THE MOON GUARDIAN, circle of three short stories by Nikola Kitanovic

Nikola Kitanovic - page of his short stories. Nikola wrote short stories since he was very young and he writing it as well today. Modern stories, short stories, postmodern stories, after-postmodern stories


I woke up in a field. As far as I could see, everything was filled with windmills. They were equipped with artificial lights, screens, billboards, reflectors that strongly illuminated both sky and earth, so that I didn’t know what time of the day it was, as everything was full of light from the lamps and moving pictures. There was no wind, but their wings were moving fast enough that you couldn’t fix them with your eyes because you would feel sick and dizzy.

I didn’t know if the field was really a field or if it was concrete. The ground was dark; the sky was dark, only the windmills were in light, and all the rest was darkness. The beams of light between the windmills were touching one another and they were creating a flashy field above the earth and below the sky. Below and above that field it was dark. Perhaps it was dark because the field was flashing into my eyes too strongly and perhaps because it was really the night. I didn’t know. There was no landmark and I didn’t know what direction to take because as far as I could see, there were only windmills. Any movement towards any objective, internal or external, was only wandering. I could easily say: Here I am going my way. Nowhere do I turn. I know my way. I know my goal because I am a wanderer. I could say, but to whom? Then I knew for sure that all those who persistently followed their way were actually wanderers.

I approached one windmill and circled around it. I was looking for an entrance, but there was no door, window, lock, key, anything. The one who was emitting the light and advertisements was out of reach, or it was done by the machines automatically by a synchronized program. I didn’t know. I could not hear the wind, though I felt it on my face and hands. The wings of the emanating from the wall and becoming stronger and stronger. I was giving in to it and I became completely seduced by the scent. In my imagination I saw naked parts of female body. As my desire grew stronger I had a feeling that I was touched by female hands, breasts, that wet lips were kissing me, that their vaginas were rubbing my knees, my tongue, my shoulders. I had a feeling that they were lifting me, and I rose slowly. They were leading me. I did not care where, it was important that they were with me. Then I felt a strong pain, my head was above the light cloud created by the windmills. I saw my right foot flying in one direction, my hand in a completely different one, and parts of my bowels were scattered within the light cloud.

Finally, all my parts fell on the ground, far from each other. I was not dead, and yet I was completely dismembered. I was looking helplessly at the neon skies above me. Then I noticed my liver slowly approaching my head. All my parts were moving towards me, getting together, and I was complete again. I realised that in my ecstatic walk I had come close to the wings of the windmill and they cut me into pieces and scattered me around. As soon as I was whole and mobile again, I went to the place where I felt the scent of the woman. I curled again, again I felt her scent, I imagined her touches, and again I moved toward the wings of the windmill. I was scattered across the space again, but I was recollected and I could hardly wait to go back to the scent of the woman.

windmills were moving without sound, the advertisements did not produce any sound. Perhaps I had gone deaf? I hit the wall of the windmill strongly and I heard an echo. I could still hear! But there was nothing to hear.

I sat down curled next to the wall of the windmill and I stayed there for a long time, without thoughts or emotions. Eventually, I felt the scent of the woman


Today I woke up a little later. In such cases, I knew I would have pain in my head, spine and bones and sickness in my stomach. However, I felt good, fresh and strong. I was just afraid: if I got up I could spoil that good feeling. Finally I decided to get up. I almost jumped out of bed, moving easily and full of energy. I walked into the bathroom. I looked in the mirror and at first I thought it was a mistake, but then I realised that it was really me. I looked twenty-something—more than twice younger! I finally pulled myself together, got ready and went back to the bedroom. I was searching through the wardrobe to find what to put on. I saw a pair of colorful youthful boxer shorts. Well, that that fit me now! I decided to stay at home all day long in the boxers satisfied with my appearance.

I opened the living room door, walked in and heard a round of applause—a standing ovation. I was on the stage. I did not wonder why I was there and how that was possible, but I moved towards the middle of the stage determinedly, followed by continuing applause. I approached a table under the beam of light where there was a small hand saw. I took the saw, pressed it to my neck and turned it on. I was slowly cutting my head off. Finally the head fell into my left hand. I put the saw back on the table, took my head with both hands and lifted it into the air. This caused excitement in the audience. I slowly went down the stairs to the front row. I approached one lady and gave her my head, asking her to hold it facing the stage, so that I could see the rest of the show.

