Kiss Goodbye

            

Illustration is "Tribal Love" by Amy Kaufman.
You can find more of her work here: http://iamymai.deviantart.com/

            We kiss openly in the village green.

            Beside us, little boys practice on the war-drums. Irregular throbs create an awkward rhythm. 

            Yesterday, when my lover and I asked our parents for permission to kiss in public, we lied and said it would be our first kiss. Our parents gave us their blessings. They pretended they didn’t know what the whole village knew about us; they pretended they didn’t understand why unmarried youths spend so much time ‘hunting’ in the woods.

            That’s what happens, when those big drums roll up from the cellars. Everyone starts pretending, pretending that the world is the way that the soldiers wish it were. The old folks pretend that their daughters are blameless innocents and their sons are immortal warriors. They give all the young couples permission for their ‘first’ kisses.

            And what of us, the young folk, the women those soldiers leave behind?

            My lover and I both know full well this kiss is not our first. But, like my parents and his parents, I must do my part for him.

            I pretend not to know that this kiss is our last.

            When I found him on the green, he was shirtless. Little boys with wet brushes surrounded him. His skin was already half-covered in war-paint, but every little boy all wanted a chance to decorate the fiercest warrior. When he saw me coming, my love pushed all those children away.

            “My love!” He wrapped his arms around me. Some of fresh paint smudged on my dress. “My love, my love.” He took my face in his hands and looked directly into my eyes. “You have always been the beauty of the village. You could have any man you want. This war is my chance to prove that I am worthy of you. I will come back with a mountain of trophies. I will come back and you’ll be a bride,” he said.

            I smiled and nodded.

            Then I leaned into his kiss, before he had a chance to see my tears.

            His words were true, if not his meaning. He will come back, and I will be a bride.

            My groom will be the man who carried the corpses home.