Status: In development!
A Goddamn Moskal
Anton Illusjin, where are you?
The cold embrace of decaying life, resting calmly beneath the palm of his hand, up until this point his intent was but a haze. When he entered a domain of solitude, he saw things much clearer, hatred brew inside his cold chest and inspired him to action, and action he took. It somehow slipped past him whilst he struck his victims, the sorrow and remorse. He had, through many experiences evolved his soft core into something he no longer had to fear or succumb to, he had made a beast of himself. His hands were marked by a thick coat, preserved only by the increasing ferocity of every next deed.
The latest one, in her 30’s, family of three kids and a husband. She wasn’t collateral, she was chosen with utmost care. Her husband bore witness to terror, and utterly disgracing acts. Artiom knew him as having a hot temper, often lashing out at people over petty things such as not acknowledging his presence as he styled his veteran suit, with medals to accompany it. He took great pride in the actions he had taken, murder, looting and discrimination. His mind felt not the slightest remorse when he took to playing with his children. Truth is he was beyond redemption, he had reached the crossroad and continued on the main. He never sought any justice for his actions, and so justice would inevitably find him. However the punishment bestowed upon him, would never nearly be enough. And thus where angels fear to tread, fools rush in.
He had stalked his brother in arms since a few days back, watching his patterns, determining when the time to act would prove as effective as possible. He watched as the husband pulled out of the driveway and headed off to school with his children. Artiom got up from his parkbench and started walking that road once again, counting every step as to calm himself before his plan hit go. He passed the garden and proceeded to the stairs leading up to the door. He knocked three distinct times. He waited. The door opened rather suddenly, the woman standing before him was sweating, breathing heavily. She knew not a single thing about Artiom as far as he knew, but as soon as she layed eyes upon his marked face she hurried to shut the door on him, but she was too late. Artiom laid his hand upon the door, and it was as if it had hit solid concrete. She panicked.
“May I?” Artiom asked, rather politely.
She started running further into the house. Artiom caught up fast and pushed her viciously into the kitchen floor. She was stunned for a second before she grabbed for a knife she had lying on the kitchen counter. Artiom preceded her action, seizing the knife for himself. She started kicking at his legs, her body shock violently as she attempted a fruitless defense.
Artiom ignored her kicks and grabbed her legs as they flew at him. He pulled her up and tossed her unto the counter with tremendous force. He went for her throat next. His massive fist clenched her breath, she became desperate, she tossed herself at him with all she could amount. In one undirected punch she managed to claw his left eye and leave him blind for a brief moment. He answered; He struck her dome with his concrete fist, rendering her unconscious. The crimsoning of her cheek, illuminated by the kitchen-light looked gorgeous, and he couldn’t help but to appreciate its tranquility in this turbulent situation.
“You’re a bastard-child, you hell-spawn!”
Artiom's mother exclaimed, her face was as red as the sunsets solemn act of disarray. He stood in apathy before her as she gestured her arms violently towards his face. He didn’t flinch, nothing. She sobbed as she let her emotions burst out over this unfortunate child. He looked down and saw the blood upon his dirty shirt. He saw nothing unusual. He turned his head again towards his mother. She had emptied her trove of profanities and he had taken it all in. Cherishing it, as though it was kindest words bestowed upon him. She slapped him, awaited his response as long as she could before she erupted. She started crying, and left the room in a hurry. It was the last he’d ever see of her again, her face twisted by the imprudence of her violent child.
He had strung her up by her arms when she came back to it. Before her was the front door, and approaching from her back came Artiom. He had in his hand an assault rifle. He walked past her, turned towards her and stood eerily still as he gazed into her eyes. She did not elude his sight, and responded the same way.
“When we arrived in a small hamlet once, during the war, I couldn’t help but notice the aggressive manner of your husband. Drunk he stumbled door to door plaguing the inhabitants with his mere presence, claiming they owed us tribute for our 'glorious task'. They never had a choice, execution or submission. And as much enjoyment one can get out of the misery of others. His choices were poor, ill minded setups proffered by the bottle. The things he has done, can and will be repayed in full. Those who yearn for justice need only act.”
Artiom pulled back the bolt of the rifle and reached into his pocket, he pulled forth a round and placed it gently into the mechanism.
“Anton has talked about you. And if I have understood my husband correctly… you are talking about yourself.”
She explained.
“I am aware of the fact that I am beyond saving and my actions will be repayed in full when the time comes.”
He released the bolt
“My husband is a father, and a good one aswell, if it wasn’t for him I’d be scrubbing floors in Rostoja right now, and my children would be orphans. Whatever debts he 'may' have, I can reassure you that they have been repaid in full.”
“I’m sorry ma'am, but you see we were one. We served under one man, and that man was me, your husband, Anton and the rest of our unit. We were all the same under our banner. You fail to see the big picture. We all owe each other debts. I am merely the collector.”
He raised his rifle.
“I am Anton Illusjin, rapist, murderer and faithful husband, and this is my legacy.”
Artiom exclaimed, before he let his finger squeeze the trigger.
The round passed through her heart and she passed away in an instant. The sound ringed in his ears. He stopped the sound-recorder he had on, he left it in her pantyline accompanied by a carefully written note containing a time, location and situation. He took out his camera and snapped a quick photo of the lady before leaving through the front door. Anton would come guns blazing, all Artiom had to do was pick the spot.