My body, without the head, returned to the stage. I raised my hands in the air and bowed while the audience applauded almost frenetically. From the bottom of the stage, a girl in transparent leotards appeared and my body moved towards her. She climbed up the high ladders onto a small platform, from which a rope was stretched to the other part of the stage and another small platform. She was walking on the rope skillfully and slowly. My body followed, a little clumsy, but with persistence and determination.

We both reached the other platform. She closed the curtains around it so that the audience could not see what was happening on the platform, but they could guess. Her hand threw her tights over the curtain, and they were slowly falling to the ground. Then her hand held my boxers above the curtain and waved them. The crowd was shouting: “Yes!”

Finally the audience went totally crazy, merging with the rhythm of the music and the light show on the stage. A young woman in the second row grabbed my head from the lady in the front row. Then a scramble for my head started: people were grabbing it from each other and so it was passed from one row to the next, towards the end of the room. When the curtain opened, my head was in the last row. The girl on the platform pushed my body and it fell down to the stage, and the woman who was holding my head in the last row threw it behind the line. My body got up and went off the stage to the last row. In the dark, behind the last row, it felt my head, put it on and I was whole again. I headed for the doors, opened them, but I looked back and saw that there were new performers on the stage now. I went out of that room and I realised that I was in my living room again.

I felt pain in my neck, head and bones, and sickness in my stomach. I was moving with difficulty. I did not dare to look in the mirror, as I knew that my old age was back. I spent the rest of the day opening and closing the doors, hoping to get on the stage again.


I take a day off every other Friday because my salary is deposited into my bank account. When I pay all the bills that are due, I can see how much money remains for my main adventure—going to the shopping centre, where I enjoy buying everything I can afford.

The shopping mall was near my place. The streets were full of people. Occasionally some of them would fall down, fatally shot in the head. There were snipers at the top of the buildings, and each was ordered to kill one person walking by within a specified period of time. As soon as a person was shot, the communal services would place the body into a closed truck and wash the blood from the pavement. It was our democratic agreement—when someone would get killed in this way, we would no longer speak of him, his data was deleted from the file, and his relatives and friends received an injection, which made them forget that the deceased person had ever existed. We were not afraid of snipers because we opted for them by majority vote in the referendum.

I walked into the shopping centre full of joy. I looked around the counters and shelves at the nicely packaged goods. I was not interested in the contents of the packages, but rather in the way they were wrapped—it is a supreme sense of art for me. Very quickly, my cart was packed with wonderful things. When I got to the cashier, I was told that there was not enough money on my card for payment. It really made me sad.

“What should I give you as a guarantee to keep everything?” I asked the friendly saleswoman.

“A lot . . . both arms and both legs,” she replied. “But, you know, if we take out your left kidney and half of your liver, you can keep everything and you will get a robotic wheelchair that can be directed by your mind,” she added.

“I know that you are doing it promptly and painlessly, and I desperately need these goods, so I agree,” I told her.

I was without arms, legs, kidneys, and half of the liver. I was sitting in the wheelchair with a robot pushing me down the street towards my apartment. The pavement was uneven at the entrance of my building, which caused the wheelchair to bounce and throw me to the ground. I did not know that I was at the gunpoint of a sniper at that very moment. Missing the head, he shot me in the shoulder. The communal service came immediately, apologising for the mistake. They gave an order to shoot the sniper and started discussing with me how to repair the damage.

Finally, they proposed to return my organs, to heal the wound from the bullet, to give me a bulletproof helmet with three years assurance, and a card for two years of unlimited shopping at the mall. Of course, I agreed. Such an opportunity is given only once in a lifetime.

I entered my apartment feeling lively and happy. I was unpacking all those wonderful things which I had bought and then I wrapped them again neatly, because they look nicer when they are packaged. I am a fortunate man indeed.