Bilo je to u nekoj zemlji seljaka na brdovitom balkanu, umrla je mucenickom smrcu ceta djaka u jednom danu. Iste su godine svi bili rodjeni, isti su im tekli skolski dani, na iste svecanosti zajedno su vodjeni, od istih bolesti svi pelcovani, i svi umrli u istom danu. Bilo je to u nekoj zemlji seljaka na brdovitom Balkanu, umrla je mucenickom smrcu ceta djaka u jednom danu. A pedeset i pet minuta pre smrtnog trena sedela je u djackoj klupi ceta malena i iste zadatke teske resavala: koliko moze putnik ako ide peske. I tako redom. Misli su im bile pune istih brojki i po sveskama u skolskoj torbi besmislenih lezalo bezbroj petica i dvojki. Pregrst istih snova i istih tajni rodoljubivih i ljubavnih stiskalo se u dnu dzepova.

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I cinilo se svakom da ce dugo, da ce vrlo dugo trcati ispod svoda plava dok sve zadatke na svetu ne posvrsava. Bilo je to u nekoj zemlji seljaka na brdovitom Balkanu, umrla je mucenickom smrcu ceta djaka u istom danu. Bloody Fairy TaleIt happened in a land of farmers on hilly Balkan far, far away; a troop of students died martyred on one single day. They were all born in the same year. For all of them, the school days were the same: They were all taken to the same festivals with cheer, they were all vaccinated until the last name, and they all died on the same day. It happened in a land of farmers on hilly Balkan far, far away; a troop of students died martyred in one single day.

And only fifty-five minutes prior the death moment, a small troop of fidgets sat beside their school desks solving the same hard math quest: “If a traveler goes by foot, how much time he needs to rest.” and so on. Their thoughts were filled with same figures and tags and there was a countless amount of senseless As and Fs in their notebooks and in their bags. They were squeezing a whole bunch of secrets that mattered-- either patriotic or a love letter-- on the bottom of their pockets. And everyone of them supposed that he would for a long time, for a very, very long time run under the blue sky-- until all math quests on the world were done and gone. It happened in a land of farmers on hilly Balkan far, far away; a troop of students died martyred on the same day. Whole rows of boys took each other’s hands and leaving the last school class went to the execution quietly, as the death was nothing but a smile. All friends in rows were, at the same moment, lifted up to the eternal domicile.

(Translation: Dragana Konstantinovic) A Bloody Fairy-taleIt came to pass in a land of peasants in the hills of the Balkans a martyr’s death was suffered by a troop of pupils in just twenty four hours. They were all born in the same year their timetables were the same shape and size they were all taken to the same ceremonies ‘gainst the same maladies immunized and all died on the same day. It came to pass in a land of peasants in the hills of the Balkans a martyr’s death was suffered by a troop of pupils in just twenty four hours. And just fifty five minutes before the deathly toll the tiny troop was sitting at their desks in their rows wrestling with the brain exercises: from two stations leave two trains. And so it goes. Their thoughts were full of the same mysteries and senselessly scattered around the benches were A’s and D’s. Handfulls of shared dreams and shared secrets patriotic and romantic were clenched tightly in their fists.

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And each imagined that for a long time, for a really long time they would run ‘neath the canopy blue ‘til all the exercises in the world were through. It came to pass in a land of peasants in the hills of the Balkans a martyr’s death was suffered by a troop of pupils in just twenty four hours.

Entire rows of boys took each other by the hand and from the last class at school went calmly to their executions as if death was nothing. Entire rows of friends in the same instant rose to an eternal dwelling. A Bloody FairytaleIt was in a land of peasants in the mountainous Balkans, a company of schoolchildren died a martyr's death in one day. They were all born in the same year their school days passed the same taken together to the same festivities, vaccinated against the same diseases, and all died on the same day. It was in a land of peasants in the mountainous Balkans, a company schoolchildren died a martyr's death in one day.

And fifty-five minutes before the moment of death the company of small ones sat at its desk and the same difficult assignments they solved: how far can a traveler go if he is on foot. Their thoughts were full of the same numbers and throughout their notebooks in school bags lay an infinite number of senseless A's and F's. A pile of the same dreams and the same secrets patriotic and romantic they clenched in the depths of their pockets. And it seemed to everyone that they will run for a long time beneath the blue arch until all the assignments in the world are completed. It was in a land of peasants in the mountainous Balkans, a company of small ones died a martyr's death in one day. Whole rows of boys took each other by the hand and from their last class went peacefully to slaughter as if death was nothing.