After an hour or so, Artiom arrived. He entered the store and headed blindly towards the shelves. He entered a lane and stopped infront of the children accessories, it didn’t take long before he heard tires screech outside. He was early. Artiom closed his eyes and took a deep breath before carefully lying down on the floor.
“Let it be thine sword that bringeth me death, your hand, and your action.”
The latest one, in her 30’s, family of three kids and a husband. She wasn’t collateral, she was chosen with utmost care. Her husband bore witness to terror, and utterly disgracing acts. Artiom knew him as having a hot temper, often lashing out at people over petty things such as not acknowledging his presence as he styled his veteran suit, with medals to accompany it. He took great pride in the actions he had taken, murder, looting and discrimination. His mind felt not the slightest remorse when he took to playing with his children. Truth is he was beyond redemption, he had reached the crossroad and continued on the main. He never sought any justice for his actions, and so justice would inevitably find him. However the punishment bestowed upon him, would never nearly be enough. And thus where angels fear to tread, fools rush in.
He had stalked his brother in arms since a few days back, watching his patterns, determining when the time to act would prove as effective as possible. He watched as the husband pulled out of the driveway and headed off to school with his children. Artiom got up from his parkbench and started walking that road once again, counting every step as to calm himself before his plan hit go. He passed the garden and proceeded to the stairs leading up to the door. He knocked three distinct times. He waited. The door opened rather suddenly, the woman standing before him was sweating, breathing heavily. She knew not a single thing about Artiom as far as he knew, but as soon as she layed eyes upon his marked face she hurried to shut the door on him, but she was too late. Artiom laid his hand upon the door, and it was as if it had hit solid concrete. She panicked.
“May I?” Artiom asked, rather politely.
She started running further into the house. Artiom caught up fast and pushed her viciously into the kitchen floor. She was stunned for a second before she grabbed for a knife she had lying on the kitchen counter. Artiom preceded her action, seizing the knife for himself. She started kicking at his legs, her body shock violently as she attempted a fruitless defense.
Artiom ignored her kicks and grabbed her legs as they flew at him. He pulled her up and tossed her unto the counter with tremendous force. He went for her throat next. His massive fist clenched her breath, she became desperate, she tossed herself at him with all she could amount. In one undirected punch she managed to claw his left eye and leave him blind for a brief moment. He answered; He struck her dome with his concrete fist, rendering her unconscious. The crimsoning of her cheek, illuminated by the kitchen-light looked gorgeous, and he couldn’t help but to appreciate its tranquility in this turbulent situation.
“You’re a bastard-child, you hell-spawn!”
Artiom's mother exclaimed, her face was as red as the sunsets solemn act of disarray. He stood in apathy before her as she gestured her arms violently towards his face. He didn’t flinch, nothing. She sobbed as she let her emotions burst out over this unfortunate child. He looked down and saw the blood upon his dirty shirt. He saw nothing unusual. He turned his head again towards his mother. She had emptied her trove of profanities and he had taken it all in. Cherishing it, as though it was kindest words bestowed upon him. She slapped him, awaited his response as long as she could before she erupted. She started crying, and left the room in a hurry. It was the last he’d ever see of her again, her face twisted by the imprudence of her violent child.
He had strung her up by her arms when she came back to it. Before her was the front door, and approaching from her back came Artiom. He had in his hand an assault rifle. He walked past her, turned towards her and stood eerily still as he gazed into her eyes. She did not elude his sight, and responded the same way.
“When we arrived in a small hamlet once, during the war, I couldn’t help but notice the aggressive manner of your husband. Drunk he stumbled door to door plaguing the inhabitants with his mere presence, claiming they owed us tribute for our 'glorious task'. They never had a choice, execution or submission. And as much enjoyment one can get out of the misery of others. His choices were poor, ill minded setups proffered by the bottle. The things he has done, can and will be repayed in full. Those who yearn for justice need only act.”
Artiom pulled back the bolt of the rifle and reached into his pocket, he pulled forth a round and placed it gently into the mechanism.
“Anton has talked about you. And if I have understood my husband correctly… you are talking about yourself.”
She explained.
“I am aware of the fact that I am beyond saving and my actions will be repayed in full when the time comes.”
He released the bolt
“My husband is a father, and a good one aswell, if it wasn’t for him I’d be scrubbing floors in Rostoja right now, and my children would be orphans. Whatever debts he 'may' have, I can reassure you that they have been repaid in full.”
“I’m sorry ma'am, but you see we were one. We served under one man, and that man was me, your husband, Anton and the rest of our unit. We were all the same under our banner. You fail to see the big picture. We all owe each other debts. I am merely the collector.”
He raised his rifle.
“I am Anton Illusjin, rapist, murderer and faithful husband, and this is my legacy.”
Artiom exclaimed, before he let his finger squeeze the trigger.
The round passed through her heart and she passed away in an instant. The sound ringed in his ears. He stopped the sound-recorder he had on, he left it in her pantyline accompanied by a carefully written note containing a time, location and situation. He took out his camera and snapped a quick photo of the lady before leaving through the front door. Anton would come guns blazing, all Artiom had to do was pick the spot.
After an hour or so, Artiom arrived. He entered the store and headed blindly towards the shelves. He entered a lane and stopped infront of the children accessories, it didn’t take long before he heard tires screech outside. He was early. Artiom closed his eyes and took a deep breath before carefully lying down on the floor.
“Let it be thine sword that bringeth me death, your hand, and your action.”