Atonement
"Like a bird that flees its nest is anyone who flees from home."
Alone. That's a word that'd been bugging her ever since she woke up. How many years has it been since she had a friend, or even someone to rely on? Far too long, actually. But she wasn't always alone in her life. She wasn't always like this; isolation shaped her that way. Truly, isolation is a poison that slowly kills us.
Maria had a family and a name. She used to be Mariya Vasillisa Dmitriev. Her father's name was Vasily, while her mother's had been Ania. Her papa worked as a lowly miner and hunter but that didn't deter their family from happiness. Her mother tended to the livestock they owned and sold their produce. Now that she thought about it, those were the only things she remembered about her parents. And this reminded her that there were a lot of things she didn't remember, but was so desperate to be able to.
She slowly closed her eyes and imagined her 8-year-old self, sitting on a rug with her mama braiding her hair in front of the fireplace while waiting for her father to return.
"Mama, will I become beautiful like you?" She once asked. Her mama was beautiful; golden locks that glimmered under the light cascaded down her shoulders, and crystal blue eyes that were full of wisdom graced her face. And whenever she smiled, it was like the whole universe has smiled upon you.
Her mama laughed but continued braiding her short hair. After she was done, she handed her a mirror and held her face next to hers.
"You have many more years to come, Mariya," she said while looking at their reflection, "You are a gift from the stars, my child. You will always be beautiful."
Her father came in an hour later, his cheeks and nose red from the cold with Alik, a huge Borzoi that was found in the wild by Maria.
"Alik!" she squealed once she heard the dog bark behind her. She tried to stand up but her mother tugged her hair gently and she sat back down. She patted the spot next to her and said, "Alik, sit here with me." And so he did.
Her father sat in front of her and teased, "My baby is growing up."
"I'm no baby, papa! I can shoot a gun now!"
Loud laughter erupted from his mouth and he clutched his stomach as he rolled around in laughter. He grinned cheekily and wiped the tears from his eyes. He pinched her cheek gently and cooed, "You will be forever my princess."
Maria opened her eyes and at once, the memory faded away. She was not in a cottage anymore; instead, she was in a room with crumbling walls and cobwebs decorating the ceiling. She couldn't feel the warmth brought by the fire anymore; instead, she felt the cold breeze coming from the opened window. She no longer had crown of flowers resting on top of her head as she played. She didn't have a mama to braid her hair and she didn't have a papa to hold her hand as she walked.
Sighing, she swung her legs on the edge of the bed. She smoothed her clothes out and grabbed her messenger bag from the foot of the bed. Almost mechanically, she walked towards her door, grasping the handle and opening it in a second. Before leaving, she snuck a glance at her room. And for a second, it looked like the same room that she loved.
She wasn't eight and she wasn't in Russia, her Motherland, anymore. That was a fact that she had to face until now.
Maria had a family and a name. She used to be Mariya Vasillisa Dmitriev. Her father's name was Vasily, while her mother's had been Ania. Her papa worked as a lowly miner and hunter but that didn't deter their family from happiness. Her mother tended to the livestock they owned and sold their produce. Now that she thought about it, those were the only things she remembered about her parents. And this reminded her that there were a lot of things she didn't remember, but was so desperate to be able to.
She slowly closed her eyes and imagined her 8-year-old self, sitting on a rug with her mama braiding her hair in front of the fireplace while waiting for her father to return.
"Mama, will I become beautiful like you?" She once asked. Her mama was beautiful; golden locks that glimmered under the light cascaded down her shoulders, and crystal blue eyes that were full of wisdom graced her face. And whenever she smiled, it was like the whole universe has smiled upon you.
Her mama laughed but continued braiding her short hair. After she was done, she handed her a mirror and held her face next to hers.
"You have many more years to come, Mariya," she said while looking at their reflection, "You are a gift from the stars, my child. You will always be beautiful."
Her father came in an hour later, his cheeks and nose red from the cold with Alik, a huge Borzoi that was found in the wild by Maria.
"Alik!" she squealed once she heard the dog bark behind her. She tried to stand up but her mother tugged her hair gently and she sat back down. She patted the spot next to her and said, "Alik, sit here with me." And so he did.
Her father sat in front of her and teased, "My baby is growing up."
"I'm no baby, papa! I can shoot a gun now!"
Loud laughter erupted from his mouth and he clutched his stomach as he rolled around in laughter. He grinned cheekily and wiped the tears from his eyes. He pinched her cheek gently and cooed, "You will be forever my princess."
Maria opened her eyes and at once, the memory faded away. She was not in a cottage anymore; instead, she was in a room with crumbling walls and cobwebs decorating the ceiling. She couldn't feel the warmth brought by the fire anymore; instead, she felt the cold breeze coming from the opened window. She no longer had crown of flowers resting on top of her head as she played. She didn't have a mama to braid her hair and she didn't have a papa to hold her hand as she walked.
Sighing, she swung her legs on the edge of the bed. She smoothed her clothes out and grabbed her messenger bag from the foot of the bed. Almost mechanically, she walked towards her door, grasping the handle and opening it in a second. Before leaving, she snuck a glance at her room. And for a second, it looked like the same room that she loved.
She wasn't eight and she wasn't in Russia, her Motherland, anymore. That was a fact that she had to face until now.