s happening?”
“No idea,” he says, and shoots me another look. “But my family will be out tomorrow. Party at my place before the soccer game?”
Without hesitating, we all say yes.
4 WEEKS, 3 DAYS LEFT
NAME: LUCINDA
TELLUS #0392811002
POST 0003
This is what the Swedes care about at the moment, at least if you believe the news: soccer and food.
Soccer has been an ongoing obsession all summer. There’s not enough time left to finish the season, so this year’s Swedish champions are going to be crowned at the end of a national tournament. Tonight is the first semifinal. Everyone wants their team to be the last winners in the history of humanity. Cities all over the country have decided to show the game on giant screens. On the news, all they’re talking about is the “festivities.”
Dad has been called in to do an extra shift at the hospital. They’re expecting Hieronymus Bosch–type scenes as thousands of people—who all need to vent feelings of fear and anxiety and rage—gather in the center of town.
I’m the one who told him to go. I promised him that it was fine. I’ve kept him from work long enough.
Back to the news. People are bitter about the “bland food” now that we can’t import anymore. A cheerful food blogger shares “inspiring tips” on how to spice up that chicken casserole with Swedish lemon balm to give it a hint of “the Thai kitchen.” Cut to a thirty-second segment about the millions of people in refugee camps who have nowhere to go.
They’re either starving to death or dying of diarrhea.
But how are those of us who miss our lemongrass going to survive?
I should stop watching the news so much. Observing the world at a distance isn’t healthy. I lose all sense of perspective. But now that our days are numbered, it feels more important than ever to find out what’s going on. To be brave enough to see how it ends, and to try to understand.
SIMON
I’m jostled between the bodies in Ali’s cramped kitchen. The music from the living room is so loud that the floor is shaking under our feet. Any moment now, we’re going to crash into the apartment below. No one lives there anymore. In this part of town, a lot of apartments stand empty.
Moa from my science class is dancing on the table. She’s found Ali’s grandmother’s jewelry and wrapped it around her neck and arms. A pair of black bedazzled sunglasses hides half her face. Hampus slams into me, holding out his phone; I can see that the TellUs app is recording.
“Say something to the aliens!” he yells.
I push the phone away. Closing my eyes, I listen to the music, swaying with the movements of other bodies.
Everyone is here except Tilda. My only consolation is that Sait is in the living room, so he isn’t with her, either. It shouldn’t matter. Tilda still isn’t with me. But it is a consolation.
I take a big gulp of moonshine mixed with blueberry juice. We weren’t able to get any soda tonight. When I open my eyes again, I see Oscar on the other side of the table. He digs in his plastic cup, fishes out an ice cube, and pops it into his mouth, grinning as he looks around.
The ice game. I don’t know when we started playing it, but it’s become a must at every party. Oscar turns to a girl I’ve never seen before with a bleach-blonde pixie cut. They kiss and she accepts the ice cube, keeping it between her teeth while she looks up at Moa and tugs her hand. And Moa gets on her knees. I hear the necklaces jingle and clink against each other over the music. They make a show of it, laughing when people cheer. When their mouths finally separate, Moa turns to me. She crawls to my side of the table. Her lips form a soft O around the melting ice cube. She wraps a hand around my neck. Her mouth is cold against mine. Our tongues play with the ice cube from opposite directions. It’s nearly hollow in the middle. Filled with saliva. Someone grabs my shoulder; when I turn around, Johannes is standing there.
My mouth is the cold one now. Johannes’s lips feel hot against mine. He manages to get the ice cube, but we don’t stop kissing. I try to take it back. He laughs, sucks on my tongue, holding it in his mouth for a second before pulling back. Then he laughs again as he chews on the ice cube.
Someone in the living room changes the music, turning the volume up even more. Johannes’s sweaty cheek brushes against mine. He whispers something. I can’t quite catch what. I’m just about to ask him to repeat it when something in his eyes makes me change my mind.
He’s nervous about something. And suddenly, I know that I’m not capable of dealing with whatever he wants to say right now.
Amanda appears out of nowhere and tries to pull Johannes out of the kitchen.
“What’s your problem?” I ask her.
“You’re the problem,” Amanda snaps. “Can you come here, Johannes?”
She storms out of the kitchen without waiting for a reply.
“Hey, what’s going on?” I shout.
“I’ll talk to her,” Johannes says. “I’m the one she’s mad at.”
I have no idea what’s going on. I don’t have the energy to figure it out.