Status: In development!
A Goddamn Moskal
Heading east.
Bus 159, heading east, headlights piercing the night. Poorly tended seats screech calmly with every bump. People coughing, disgusting filth. A man snores in the back.
Artiom sat calmly, holding in his hand a paper fragment. Upon it were names. Names of people who served in the war. One name had been checked, the others awaited the same.
He watched over the passengers, he found it peculiar riding amongst common folk, whilst he sported his thick brown leather jacket, shaved head and bearded chin.
A woman burst into tears and caught his attention. She held a letter in her hand, it bore the insignia; National Health Institute. He locked his gaze, streetlights reflecting through her tears. Presumably a deceased relative, a loved one.
He kept staring, not a single expression upon his wretched face. She turned her head to face him, eyes still thick with tears, still whimpering. Artiom didn’t deviate, and neither did she.
They sat, staring. The woman was unsure of what to feel and what to say, she stopped crying, and faced forward again, into the seat in front. Artiom let up. He turned to face the window, drips flowing across the vibrant glass. Perhaps he could have given her comfort in the form of words, or a simple expression. But what feelings could form from within such a blackened heart? A mind hell-bent on loss and sacrifice. Not a single emotion awoke inside his hollow chest. His solitude was shattered by a man approaching his seat from the back, he took no notice. The man stopped by Artioms seat and exclaimed;
“Tovarish, have a lighter?” Artiom faced the man’s soggy eyes, his lower lip hung loosely, cigarette dangling from it. He stared, deep into the man’s groggy sockets. Alcoholic, judging by his smell. As if royal, Artiom took no time to respond.
“You a psycho or something?” The man continued. Artiom clenched his fists. The man took notice and removed himself from the premises, back to his seat. As he walked off, Artiom again saw the woman, she stared into his eyes, and him into her's. Deep within her shiny blue eyes dwelled fear, accompanied by remorse. He unclenched his fist and gave her a discrete smile before he faced the window once again.
Heading east.
Artiom sat calmly, holding in his hand a paper fragment. Upon it were names. Names of people who served in the war. One name had been checked, the others awaited the same.
He watched over the passengers, he found it peculiar riding amongst common folk, whilst he sported his thick brown leather jacket, shaved head and bearded chin.
A woman burst into tears and caught his attention. She held a letter in her hand, it bore the insignia; National Health Institute. He locked his gaze, streetlights reflecting through her tears. Presumably a deceased relative, a loved one.
He kept staring, not a single expression upon his wretched face. She turned her head to face him, eyes still thick with tears, still whimpering. Artiom didn’t deviate, and neither did she.
They sat, staring. The woman was unsure of what to feel and what to say, she stopped crying, and faced forward again, into the seat in front. Artiom let up. He turned to face the window, drips flowing across the vibrant glass. Perhaps he could have given her comfort in the form of words, or a simple expression. But what feelings could form from within such a blackened heart? A mind hell-bent on loss and sacrifice. Not a single emotion awoke inside his hollow chest. His solitude was shattered by a man approaching his seat from the back, he took no notice. The man stopped by Artioms seat and exclaimed;
“Tovarish, have a lighter?” Artiom faced the man’s soggy eyes, his lower lip hung loosely, cigarette dangling from it. He stared, deep into the man’s groggy sockets. Alcoholic, judging by his smell. As if royal, Artiom took no time to respond.
“You a psycho or something?” The man continued. Artiom clenched his fists. The man took notice and removed himself from the premises, back to his seat. As he walked off, Artiom again saw the woman, she stared into his eyes, and him into her's. Deep within her shiny blue eyes dwelled fear, accompanied by remorse. He unclenched his fist and gave her a discrete smile before he faced the window once again.
Heading east.